《Fantasy Arms Dealer》 Chapter 1: Judgement Day Chapter 1: Judgement Day ¡°Guilty on all charges.¡± No pounding of the gavel against the table, no jeering from the viewer¡¯s gallery, and absolutely no photography. Just four words, plain and softly spoken by the judge, reading from a slip of paper handed to him by the jury foreman, four words to decide my fate. I nodded my head once, making sure to make eye contact with the judge as I did so to acknowledge my understanding of the verdict, but I did not speak. There was nothing left to be said, by this point. My advocate had done his very best; earned every coin of his considerable ¡ê800 an hour fee. He¡¯d done his best over the course of an eight month trial, done his best to divert and defend and deny, but sometimes you can do everything right and still lose; in words of an intrepid explorer of the stars, that¡¯s not weakness, that¡¯s just life. ¡°On behalf of His Majesty¡¯s Crown Court, we thank the jurors for their time and attention throughout the course of these lengthy proceedings. To isolate oneself from the eyes of the world is no easy feat in the modern day, especially in a case such as this, so close to the public eye and the public purse. Accordingly, all jurors here today, who have served the full term, shall be excused from further summons for a duration no less than ten years.¡± I do my best to keep my face straight; it wouldn¡¯t do to show my erstwhile contempt for my fellow man, not here and now, lest I be charged with a rather different form of contempt. ¡°Due to the complexity and number of factors to be considered, I have requested a pre-sentencing report be compiled. Preliminary submissions are due in two weeks time. As part of the preparation, the defendant is to undertake an interview with an officer of the probation service, at a mutually agreed time no more than a month from now.¡± Just in time to spend Christmas in prison. How lovely. ¡°It is my view to hold a sentencing hearing in November, before the year begins to wind down, to this effect, I will pencil in my diary for 1PM on Wednesday the 20th. Until then, court is adjourned.¡± I joined the rest of the court, rising and bowing to the judge as he departed, before I too headed for the exit, my advocate a step behind me. Despite the unfortunate verdict, I was still a free man where it counted, my bail conditions notwithstanding. Because my crimes were strictly white-collar in nature, neither violent nor overtly distressing to the victims, the court had taken a light touch with me. I¡¯d had to surrender my passport, to ensure I didn¡¯t decide to flee the country, but other than that I¡¯d had no obligations imposed upon me except the obvious expectation that I attend court when called. As always, a throng of paparazzi stalked the front of the court; there were already reporters inside, but cameras were not allowed inside the building. Now, however, they were free to assault me with a multitude of flashing lights. I paused in my strife, just for a moment, turning the cameras and giving them a brief staredown. Not enough to seem arrogant, but sufficient to ensure the newspapers got my good side for tomorrow¡¯s front page. Oh, I would definitely be on the front page; after all, it wasn¡¯t every day one of the nation¡¯s biggest pension funds was revealed to be emptier than a telemarketer¡¯s soul. I¡¯d had a good three decades since rising to the helm of the fund, overseeing record profits again and again, through thick and thin, three wars and two recessions in all. Really, it should have been obvious I was emptying the pot, robbing Peter to pay Paul. Nobody can guarantee 10% profit margins for thirty years. I¡¯d love to claim to be some never before seen genius of deceit, but honestly I think plenty of people knew, they just didn¡¯t want to flip the table, not when they were also profiting off the fund by association. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. That¡¯s the funny thing with pension funds, you see; once you put money in, you can¡¯t take it out again before you reach a certain age, not without incurring massive tax penalties that no sane person would want. Thanks to that, I was able to keep the ship afloat while the banks toppled; because most of the financially illiterate masses couldn¡¯t panic withdraw enough to bring us down. Alas, despite my wisdom, I failed to predict a total collapse of the real estate market, in which the fund had invested heavily. Even that wasn¡¯t enough to bankrupt us outright, but it made the board jittery enough to call for an audit of our books, and well, there just wasn¡¯t any money left. ¡°So, how many years am I facing?¡± I asked my advocate, once we were both on the road, well clear of the court parking lot and bothersome cameras. ¡°It¡¯s not looking good,¡± he replied, giving the understatement of the century. ¡°You¡¯re a first-time offender for non-violent crime, but the sheer amount of money missing weighs heavily against you, as does the fact you¡¯ve affected primarily the old and vulnerable. You could get as little as seven years under the guidelines, but I¡¯d be surprised if you saw less than ten.