Curtis woke up, mind muddled and confused, laying on a hard-packed earthen floor. He immediately noticed he was clutching an object in his hand, and that he appeared to be in some strange room of sandstone, with an odd sourceless light illuminating his surroundings. The object turned out to be a very plain-looking but sharp dagger. As he gazed at the dagger, (1-3 damage) briefly appeared in his vision.
Standing up and looking himself over, he felt normal, but was wearing only a skimpy cloth loincloth (0 defense). He was in a roughly 20 by 30 foot room with two obvious doors and a ladder on one wall leading up to a trapdoor in the ceiling, a small pile of rotten cloth was in one corner of the room, there was something on the wall at the far end of the room as well.
Trying to think back, Curtis could remember coming home from work (inventory restocking at Costco) and sitting down in front of the TV with some snacks, scrolling along for something good with the remote. Then he was here, wherever this was - hopefully just a weird dream. Still, wherever and whatever this setting was, it FELT real. There was a faint dankness to the place, and a roughness to the earthen floor.
Walking over to the mirror, he saw himself:
Mundane Human - Curtis
Class - Pitiful Rogue
Level 1 (0/100)
Health 15/15
Looking at the mirror itself (Lesser Mirror of Self-knowledge), and he quickly found it was firmly welded to the wall. Checking out the only other feature of the room, he looked through the pile of old cloth (poking through with his dagger) and found two "items", (Cloth Rags), (Pair of worn fuzzy slippers - 0 defense). He put on the slippers after beating most of the dust and debris out of them, not trusting exploring the place barefoot.
Peering up at the trap door, he saw (Exit). Might as well try it, he thought. He easily climbed the ladder and opened the trapdoor, which led to a room much like he just left, it was bare other than a shelf at the far end - no "exits" he could see. Coming up to the shelf, he saw (Evaluation Altar - Empty). Placing his dagger on it, it changed to (Evaluation Altar - Insignificant/Unacceptable). Well, it didn't look like he was getting out this way. Curtis took the dagger back and headed down.
Curtis stood in the sandstone room, the faint dankness clinging to his nostrils as he weighed his options. The trapdoor had been a bust, leading only to a dead-end with that cryptic Evaluation Altar. His grip tightened on the plain dagger (1-3 damage), its weight grounding him in this bizarre, too-real dream. The slippers, dusty but soft, cushioned his feet against the rough floor, though they offered no protection (0 defense). The loincloth (0 defense) left him feeling exposed, vulnerable. Whatever this place was, it wasn’t Costco, and the rules here were alien.
He glanced at the two doors on opposite walls. Unlike the trapdoor’s clear (Exit) tag, neither bore any markings in his strange new vision. One was rough-hewn wood, splintered at the edges, with a rusty iron handle. The other, also wooden, looked sturdier, its surface carved with faint, worn symbols—maybe letters, maybe runes. Both felt like they could lead somewhere, or nowhere. The pile of rotten cloth (Cloth Rags) in the corner was useless for now, but he made a mental note to revisit it if he needed bandages or kindling.
Curtis’s mind raced, piecing together the fragments of this world. The floating text—(1-3 damage), (Level 1), (Pitiful Rogue)—hinted at a game-like system, like those LitRPG books he’d skimmed while restocking the book aisle. But this wasn’t a book. The cold ground under his feet, the faint ache in his legs from climbing the ladder, the sourceless light casting soft shadows—it was too vivid. If this was a game, it was one he was physically in. And if it was a dream, it wasn’t letting him wake up.
He checked his stats again, focusing inward. The mirror’s words lingered:
Mundane Human - Curtis
Class - Pitiful Rogue
Level 1 (0/100)
Health 15/15
No other stats appeared—no strength, no agility, nothing about skills or mana. Just a health bar and a class that sounded like an insult. Pitiful Rogue. Great. Still, the dagger suggested he was meant to sneak or stab, not brawl. He twirled it experimentally, nearly nicking his thumb. Careful, dumbass.
The altar’s rejection of his dagger—(Insignificant/Unacceptable)—nagged at him. Maybe it needed something better, rarer. But all he had were rags, slippers, and a glorified butter knife. If the trapdoor room was a lock, he didn’t have the key. Yet.
Curtis approached the carved door first, drawn to its symbols. He traced them with a finger, but no text or clues popped up. The handle was cool, unmoving when he tested it. Locked? He pressed his ear against the wood—silence, no hum of life or danger. The splintered door, by contrast, sagged slightly on its hinges, its handle loose. He could probably force it open, but the creak might announce his presence to… whatever was out there.
He hesitated, heart thudding. This felt like a choice that mattered. The carved door might hide something important, but he’d need a key or tool he didn’t have. The splintered door seemed riskier, less secure, but more accessible. Or he could poke around the room again, maybe search the rags more thoroughly or try to pry the mirror loose, though it seemed welded tight.
