The Accidental Hero's Guide to Not Dying

Accolades for Incompetence

Chapter 3: Accolades for Incompetence

The interior of the carriage smelled of ozone, old leather, and a hint of decay that made Ryan want to hold his breath. Outside, the skeletal horses galloped with a rhythmic, bone-chilling clatter, their hooves barely touching the dirt road.

"So," Ryan said, shifting uncomfortably on the velvet seat. "We just, like, vibing to the capital, or is there a drive-thru on the way? I’m straight-up fading, bro."

Captain Valerius sat opposite him, his posture so rigid it looked painful. He didn't blink. "The silence of the journey is part of the initiation, Champion. You are contemplating the logistics of the coming war, are you not?"

Ryan stared at the man. "I’m contemplating a turkey club with extra mayo. War? Fam, I literally just woke up in a box. I’m not trying to be a general, I’m trying to be a customer."

Valerius leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with intense, misplaced admiration. "A masterclass in misdirection. You speak of mundane cravings to lull your enemies into a false sense of security. 'The Turkey Club', is that a codename for the capital’s western defenses? Brilliant."

Ryan rubbed his temples. "It’s not a code, bruh. It’s a sandwich. You know, bread, meat, lettuce? It’s a literal snack. Can we stop with the 5D chess? My brain is lagging."

"You seek the 'Bread of Life,' the sustenance of the throne," Valerius muttered, nodding sagely as he scribbled something into a leather-bound journal. "You plan to infiltrate the palace through the kitchens. Such boldness. Most would strike at the front gates, but you choose the path of the unseen."

"I just want to eat, man," Ryan groaned, slumping back. "Why is everyone in this server so obsessed with deep-diving my intentions? Can we just, like, touch grass and chill?"

"Touching the grass," Valerius repeated, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. "A reference to the agrarian crisis in the northern provinces. You are already formulating a solution for the famine? You truly are a gift from the gods."

Ryan let out a long, wheezing breath, staring up at the roof of the carriage. "I literally said I wanted to go outside. You’re making this way too complicated. It’s giving… toxic levels of extra."

"The 'Extra', the hidden reserve of mana the ancient texts spoke of," Valerius countered, gripping his sword hilt. "You are revealing your power levels to me, a mere mortal. I am honored, Champion. I shall ensure the King understands the magnitude of your arrival."

"Whatever, dude," Ryan sighed, deciding that arguing was a losing game. "Just tell me one thing. This King guy? Is he, like, chill? Or is he going to try to cancel me the moment I walk in?"

Valerius paused, his expression hardening. "His Majesty is... complex. He views the 'Hero' status as an affront to his sovereign authority. He fears the prophecy. He sees you as a glitch, a threat to his reality."

Ryan felt a chill run down his spine. "Yeah, that tracks. The Divine Official already told me I’m basically a software error. So, he’s going to try to delete me?"

"He will attempt to test you," Valerius clarified. "He will offer you power, wealth, and status. If you refuse, he will attempt to purge you. If you accept, he will use you as a puppet until your usefulness expires."

"So, it’s a lose-lose," Ryan said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What a vibe. Truly top-tier gameplay."

"You are not a puppet, Ryan," Valerius said, his voice unexpectedly soft. "You are the first soul in an age to return from the silence. That makes you a force of nature. If you act with conviction, the court will have no choice but to kneel."

"Conviction," Ryan chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "Is that what we're calling it? I’m just trying to stay alive long enough to figure out how to open the settings menu."

"Settings?" Valerius tilted his head. "A metaphysical realm? You possess secrets that even the arch-mages cannot comprehend."

Ryan waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, fam."

The carriage suddenly slowed. The skeletal horses let out a dissonant whinny, and the rhythmic clatter of hooves faded into the soft, gravelly sound of a city street.

"We have arrived," Valerius announced, standing up. "The capital of Aethelgard. The people have heard the rumors. They are waiting."

"Wait, what?" Ryan scrambled to the window.

Outside, a sea of people packed the main thoroughfare. Banners draped from stone balconies, and the air was thick with the scent of incense and sweat. The crowd was a chaotic mess of peasants in rags and armored guards, all looking toward the carriage with a mixture of terror and hope.

"They think I’m the hero," Ryan whispered, the realization hitting him like a truck. "They’re literally expecting a savior, but I’m just a guy who died in a funeral parlor."

"You are the savior they need, whether you desire the title or not," Valerius said, opening the door.

Sunlight flooded into the carriage, blinding Ryan for a moment. As he stepped out, the noise of the crowd hit him like a physical blow. A thousand voices erupted at once, a roar of sound that made the blue interface in his vision flicker violently.

[WARNING: PUBLIC SCRUTINY LEVELS AT 99%]

[OBJECTIVE: MAINTAIN THE ILLUSION OF THE HERO]

"Yo, they're so loud," Ryan muttered, shielding his eyes. "Can we turn the volume down on this server? It’s a total sensory overload."

Valerius stood beside him, bowing slightly. "Accept their adoration, Champion. It is your armor."

Ryan looked at the crowd. A young girl in the front row dropped a flower, her eyes wide with wonder. He realized then that he couldn't just walk away. The moment he ran, he’d be hunted. If he leaned into it, he might actually survive.

He put on his best, most unbothered grin, even though his knees were shaking. "Alright, bet. Let’s see what this 'Hero' stuff is really about."

He waved at the crowd, a loose, nonchalant gesture that made the villagers gasp in awe.

"He acknowledges us!" someone screamed. "The legend is real!"

Valerius smirked. "You have them in the palm of your hand."

A herald appeared on the palace steps, blowing a long, golden horn that sounded like a cry of war. "The King invites the Champion to the Hall of Thrones!" the herald bellowed. "The Royal Banquet awaits!"

Ryan leaned toward Valerius. "Did you say banquet? Like, with actual food?"

"The finest in the realm," Valerius promised.

Ryan walked toward the palace, his head held high, though he was really just looking for the buffet. "Alright, let’s go. I’m starving, and if that King tries to start some drama before I’ve had my appetizers, it’s going to be a long night for him."

He climbed the steps, the blue light in his veins pulsating with a dangerous, electric energy. He was walking into the lion’s den, but for the first time, he felt like he might actually have the stats to win the fight.

As he reached the massive, iron-reinforced doors of the Hall of Thrones, they groaned open, revealing a room bathed in candlelight and shadowed faces. At the end of the hall sat a man draped in ermine and gold, his face obscured by a mask of polished obsidian.

The King didn't stand. He simply watched, his hand resting on a chalice that seemed to be carved from a single, pulsing ruby.

"So," the King’s voice boomed, chilling the very air of the room. "The grave has coughed up a miracle. Or a plague."

Ryan didn't hesitate. He walked into the center of the room, his eyes scanning the tables for a sandwich, and shrugged. "Bruh, I’m just here for the snacks. Don't make this weird."

The entire court went dead silent. The King’s grip on the chalice tightened, and for a split second, the reality of the room seemed to bend, the shadows stretching toward Ryan like hungry fingers.

"The snack," the King repeated, his voice dangerously low. "You come into my hall, demanding food, while the kingdom crumbles at your feet?"

Ryan grinned, though his heart was hammering against his ribs. "If the kingdom is crumbling, maybe it’s time to update the strategy, King. You’re lagging, and I’m just trying to lag-switch my way to a decent meal. You want to dance, or you want to eat?"

The King leaned forward, his mask reflecting Ryan’s terrified, determined face. "I want to see what happens when a legend finally meets his end."

Ryan felt his palms glow. The blue light flared, bright enough to blind the court. "Bet."