¡± ¡°I see,¡± our journey descended into silence after that, because what really was there to say? I was already sixty-three years old, and I¡¯d be sixty-four at sentencing. Add on a minimum of ten years, extrapolate that against the average male life expectancy and the conditions in prison, and it wasn¡¯t looking good. Really, there was only one sensible solution for me, all things considered. ¡°Here¡¯s your stop,¡± I parked the car by the sidewalk, letting my advocate out. He lived close to the court, directly between it and my house, so it was convenient for me to pick him up myself on the way there, which gave us a bit more time to talk on the trot. ¡°Say, about the appeals process¡­¡± he began, before I cut him off with a shake of the head. ¡°I think I need a night to sleep on things,¡± I told him. ¡°Get my head in order. I¡¯ll call you tomorrow, and we can plan strategy at the usual time?¡± ¡°Sure, sure, that works,¡± my advocate agreed, scribbling the time into the little red notebook that never left his shirt pocket. ¡°Thank you,¡± I gave him a smile as I started the engine again. ¡°For everything.¡± Because he¡¯d truly done his best for me, like none others ever had, with no ulterior motives beyond earning his fee. What a refreshing change from the endless hangers on, the gold diggers looking for a nest egg and the teary eyed lads carrying fake paternity tests. As if I¡¯d ever been careless enough for romance or children; did they think my money just grew on trees? Still, the thought brought an impish grin to my face as I made for the main road; I¡¯d left half a dozen wills back home, you see, all dated to the exact same day but with different amounts apportioned in each, between each of my distant relatives. They¡¯d be spending years at minimum fighting it out in the courts; with each other and the Crown both, as they sought to cash in on my ill-gotten gains. Even I couldn¡¯t guess how that saga would end, the only certainty at all were the copious legal fees to be paid out on all sides: a final gift to my dear advocate. No, I¡¯d lived a solitary life, of glitz and glamour and stolen millions, and even now at the end of it, I only had one regret. It was a shame I¡¯d never get to see tomorrow¡¯s newspapers, for they were sure to be the scoop of the year. A manic grin still etched on my face, I jerked the steering wheel hard to the right, colliding full on with an incoming lorry, and then there was darkness. Chapter 2: Mandatory Lore Dump Chapter 2: Mandatory Lore Dump I woke up to a pounding headache, a mouth dry as the Sahara Desert and a deep, persistent ache in my belly. None of this was unusual per se, I¡¯d certainly had enough hangovers, over the decades of heavy drinking prevalent in the upper echelons of the business world. One more was hardly a surprise. No, the surprise in this instance was that I woke up at all. The national speed limit in England was seventy miles an hour. I¡¯d been coasting at that, before rocketing to upwards of a hundred miles an hour as I made my final approach. The lorry had been doing seventy as well, and weighed at least five tonnes. There should have been no getting back up from that. Yet awake I was, in a bed far too comfortable to belong to the National Health Service. The room itself was just as opulent; I¡¯d been in my fair share of hospitals, but it was safe to say none of them boasted gold plated walls and silk curtains adorned in kaleidoscopic colour. The decor stood out a lot, and yet somehow it remained the lesser of two concerns just then. [Will Swindell Level 17 Child] Because there, in black and white and floating squarely before my eyes, was my bigger concern by far, enough for urgency to overpower even my migraine and grant me blessed clarity of thought. I promised to myself at that moment, that if I ever found the person responsible for my reincarnation, I would firstly thank them for my continued survival in the face of adversity. Then, after formalities were concluded, I¡¯d knee them as hard as I could in the family jewels for giving me the name Will Swindell in my second life. Yes, I swindled a lot of pensioners, but I already died for those crimes so surely I deserved a mulligan? Alas, that wasn¡¯t likely to happen any time soon, so I was forced to prioritise, putting thoughts of distant vengeance - and legally changing my name - aside in favour of acclimating to my new background. It was, in a word, sparse. In addition to my memories of a life fully lived on Earth, I now also had an additional seventeen years of life crammed in my head, all of them spent at a single orphanage; one of many that dotted every major settlement in the Kingdom of Frontier. It was to be expected, given Frontier¡¯s status as a boundary nation; sitting on the very edge of the map that marked the dominion of mankind. I had it better than most, even, living in a farming village deep within the borders; whilst raids and infiltrators remained ever present threats, no full invasion had reached this far since before I was reborn. My second life wasn¡¯t too bad either, prior to the reawakening of my memories. I¡¯d never met my new parents, and from what little I knew both had served and died in battle, leaving the sum of their holdings to me in my infancy. Without any relatives to take me, I was given to the care of the state, where the monies inherited guaranteed me three warm meals a day, a place to sleep, and schooling in letters, etiquette, arithmetic and physical education. