The Cost of a Misunderstanding

I don't know where I am because they covered my head when they took me to this dungeon. I can only assume that it's close to the hallway where the … incident took place. With a combination of walking and a painfully sluggish transport, the trip took less than half an hour.

I've already come to terms with the fact that this is not your typical scenario after just two days here. This would have ended by now if it had been one of Kazir's pranks.

Thinking back on what happened in that cathedral-like space, I see that the Kazir look-alike was older, maybe. I was in denial at first, writing it off as smart makeup. But as a whole day went by with nothing changing, I had to come to terms with how weird everything was. The lookalike said something that I remember. Had I really been called to a different world? Is this a supernatural occurrence, such as being spirited away?

Speaking of the paranormal, I'm not totally unfamiliar with the concept. I knew an esper back on Terra, or what most people would term a "freak of nature." That alone demonstrates the existence of such phenomena, albeit infrequently. Although I don't like it, it gets you ready for the worst. Regarding being called to an other universe, I'm not sure if I'm fortunate to have survived a six-story drop or unfortunate to have ended myself in this prison. I'm alive, at least. I was carried here safely since I'm still wearing my pizza delivery jeans. It's a miracle.

The cell's bed is a narrow mattress filled with cotton on a stone slab, and it is likely no larger than three meters square. There are no windows because it's underground; the only way to breathe is through the locked entrance. There is also no toilet or mirror. I haven't been permitted to take a shower or clean myself in two days, and I need to be taken by a guard to a latrine in order to relieve myself. The lantern on the wall across from my cell, which contains a dimly lighting stone, is the only source of light. It's most clearly not a candle, an LED, or a lightbulb.

The treatment has been unexpectedly friendly, in spite of the squalor. Every day, they serve three hot meals. Although it has a bland taste, it is adequate nourishment to satisfy a man's need.

I'm merely keeping track of time by the cycles of meals because I have no idea how long a day is in this world. Day three in the dungeon is almost finished because the guards brought meals an hour ago.

No one is available to speak with. Even on the embarrassing excursions to the latrine, while one of the guards is only three meters away, watching me take care of business, the guards are sour and hardly ever answer my questions. He largely ignores me despite my attempts to strike up a conversation.

The pseudo-medieval toilet—did I mention it? It's gloomy, but perhaps that's just the dungeon's amenities. It's a little space with one covered pit that's somewhat bigger than my cell. Although it doesn't appear dirty, it has a subtle, disagreeable odor. Positively, they come with a pail of clean water and a rough, cloth-like paper for wiping. They are at least covered in the most basic aspects of hygiene.

Even though it's becoming late, I'm not tired. I have spent the entire day lying here. How long will I be detained here, I wonder? There are too many unknowns in a world with a different kind of science to organize an escape. I need additional details.

One of the men at the summoning, I recall, made reference to "insolence" and a "king." Did I really slap real royalty if this is a another universe and that old man was a king? It's a novel one. I've dealt with strong individuals in the past, but never a real ruler.

I'm lying here when I hear footsteps coming toward my cell. There is no time for another supper. Will they let me go at last? Has a decision been made on my lèse-majesté? In the middle of the night, they wouldn't do that.

The footsteps halt. There is a shadow in front of my cell. It is a little, hooded figure that resembles a child. I lie motionless, feigning sleep, and observe with narrowed eyelids. Through the bars, the visitor looks.

"Mr. Hero…" one of the girls murmurs. Why would a little girl be in such a place?

I say nothing.

"Hey, Mr. Hero."

Who is Mr. Hero? Why does she continue to refer to me in that way?

"Mr. Hero. Hello, I must speak with you. "Hey."

Her voice is urgent. I choose to pretend to sleep for a little while longer to see what she's doing. This could be an opportunity to obtain intelligence.

Her tone shifts, "Mr. Criminal," "you're going to be hanged tomorrow." I can assist you in leaving.

I jump out of bed and press my face against the bars. "DANGLED? Are they planning to hang me? "Leave me alone!"

"Now you talk, huh."

"Hah?!… huh?…"

We look at one another. I was duped by the child. And I totally fell for it. When confronted with their own execution, who wouldn't react? I just came really close to death once, therefore I don't want to die so soon. This kid is smart. One day, she'll be strong.

I let out a long sigh, tilt my head back, and go back to bed.

Her insistence is that "we need to talk,"

"…What is it?" Gazing up at the stone ceiling, I inquire.

After a little pause, she continues. "I just wanted to see what kind of person the hero is."

What sort of individual am I? Just so you know, I'm not a hero. Please refrain from calling me that humiliating name.

"I've heard that heroes are noble people of great character," she continues. "My sisters always told me stories about how they save the world from monsters and evil."

The standard heroic platitude. I'm sorry to break your hopes, child, but I'm not a hero. Furthermore, there is even more reason not to depend on me if this world is full of evil and demons.

"But seeing you now," she goes on, "you're more like a rough-and-ready criminal thug." I am dissatisfied. Despite my lord father's kindness, you even hit him."

My response is, "Say what you want, kid," Do you remember that I was called? That is a breach of my rights and constitutes kidnapping. You should start with the people who brought me here if you're trying to find a criminal. I'm glad I'm still alive, but they don't have to know. Was "lord father" what she said? Is she a princess?

"Remain quiet! One must be a horrible person if they attack so readily even after receiving kindness.

Remarking, "I admit, slapping the old guy was a mistake," I startle her. "He just looked exactly like someone I know who was long overdue for a beating."

She appears surprised that I apologized so quickly. "You do have some heart, after all. I was starting to give up on you."

This child is speaking to her elder.

I say, "Oh, I have a big heart," in a sarcastic tone. "You'll never meet someone as sincere as me, in fact. Tell your father and sisters that the 'Hero' is a genuinely good man. I turn to look at her, grinning languidly.

"Hmph. When I give you a modest compliment, your head doubles in size. The young princess pulls aside her hood and snorts. She is a sweet little girl who doesn't resemble her father at all, and she appears to be around eleven or twelve. Her long, chestnut-colored hair is wavy at the ends and falls in twin-tails below her shoulders. She has fair complexion, and if she weren't frowning, her face would resemble that of an innocent angel. Her mother must have been a deity if she is indeed the offspring of that lookalike. She had a little devil's bearing and an angel's face.

"Anyway," I reply, "I'll speak with you, but first you must speak well of me. I may be hanged if the other members of the royal family behave like you.

"Don't stress over that. My lord father has other things to do. He already doesn't care about your case."

Fantastic. Does that imply that I will be left to fester here?

And I insist, "Then talk to your sisters," "You do realize that a royal princess must have some power? Inform them that the hero is a decent man who was simply perplexed by his summons.

She stops, staring at me with a grimace. "The castle is not where my sisters are. They are in a distant location. They won't give you anything. "Hmph!"

Not in the castle, is it? I understand. They must be away for political reasons, such as arranged marriages, or for their education. In a high civilization that is pseudo-medieval, that kind of stuff would be typical. A harsh destiny for ladies of the upper class. I don't care about it.

"I see," I murmur. "I get it. I apologize for my presumption.