Reyn hovered in the uneasy hush of his chamber, heart still hammering from the vision he had seen. The mark on his arm had changed—a strange, stylized pattern now decorated his pale skin, as though inked by some unknown hand. The memory of that spectral “storefront” swirled in his mind: shelves of items, weapons, tools, all tinted in muted colors and labeled in a script he somehow understood. He had awakened in a grim, medieval land, but within his very flesh lay a bridge to another reality, one that evoked the digital worlds he had known in his past life.

  He inhaled slowly, forcing calm. The pain had faded. His arm no longer throbbed. Instead, a subtle hum of energy coursed through him. He tightened his fingers experimentally. No pain—only a lingering sense of wonder and dread. He had no illusions: whatever this power was, it did not belong in this world. Swords and bows, fields of stunted grain, and border raids by savage bandits—these were the daily facts of his new life. But now, a piece of his old life had bled through the veil, ---?

  For several minutes, Reyn simply observed his surroundings, waiting to see if anything else would materialize. When nothing happened, he closed his eyes and tried to recall how he had summoned that vision. He focused on the mark. Almost at once, a pale green light flickered at the edges of his vision. Then, drifting in midair before him, half real and half imagined, appeared a series of faint windows—like ghostly panels hovering in the air.

  He stared, mouth going dry. There were multiple windowsnow . One showed what looked like a deserted street of worn sandstone buildings under a brilliant sky, the sort of architecture he remembered from a famous multiplayer shooter map called “DUST II.” Another panel hinted at a platform suspended over an abyss, reminiscent of old arcade games he’d once seen. Yet another featured what looked like an ancient ruin overgrown with vines. They seemed like snapshots of different worlds—some eerily familiar from his past gaming life. How these could exist here, he could not guess.

  His heart gave a jolt as he recognized the first environment. Dust II—he had spent countless hours on it back in his old life. It was surreal to see it here. He reached out tentatively with a hand, feeling a gentle breeze brush his fingertips, as if his room’s stale air had opened onto another place entirely. The scent of dry sand and distant spices teased his nostrils. This was no mere memory. It felt real.

  A surge of temptation rose within him. Should he try to step inside? Was that even possible? He glanced down at the stone floor of his chamber, the tattered rug, the old chest near the bed. Here was reality—dull and heavy. There was danger waiting beyond the castle walls. Yet within this miraculous vision, he sensed potential hope. He might find tools or weapons too, an edge against the Red Claw Bandits. But was it safe?

  Caution won out. He needed more information first. He tried to think of how he had interacted with that strange “store” before. He focused on it with his mind, imagining he was navigating a game menu. In response, one of the windows shifted and a series of icons appeared: weapons lined up as if in a shooter’s buy menu, supplies stacked with neat labels. He saw modern firearms—rifles, pistols, and submachine guns—familiar from his old life’s games. Ammunition boxes, even grenades. The idea of introducing such weapons into this medieval world twisted his stomach. Yet could he afford to reject this idea?

  He steadied his breathing and imagined selecting something small and manageable. His gaze fell upon a simple M9 Beretta pistol icon. He willed his choice, and at once a faint cube of light formed before him. Inside, the pistol materialized, sleek and modern, its metallic surface catching the dull light of his chamber’s guttering candle. He reached out, hand trembling, and touched it. It was solid, cold steel. With a careful pull, he drew it from the spectral cube and into his world.

  Reyn’s heart pounded. He had a real firearm in his hand—an impossible object in this place. A weapon of his old life’s era summoned into a land of swords. He pressed the magazine release; a magazine slid out smoothly, filled with gleaming brass cartridges. No illusions. This was genuine. If he could shoot a bandit armed with a sword before they even closed the distance…

  His hands shook. Better to test it first. But quietly. He rose and approached a spot in the corner of his room where an old table stood. He aimed downward at the floor, squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. The trigger wouldn’t budge. He frowned. Of course—safety mechanisms. He had never actually handled real firearms before, only virtual ones. He searched for the safety switch, found a small lever on the side, and flicked it. Then he aimed again and pulled.

  A thunderous crack tore through the silence. The recoil surprised him, jerking his wrist. A bullet casing clinked on the floor, and smoke curled from the muzzle. He gaped at the smoking hole in the table’s leg. The sound rang in his ears, far louder than expected. Heart pounding, he realized his mistake—he had made too much noise. Anyone in the castle must have heard that shot. He panicked, quickly engaging the safety and shoving the pistol under a pillow.

  Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs. He had no time to hide the damage. The door crashed open, the latch splitting as Thorris—his security chief—burst in, sword half-drawn.

  “My lord!” Thorris called, eyes wild. “Are you hurt? What’s happening?”

  Behind Thorris came Dohnal, the old butler, out of breath. Reyn’s pulse hammered. He needed a believable lie, and quickly. But what could he say? He glanced at the table leg with a neat hole in it—he could claim it was a sudden board snapping, or perhaps a small explosion from a faulty oil lamp. But no, that would not explain the smell of gunpowder, or the strange echo of that shot.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Still, he had to say something. “I—I’m fine,” Reyn managed, stepping forward to block their view of the damaged table. “Somehow a portion of the shutter latch snapped inward with force. It struck the table and made a dreadful noise.” He waved vaguely at the window shutters, which rattled weakly in the wind. “I’ve… I’ve never heard something like that. It startled me too.”

  Dohnal peered curiously at the table, but Thorris, more concerned with Reyn’s safety, stepped closer. “My lord, that sounded like more than wood splintering. Are you sure you are well?”

  “I am fine, truly.” Reyn forced a calm smile. “Check the shutters if you wish, but I promise no harm has come to me.”