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. The provisions were basic, yes, by the standards of a modern English childhood; but they were also more than many of Earth¡¯s less fortunate received, even in 2024, and far beyond my expectations for a land stuck largely in the mediaeval period. This arrangement was designed to last until adulthood, at which time any funds remaining would be returned to me; typically enough, according to information gleaned from older boys who left the orphanage before me, to fund three to six months of lodgings while searching for a job. I very much considered these the memories of another person, because even though I now had them, they felt very impersonal, distant even, compared to the vibrant memories of my life in London. That came as no surprise to me; given how that life was more than four times as long and far more eventful. William was a quiet, introverted boy, who performed his chores without complaint and otherwise was content to hide away, out of sight and mind. That made him the ideal child for the stressed and overworked orphanage staff; he had no friends, and got in no trouble. In a sense, while he existed, he never truly lived. That suited me just fine, because it meant I was as close to a blank slate as possible while still possessing a birth certificate; it meant I wouldn¡¯t have to pretend to be someone I wasn¡¯t. I could pull it off, for sure, I¡¯m a very good actor when it matters, but that didn¡¯t mean I¡¯d enjoy the process. Altogether, I was very happy with my circumstances; I¡¯d received what amounted to a second life, one completely divorced from my prior notoriety and a truly limitless chance to remake myself. The one downside to all of those, perhaps, was the reason I¡¯d woken up in a hospital bed in the first place. [Will Swindell Level 17 Child Foundation Building: One Level received for every full year lived. Child class evolves at Level 18.] See, the concept of a teenager didn¡¯t exist in this new world. You were born a Child, and stayed one until the System dictated otherwise. For humans, that happened on our eighteenth birthday, and nobody knew for certain what that Child class would turn into. Oh, people had their observations and guesses, and some general truisms could be found. A child who spends more time practising the blade was more likely to get the Soldier class, while a noble scion who grew up in the cut and thrust of court was more likely to become a Scholar, a Courtier or an Assassin. But nurture only contributed so much, and nature left more than enough uncertainty to inadvertently create a remarkably egalitarian youth. Children were generally prized, looked after and generally treated well, irrespective of their social background, because nobody wanted to offend a child, only to have them become an Archmage and promptly roast the offending household alive. Likewise, because every child represented a chance for the nation to win the class lottery, harming them was equivalent to harming the property of the Crown by law; do it, and you earned a quick trip to the gallows. This all suited me just fine, as it meant I had a week to get my bearings before the System decided my fate. Hopefully, I reflected as my headache returned with a vengeance, no longer held at bay by sheer force of will, I¡¯d be well enough to walk by then. Chapter 3: National Health Service Chapter 3: National Health Service Now, I¡¯ve always been a bit of a control freak, something that was true throughout my entire career in finance. Proud investors and managers called me a detail oriented person, while my detractors called me a micromanager or other, even less polite words. It was a great boon, truthfully, once I finally made CEO and kicked off my star studded career in securities fraud; when your entire income revolved around a massive ponzi scheme that had to be dressed up to look like something more respectable, details mattered a lot. Papers had to be kept in order even where the contents were entirely fictional; telling investors, employees and regulators a story that was both false and believable, ensuring that nothing stuck out enough for someone to get curious. I was very good at this, the fact that scheme only unravelled due to broader geopolitical trends was proof of this. That said, it wasn¡¯t always good to be detail oriented. Sometimes, when I had a lot of questions and not enough information, I had a tendency to spiral, endlessly fixated on the few tidbits I knew while my mind invented ever more elaborate scenarios leading me toward disaster. Just to be clear, this wasn¡¯t a good thing, especially not when I had a headache. Thankfully, such fits of doom never lasted for too long, because in a busy world, someone would also come along and interrupt my self-destructive impulses sooner or later. Back in my past life, it¡¯d be one of my employees, or more rarely a customer. On this particular occasion? It was the doctor. [Amelia Dawn - Level 3 Healer] I wasn¡¯t joking about how children were prized. The Kingdom knew that any of them could win the power lottery when they turned eighteen, and every living, healthy and loyal child of the nation was another spin of the wheel. Free healthcare was available for every Child; and it was good healthcare, no five year waiting lists like back in England. Not for me, of course, I never needed anything serious before my thirties, and had private doctors on retainer from then on, but the point I¡¯m emphasising is that I now had for free what would have cost a pretty penny in my past life. For another week, at least. ¡°Good, you¡¯re awake,¡± Amelia spoke, hurrying over to my bedside. ¡°Does it still hurt anywhere?