Long Live the Tyrant!

🛖 Rundown Hut | Gold: 0 | Silver:0 | Copper: 0 | Rank: Unranked

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Something sharp digs into your back.

Morning sunlight streams through gaps in a wooden wall, illuminating a cramped, unfamiliar room. Beneath you lies a thin straw mattress, its stuffing poking through the worn fabric. A faded blanket has been thrown over it, offering little protection against the cold.

This certainly isn't your bedroom.

The hut is pitifully furnished. An old wooden table stands against one wall, accompanied by a three-legged stool. A chipped clay bowl rests beside an empty water jug. Overhead, the thatched roof sags between crooked beams, and a small patch of blue sky is visible through a hole near the corner.

There are no electrical outlets, appliances, or anything remotely modern.

Through a narrow window, a dirt road winds past several similarly shabby timber cottages. Farther away, a farmer leads a shaggy, horned creature twice the size of an ox through a field.

Whatever this place is, it certainly isn't Earth.

`BANG! BANG! BANG!`

"Hey! You in there! Open up!"

The flimsy wooden door rattles on its hinges.

A man's irritated voice carries through the walls.

"We've given you three days already! Don't tell me you're still planning to stay!"

"Garrick, maybe whoever's inside has already slipped out?" another man suggests.

"Through a locked door? Use your bloody head!"

Several men laugh outside.

Through a gap beside the window, three figures are visible in the little dirt courtyard. Their leader is a stocky, broad-faced man wearing a sleeveless leather jerkin, with a short sword hanging from his belt. Two younger men stand behind him, one holding a wooden club.

Garrick folds his arms.

"Listen carefully! The previous owner owed us money, and since there's nobody left to pay it, we're taking this house as compensation!"

"Look, Garrick," Bram mutters, studying the sagging roof, "are we really taking this miserable shack?"

"Debt's a debt. This place is all that's left."

Oswin snickers.

"That's not saying much."

Garrick shoots him a glare before turning back toward the door.

"Last chance! Come out and surrender the property, or we'll drag you out ourselves!"

`DING!`

A clear, metallic chime sounds from nowhere.

> Tyrant System: Activation successful. > > Transmigration: Complete. > > World: Ythera. > > Function: Acts of tyranny, scoundrelry, and petty mischief generate extraordinary GOOD FORTUNE. > > Status: Active.

Outside, Garrick grows impatient.

"Enough waiting. Break the lock."

Bram steps forward, raises his club, and brings it down against the wooden latch.

`CRACK!`

The door shudders, and a thin splinter falls onto the dirt floor.

"One more should do it, Garrick!"