  Thorris paused, studying Reyn’s face. He was clearly suspicious. But what could he do? He saw no attacker, no danger. He relaxed slightly, though his expression remained puzzled. Dohnal lingered at the doorway, uncertain. Reyn seized the moment.

  “Dohnal,” he said with an authoritative tone, “have the latch on the shutters inspected. And see that this door is repaired. Thorris, I appreciate your swift response, but let’s maintain calm. I am safe, and I need quiet to think.” He tried to infuse confidence into his voice, hoping they would drop the matter. “We have more pressing troubles outside these walls than strange noises in my chambers.”

  Thorris exhaled slowly and bowed. “As you say, my lord. I’ll be outside if you need me.” He backed out of the room. Dohnal followed, albeit with a lingering, curious glance at the damaged furniture. They shut what remained of the door behind them.

  Alone again, Reyn closed his eyes and exhaled, shoulders slumping. That was too close. He would have to be more careful. The last thing he needed was to become a source of rumor and confusion among his already frightened servants.

  He knelt, scooped up the spent casing, and slipped it into his pocket. The M9 Beretta, safely locked again, he placed under the mattress for the moment. He would return it to that strange store world soon. But first, he needed to fully understand how to open and close that dimensional portal without attracting notice.

  He looked at the mark on his arm. The swirling pattern now seemed stable. When he touched it and concentrated, he felt that gentle hum inside his mind. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried once more. After a few heartbeats, the ghostly windows reappeared in his inner vision, superimposed on his surroundings.

  What was is this dimension exactly?. He selected the DUST II map again. If the pistol had materialized here, maybe he could bring other supplies that might help. Not just weapons—food, medicine, tools. He was unsure if such things existed in this game?

  Still, it troubled him. Using these strangr tools might trigger fear or some strange rumors. He must proceed with care. Maybe he could produce sturdier, simple armor approximating what they expected. If he made incremental changes, subtle improvements, he might pass them off as gifts from a distant ally or as rediscovered relics. He would have to think carefully.

  He turned his attention back to the strange scenes in his mental interface. He noticed that by focusing on the DUST II map window, he could move closer. Last time, it felt as though he could step through. His curiosity flared again. Perhaps inside that map-space, he could experiment without risking the castle’s safety. The idea of exploring a familiar gaming environment as though it were a real place intrigued and frightened him. Could he actually enter it?

  Bracing himself, he approached the shimmering illusion. It hovered a few inches off the floor, large enough to crawl in. He grabbed a curtain and a length of bedsheet, fashioning a makeshift rope to tether himself to the bed. If the portal was unstable, at least he could pull himself back.

  He tested the rope’s knot. “Good enough”.

  With a deep breath, he reached forward. His hand passed into the vision, and he felt warm, dry air—not the chill draft of his room. Encouraged, he leaned in further, until his head and shoulders slipped through.

  Suddenly, his perspective shifted. He stumbled forward onto sunlit sandstone ground. The sky above was a flawless blue, the buildings around him a familiar layout of alleys and arches. No enemies roamed the streets—just a profound silence. The distant hum of a breeze, the smell of dust and old stone. Reyn’s heart soared and lurched at once. He looked behind him, expecting to see his castle chamber. Instead, he saw a wavering wall of light through which his bed and rope were dimly visible. Good—his way back remained.

  He stood in what looked like a deserted version of the DUST II map. He recognized the spawn area from countless hours of gaming. Except now it was real stone under his boots, real dirt under his fingernails when he touched the wall. He moved carefully, exploring. Crates stood stacked here and there. A few old barrels, empty. No sign of life. Just an eerily perfect stage set.

  Instinctively, he summoned the store menu again. In this environment, it appeared as a floating panel at the edge of his vision. He flicked through items with a thought and selected a simple piece of equipment: a Kevlar vest. A cube of light materialized in front of him, revealing the vest folded neatly inside. He took it out—solid, real—. It fit snugly, though it looked alien in his medieval body.

  Next, he tried a different item—an MP5 submachine gun. It felt heavy and sleek in his hands. He posed awkwardly, recalling images from his past life.

  He returned the MP5 to the store and considered other items: medical kits, bandages, even some rations that looked like vacuum-sealed field meals. Food that wouldn’t spoil easily. A lifesaver, if he could distribute it quietly.

  The possibilities were staggering. He could turn is misfortune around. He might arm a few trusted guards with some weapons, sturdier breastplates—fashioned from modern ballistic vests—. He could smelt some irom crates--- provide better tools for the farmers—stronger steel knives —and claim he traded for them with a distant merchant. If he could intruduce this fast enough, he might raise the territory’s chances of surviving the coming raid.

  Of course, there were questions: would these items vanish if discovered by others? Could he run out of supplies? He noticed no currency system displayed now. He had unlimited options, it seemed. But was this truly free? There might be hidden costs. He must remain cautious. What was the price?

  He took a final look around this silent DUST II world. The map extended as he remembered—familiar choke points and alleyways—but he did not find any other living beings. It seemed like a safe testing ground. Perhaps he could train here, refine his skill unlimited practice weapons. The environment felt stable, but he did not want to linger too long. People would notice if he vanished from his chamber for too long.

  Pulling gently on the bedsheet rope around his waist, he stepped back through the shimmering boundary. In a blink, he was inside his chamber again, the rope slack around him. The portal flickered and faded, leaving only candlelit gloom and the battered furnishings. He unfastened the rope, folding it away, and sat on the bed, thinking.

  The muffled sounds of castle life drifted through the damaged door. He heard footsteps, distant voices. Soon he would have to show his face again, greet Dohnal, address Thorris’s concerns. The Red Claw Bandits were a real threat, and time was short.

  But now he had a secret weapon—literally and figuratively. This magical dimensional pocket filled with items from the game world’s, could give him an edge like no other. He must use it wisely.