¡± ¡°My head,¡± I whispered, wincing as the act of speech caused yet another spike of pain, and my throat to burn as well. Frankly, I was already handling things better than the norm; Will had never tasted alcohol before in his life, and would likely have vomited all over the bed without my newfound experience with hangovers. Thankfully, salvation was already on hand. Literally, as Amelia placed her glowing green hand on my forehead. It was wonderful, better than any prescription painkiller I¡¯d ever tired; and I¡¯d tried a lot of them in my fifties: arthritis was not fun to deal with. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. My headache disappeared in seconds, fading from sharp pain to dull throbbing before even that vanished from my perception. My throat, too, received healing, going from burning and raw to a slight itch, while my stomach finally settled down, taking my remaining nausea with it. ¡°Better now?¡± ¡°Much better,¡± I rasped, because my throat was still dry, even if it was no longer sore. ¡°Wonderful!¡± Amelia crooned, in an exaggerated, over the top cheer that I suspected to be the result of specialised training. ¡°Are you up to taking a meal by yourself? I can feed you if not.¡± I might have taken her up on that offer, were the circumstances slightly different. Amelia was not unpleasant to look at, with her curly black hair and ocean blue eyes, complemented by a neat black blouse, but no. I had been many things across two lives, but I was not and would never be an invalid. Forcing my torso upright, I reached back to reposition my pillow to accommodate a sitting posture and leaned back to meet Amelia¡¯s gaze. ¡°Wonderful work, Will! I¡¯ll let a nurse know to bring you your lunch, just stay and rest until it arrives; if you feel any more pain, just send me a message, alright?¡± [Amelia Dawn wants to connect. Y/N?] Without even waiting for my response, she was up and out of the room in seconds. Absently, I noted that even in a fantasy world, healthcare workers were still overburdened and short of time. I couldn¡¯t blame her though; I already felt good enough that I¡¯d be tempted to ask for early discharge, if not for the promise of a meal first. What can I say? It doesn¡¯t matter how much money you wind up with, free food is free food. While I waited for my first meal in a lifetime, I turned my thoughts to what Amelia had inadvertently revealed. Every time I saw something unique to my new life, memories slotted into place seamlessly as if they¡¯d always been there. Which, given Will¡¯s backstory, I suppose it had. Names and levels were displayed on sight; a useful method for identification and a boon for me in particular; I¡¯d never been good with names. On the other hand, identity fraud was made that much harder; not impossible, I was sure, but it would require an item to spoof the indicator, something I suspected would be far harder to acquire than fake documents. The Contacts lists and message functions were far better news; while I could remember a time before smartphones, my last years had acclimated me to constant access to information and having everyone I knew just a button away. I¡¯d yet to find an equivalent to the internet, true, but every little bit of familiarity helped make adjusting to this new life just a tiny bit easier. Mentally, I selected ¡®Y¡¯. [Amelia Dawn added to contacts.] Curious, I willed my status page to display, and sure enough, I now had a contact. [Will Swindell Level 17 Child Foundation Building: One Level received for every full year lived. Child class evolves at Level 18. Contacts Amelia Dawn - Level 3 Healer] It was actually my first; I was never close enough to anyone at the orphanage to acquire any others, which suited me just fine. After all, in just one week¡¯s time, I¡¯d be receiving my Class, and my trajectory in life would take me far away from there. Any further pondering was interrupted by the telltale sound of footsteps. Sure enough, the nurse was here; and more importantly, lunch! Chapter 4: Dine and Dash Chapter 4: Dine and Dash Lunch. My favourite meal of the day, and always the biggest by far. That used to be true for everyone, back before artificial light became a trend; go back far enough and lunch used to be called dinner, the final meal of the day, eaten in the mid to late afternoon while the sun was still up. Frontier wasn¡¯t quite that old fashioned; turns out, magic could substitute for a lot of what modern society took for granted, like light bulbs, so they had an evening meal here as well. At a corporate retreat, one of the speakers, a grizzled survivor type who had travelled the world, told me that hunger was the best seasoning of them all. Turns out, there¡¯s a lot of truth to that. The food the nurse brought on her cart was simple, hearty fare: a large pot of stew made of lentils, root vegetables and breadcrumbs, the kind that peasants ate for centuries under the name pottage. Freshly awakened after god knows how long asleep, and with a body freshly healed from a traumatic head injury, I was ravenous. The first bowl disappeared so fast I barely tasted it; the sides of my mouth burned as I inhaled it all. That impatience earned me several burns on the side of my mouth; uncomfortable, but not nearly enough to deter me from a second serving. This time, with something already lining my stomach, I even stopped to use the spoon provided with my meal. ¡°No problems with your appetite?