What’s it gonna be, Curtis? He swallowed, the dagger’s edge glinting in the sourceless light. This place wasn’t his living room, and hesitation might get him killed. He had to move, learn the rules, and figure out how to survive as a “Pitiful Rogue” in a world that already seemed stacked against him.
As Curtis tried to stash the "cloth rags" in his loincloth to carry, he suddenly got a Place in Inventory? prompt, that he instinctively accepted, watching the rags vanish into thin air. Inspired by this, he said "Inventory!", and a list suddenly hovered before him:
Common food ration
Vial of Water x 3
Cloth Rags
Curtis blinked at the floating Inventory list, the words shimmering in his vision like a heads-up display from a video game. Common Food Ration, Vial of Water x3, Cloth Rags. The rags had vanished into this invisible storage when he’d accepted the Place in Inventory? prompt, and now he had food and water he hadn’t even noticed before. He patted his loincloth, half-expecting to find pockets stuffed with supplies, but it was just the skimpy cloth (0 defense) and his fuzzy slippers (0 defense). Wherever this “inventory” was, it wasn’t physical.
“Game logic,” he muttered, the dank air of the sandstone room grounding him despite the surreal interface. If this was a dream, it was the most structured one he’d ever had. If it wasn’t… well, he’d deal with that later. For now, this Inventory was a lifeline. He focused on the list, willing it to do something. A faint glow highlighted Common Food Ration. He thought Take out, and a small, wrapped bundle appeared in his hand—dense, like a granola bar but wrapped in rough parchment. No floating text described it, but it smelled faintly of dried fruit and grain. He tucked it back, and it vanished into the inventory again.
The Vial of Water x3 intrigued him. He summoned one, and a corked glass vial materialized, filled with clear liquid. No label, no stats. He shook it, sniffed it—clean, no odd odor. Tempting, but he didn’t trust this place enough to drink yet. He returned it to the inventory and checked the Cloth Rags. They reappeared in his hand, still musty and tattered, useless as armor but maybe good for something else—bandages, a distraction, or even a makeshift sling if he got creative.
“Okay, Curtis, think,” he said, pacing the 20-by-30-foot room. The sourceless light cast soft shadows, and the rough sandstone floor scraped under his slippers. The Inventory discovery was huge—it meant he could carry stuff without being weighed down. But it didn’t solve his immediate problem: where to go next. The splintered door looked rickety, like a good shove might open it, but the noise could attract trouble. The carved door, with its faint symbols, felt like a puzzle he wasn’t equipped to crack yet. The pile of rags was empty now, and the Lesser Mirror of Self-knowledge was still welded to the wall, unyielding when he’d tugged at it earlier. The trapdoor above led to the Evaluation Altar, which had rejected his dagger (1-3 damage) as Insignificant/Unacceptable.
Poking at the old splintered door, his choice was made for him as it fell apart at a light shove, Curtis winced as the splintered door crumbled with a splintering crash, the sound reverberating - making a moderate racket and revealing a passage leading onwards, dotted with clumps of moss, and...was that a slime?
The sourceless light, pervasive across this level, illuminated every detail: rough stone walls, clumps of moss scattered across the floor, and the Small Sand Slime (5/5), a quivering, fist-sized blob of grainy goo, lazily feeding on a moss patch about 15 feet ahead. It didn’t react to the noise, its focus locked on the greenery. Beyond it, several feet past, a crude but intact wooden door stood at the passage’s end, unmarked by floating text or visible locks.
Since the slime wasn't coming towards him, Curtis decided to check through the remains of the door first, coming up with a couple of "registered" results - "crude metal debris x 2" and "crude board 1 damage, 1 shield defense".
Storing the metal parts and equipping the board, Curtis felt as ready as he was going to get for the slime. It seemed unreacting as he came up and sliced with the dagger, producing a vivid "-3" as he hit the small opponent. As he tried for a finishing strike, it lashed out - gashing the board into uselessness and messing up his attack, which resulted only in a "-1" this time. Having no time to think it over, he struck again, splattering the slime but getting a rough slice across his wrist "-1" that was bleeding slowly "-1/minute bleeding".
Bandaging his wrist stopped the bleeding notification, but in the process he still lost one more point before it fully stopped (another -1 notification appearing as the bleeding notification vanished). Going back to the Mirror, it now showed:
Mundane Human - Curtis
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Class - Pitiful Rogue
Level 1 (5/100)
Health 13/15
The 5/100 progress toward Level 2 was new—killing the slime had earned him experience. It wasn’t much, but it hinted at growth, a way to get stronger. Pitiful Rogue still stung, but the dagger and his sneaky instincts were all he had. The fight had taught him something: this world punished recklessness. His loincloth (0 defense) and fuzzy slippers (0 defense) offered no protection, and his health wouldn’t survive many more mistakes.