¡± I didn¡¯t reply, because I was raised a gentleman and never spoke with my mouth full. Instead, I let my actions do the talking; namely, continuing to eat as quickly as I was able while maintaining basic table manners. Busy as I was, I spared the nurse only a single glance and shook my head slowly. [Alice Meid - Level 1 Healer] I maintained eye contact only briefly, because truth be told, five seconds is all I need. No, that came out wrong, let me rephrase that. It only took a few seconds to assess Alice, because she fit an archetype I was already familiar with from before: namely, the tired and overworked junior doctor. Thick bags were evident under her eyes, somewhat concealed by the application of makeup. She was leaning against the trolley that brought my food, looking halfway ready to fall asleep right then and there. Despite that, she was otherwise of good stature, filling in her overalls nicely. Alice wasn¡¯t distressingly gaunt, nor did her eyes, teeth or arms show any signs of substance abuse, so overall, she was in far better shape than most doctors I could recall. She also wasn¡¯t a telepath, because one of those would have slapped me already, given my thoughts at the time. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. ¡°I¡¯m feeling fine,¡± I offered, once my second bowl was well and truly empty. ¡°Hungrier than I can remember being, but maybe that¡¯s normal, given how long I was asleep?¡± ¡°Oh, yes,¡± Alice bobbed her head, reminding me of the golden retriever my secretary sometimes brought to work. ¡°You were asleep for nearly three days, so please, eat as much as you can!¡± I relaxed at her words, helping myself to a third bowl immediately. Three days, whilst not ideal, was not long enough for refeeding syndrome to present itself, so there was no need to limit my calorie intake. Alice watched me eat for a while longer, before either her duties or her attention span called her elsewhere. All told, I managed to eat a whole five bowls before my stomach began to protest, which I figured would tide me over for the rest of the day. I often skipped dinner during busy periods, so this was nothing new, on this I was and remain a firm adherent to age old wisdom: breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dine like a pauper. Then, because my healthcare was free and therefore I didn¡¯t owe the staff anything, I got out of bed, still wearing my complimentary hospital gown, and left. Thankfully, the local clinic was small, just a few rooms and a reception; the sort of thing more associated with primary care than the bustling hospitals of London. It only took a few minutes of wandering down the one long hallway, searching for an unlocked door, and then I was outside for the first time in my life. ¡°Damn,¡± I couldn¡¯t help whisper, because I¡¯d picked the perfect time to head out for my first look at Frontier. The sun was setting over the horizon, painting the world a searing orange. West, I naturally thought, before correcting myself: for all I knew, the heavens were structured very differently in this new life, not that I had enough information to decide either way. My immediate surroundings were nostalgically rustic, that blend of small town and countryside that reminded me of my childhood, away from the big skyscrapers and neon lights that dominated later in life. Sure, the foliage was unfamiliar, and men with tall sticks were refilling what looked like methane lamps in preparation for nightfall, but set that aside and I could¡¯ve been in any suburban village in South England. Mothers, leading young children home before dark. Tired looking office workers stumbling home after a long day and longer commute. Old retired folks, sitting on their front porch with beer in hand and tobacco on their lips. I felt an itch, just then, and made a note to find some for myself. Minimum age limits weren¡¯t a thing, here in Frontier, though there was still one big barrier to acquisition: money. Children have all their essential needs met for free; the downside of this is that the concept of an allowance was nonexistent, and luxury goods were placed out of reach. Accordingly, my dreams of a pack a day would have to wait another week; in the meantime, I had a more immediate concern. Namely, getting back to the orphanage for a good night¡¯s sleep. Chapter 5: Home Sweet Home Chapter 5: Home Sweet Home Just kidding. While I enjoy a good nap as much as anyone, I¡¯m not quite lazy enough to immediately head to bed, right after waking up from several days spent unconscious. That said, I did need to get back to the orphanage: all of my belongings were there, after all. Granted, I didn¡¯t have much to my name at the time: a few sets of clothes, mostly second hand, and the wooden practice sword I¡¯d been practising with when I got knocked flat on my back, prompting a trip to the healers and the return of my memories from a past life. I¡¯d have to repay Damien for that, I promised myself then. An expensive gift for my memories, and a kick to the family jewels for the method of acquisition, which left much to be desired. Lacking anything urgent to do, I permitted myself the indulgence of revenge fantasies, as I let my memories lead me back upon a well trod path. After all, meagre though my possessions were, they were mine, and nobody else would have them. To my good fortune, my hometown of Allensward wasn¡¯t too big; its founder and namesake was not a big investor in land, despite his renowned magical prowess. Accordingly, it took a mere ten minutes and change to get home. The front doors were open, in keeping with national policy, they¡¯d stay that way until night fell. Letting myself in, I nodded to the obvious guard manning the front desk, pulling double duty as the receptionist on account of his precise handwriting. ¡°Will Swindell, returning home from medical observation.¡± The guard grunted, picking up his quill and adding a line to the orphanage logbook. Just a brief scrawl, detailing my identity and time of arrival, of the kind that nobody ever read, until it suddenly became an item of great interest during legal proceedings. That was all the acknowledgement I got as I headed inside; a handful of staff took care of over two dozen children at any given time, so the amount of interaction was minimal by necessity. As a consequence, the Will of before remembered his upbringing as cold and distant, enough to leave lasting psychological scars that undoubtedly stunted his development. As a reincarnate, though, it was perfect for me; the fewer people who could claim closeness to me, the less chance someone discovered my radical change in personality, and started screaming about possession or demonic infiltration. Both had happened in Frontier within living memory, and I had no desire to deal with the Inquisition at that point in time, or preferably ever, for that matter. The youngest children, preteen by English reckoning were already gone, ushered into their rooms at sunset for some much needed rest. It was a sobering realisation that this society, so far behind the development curve in many ways, was the one that placed a proper emphasis on getting enough sleep. Half the day, in fact, in line with modern medical guidance that every developed nation ignored in favour of early morning lessons or evening socials. A few younger teens pottered about, washing dishes and wiping down surfaces, as they finished their chores for the day. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. It wasn¡¯t strictly necessary, I knew; the matron was a Housekeeper with enough magic to do everyone¡¯s chores with mana to spare. The work kept the troublemakers occupied, however, and taught the rest discipline and obedience, so the chore rota persisted nonetheless. Thankfully, those sixteen and above were exempt, as they were expected to spend their final two years at the orphanage preparing for their future Class, as best they could. Ignoring the rabble, I headed up two flights of stairs, until I reached my room. It was tiny, barely fitting a single bed and a wooden chest filled with everything I owned in this life. Being on the top floor, the sloped roof came down at an angle to cut off a third of the standing space, a source of repeated misfortune for Will¡¯s poor head, over the years. Nonetheless, it was all worth it, because let me repeat, this was my room: most children in the orphanage shared rooms, with anywhere from two to six residents per room. Will had prioritised great privacy over comfort, in claiming this room, one of the few areas where our personalities perfectly aligned. After opening the padlock, a four digit piece of metal that wouldn¡¯t have looked out of place on an Armani suitcase, I finally got to check my ¡®inventory¡¯. Five sets of clothes made of hemp: dull, grey, and functional. A set of furred boots for when winter started to bite. A wooden sword with more splinters than edge. Everything was where it was supposed to be; everything, except what was most important to me. It was the work of seconds to lock my chest back up, heading outside and down one floor to the locked door that I¡¯d never entered during my time at the orphanage. The Matron took a laid back approach to governance, delegating all the day-to-day concerns to a team of half a dozen carers. I could recall only a handful of times when she had to step in herself, to resolve in seconds what her subordinates couldn¡¯t in hours. Truly, she was the model of an effective CEO. The door opened before I could even think to knock, and I stepped inside, to an office that was remarkably familiar to me.. Bookshelves, filled to bursting with tomes and binders. Loose sheafs of paper everywhere I looked, some of them even finding their way beneath the floorboards. The refreshing smell of coffee, wet ink and just a hint of detergent. All it would take was replacing the candles with overhead lighting, and it could¡¯ve been a mirror of my own home office in Chelsea. ¡°Is something the matter, William?¡± Right, Will was shorthand; that made sense, though it struck me as odd even at the time, that the System preferred the short version of my name. Shaking my head lightly, I turned away from my examination of her office, and turned to address the Matron. [Matron Bayard - ???] ¡°So, how do I get paid?¡± Chapter 6: Money, Money, Money Chapter 6: Money, Money, Money It probably wasn¡¯t the best way to ask about money. Certainly not the most polite, and brazen enough that any member of high society (past or present) would regard it as gauche. But I didn¡¯t much care for niceties in the conduct of business, just results, and crucially, I knew the Matron was of the same opinion. The few times Will could remember seeing her in person, he¡¯d recalled her as stern, strict, and possibly even a bit scary for the troublesome preteen, but she never lost her temper, acted out unfairly, or danced around an issue. ¡°Your Class day is in a week, as is the end of your stay here,¡± she pointed out. ¡°Most in your position choose to deal with all formalities on that final day, once they have a better idea on the path their life will take.¡± ¡°Most children don¡¯t face a life threatening situation a week beforehand, causing them to reevaluate their own mortality.¡± It was a safe rebut, one that even had the benefit of being true. Whilst the orphanage had sheltered its charges the best it could, I knew firsthand how a traumatic injury could bring about personality changes, sometimes drastic. Head injuries in particular fell within these lines, to the point where I was extremely lucky to have come out of my own with more memories, not less. ¡°Perhaps,¡± the Matron acknowledged, reaching into a desk drawer to procure a ballpoint pen: yet another unexpected spark of modernity. ¡°I am not opposed, barring two conditions added to the normal procedure. Firstly, you will sign a waiver acknowledging your sole responsibility for any monies withdrawn today. As such my house will not be liable to any loss or misadventure, as would ordinarily be the case for children.¡± ¡°Naturally,¡± I nodded along, for nobody sane would omit such a glaring loophole, lest I ¡®lose¡¯ my inheritance in short order. ¡°Secondly, one gild will remain in your account until your Class day, a deposit to maintain the contractual arrangement that has seen you reside here these past seventeen years and eleven months. You may collect it at the same time as your belongings, when you vacate your room.¡± This, too, was a familiar concept; a legal contract was stronger when proper consideration was added. The sum was nominal, the smallest whole unit of Frontier¡¯s currency, but it was the symbolic exchange of currency that sealed the deal. A ritual, albeit one without any magic involved, but an important one nonetheless. That said, the Matron¡¯s words did bring up more questions, uninvolved with my stay at the orphanage. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. The fact that Frontier, an entirely different world, ran off a modern twelve month calendar bore investigation; back on Earth, even different nations reconciled their clocks according to different celestial bodies. The Gregorian calendar was the most common standard, but by no means the only one. So why such a degree of similarity, when the coinage took on a different name entirely, but still adhered to decimalisation? The more I learned of this new (hitherto unnamed) world, the more obvious the signs of intelligent design presented themselves: a question for later, perhaps, once I accrued far greater resources alongside the time for leisure. ¡°I understand, thank you for making an exception,¡± I replied, adding a polite bow of the head this time, once I recalled where I was and noticed the Matron staring. ¡°One week is hardly irregular,¡± she replied, handing me the pen and the waiver. I gave the document a glance over, picking the kind of legalese that instinctively made my eyes start to glaze. I powered through, willing to bear a bit of discomfort to ensure the sanctity of my first big payday in this life, and eventually, satisfied, affixed my signature to the line at the bottom. ¡°Good calligraphy,¡± the Matron remarked as she collected her belongings. ¡°Perhaps there¡¯s a Scribe class waiting for you.¡± ¡°I could do well with that,¡± I replied neutrally, pretending I knew anything about it beyond the involvement of copious amounts of ink. The pen and paper went into another drawer, further down her desk, before the Matron proceeded to do something altogether shocking. A single tap of what I¡¯d thought to be her wedding ring, and an entire burlap sack landed on the desk, jingling merrily. Now that, let me tell you, was the surprise of my life. Oh, I¡¯d known that magic existed, the System and my own reincarnation proved that handily, but, as well as Amelia¡¯s healing. But that knowledge had stayed in the abstract, helped along by my concussion. This, on the other hand, was the first bit of magic I was in the right mind to witness, and holy hell, did I want it for myself. Sadly, I doubted I could afford a storage ring with my means at the time, so I was forced to content myself with the bag of coins that were my parents¡¯ last will and testament. ¡°Fifty three gild, if it pleases you.¡± I had no idea if that was the correct amount, or even what a gild was worth: again, children didn¡¯t tend to handle money in Frontier. As such, I regrettably couldn¡¯t try my usual trick of haggling, and instead had to take the money for granted with a smile and a wave. I was already halfway out the door to the Matron¡¯s office, when she spoke again. ¡°One word of advice, William. Be careful who you make Contact with, for there are many in the world of adults waiting to take advantage of an inexperienced youth.¡± I shuddered as I turned around, sure that I was about to receive The Talk for the second time, just as mortifying as the first time round. ¡°Indeed, there are many spells of varying degrees of danger, all of which require Contact via the System to initiate. Find Contact is the most innocuous of the bunch, merely pointing the caster in the target¡¯s general direction, but there are far worse, some of which can suborn a man entirely.¡± Oh. Not the talk then, but something altogether worse. Chapter 7: Stranger Danger Chapter 7: Stranger Danger Truthfully, I nearly deleted Amelia¡¯s contact right then and there. It would¡¯ve been easy, just a cross next to her name in my status sheet, one that pulsed as my mind focused on it, telling me with certainty that it would be gone should that focus be maintained for fifteen seconds. I didn¡¯t, though; because the sudden removal would make me look incredibly suspicious if she truly wished me ill. Instead, I did what far too many rom com protagonists never thought of, and communicated like an ordinary human being. ¡°None of the other children ever added me, nor I them. The nice healer did though, after fixing the knock on my head. Is that a problem?¡± ¡°Amelia?¡± the Matron asked by way of recognition. ¡°No, that¡¯s not a problem. She¡¯s worked in this town for over ten years; at most, you might receive a job offer if your Class turns out to be helpful at her clinic. She¡¯s hired a number of apprentices this way, over the years, turning patients into doctors.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a relief,¡± I exhaled, dismissing my contacts list. Truly, I would¡¯ve been sad to lose my number one source of free healthcare. Even if I rarely ever interacted with it, the NHS was still a source of national pride. ¡°Thank you for your time, and your advice,¡± I added this time, as I left her office, the door closing behind me of its own accord. I made a beeline to my room, making sure to bolt the door in place. Only then did I open the conspicuous brown sack and count the coins properly. They were funny little things, almost twice as thick as a one pound coin, perhaps due to their metallurgists lacking in skill. Heavy, too; were I to swing the closed sack of fifty three at a man, I could be sure to maim, if not kill with the right angle. I withdrew five gild for my pocket, and placed the rest in my chest, locking it up nice and tight. The temptation to head outside for some shopping was nearly overwhelming, but logic forced me to reconsider. Being a small town, the majority of ordinary shops would likely already be closed. Such was the case in England, and lights were far more abundant there. It wouldn¡¯t be particularly safe either, depending where I went, and I¡¯d run the risk of getting locked out for the night if I wasn¡¯t careful about returning in time. In the end, I had to grit my teeth, climb into bed, and try to force myself to sleep despite not feeling very tired, lest I my circadian rhythm fall out of sync with polite society. As always, in such circumstances sleep was a long time in coming. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. ¡ª I¡¯d known, as I at last sank into slumber, how people made do in a world without alarm clocks. But knowing intellectually and experiencing first hand are two very different things, as I found out bright and early at the crack of dawn, when the local rooster decided to make himself known. I¡¯d never lived close to a farm before, so the sheer volume came as quite a shock. Really, it sounded more like a squealing jet engine than anything a living animal could produce. From my place on the floor, I considered that I¡¯d been startled off of my bed by a big cock, before promptly deciding never to mention this moment to anyone. I considered taking a lie in, having found the lack of responsibilities, such as board meetings or client showcases or court hearings, quite pleasing, but my stomach ultimately made the choice for me. Nobody went around to rouse all the children, this was an orphanage, not juvenile detention. But likewise, nobody saved a plate for the missing, either; those who arrived too late went hungry. My choice was vindicated as I wandered down the stairs, the familiar smell of pancakes doing much to improve my mood. Even better, as I was one of the oldest and therefore biggest, I was able to easily claim a seat, and received one and a half times the standard portion, too. If there¡¯d been maple syrup on hand, my meal would¡¯ve been perfect; as is, the honey provided as accompaniment was a bit too thick for my tastes, and stuck to the gullet longer than I¡¯d have liked. I cleaned my plate all the same, however; in fact I¡¯d rate the pancakes an eight out of ten, not as good as a dedicated diner service, but far better than McDonald¡¯s. With breakfast taken care of, I completely neglected my dental hygiene and rushed out the door, barely sparing anyone a glance. The day started at dawn for shops here, and I needed to know how much my money was worth. As it stood, I had a few choices for a first visit; there was a baker nearby that sold to individuals, but only after their morning run for businesses concluded, so this would involve some waiting. The clothier was another option, a chance to expand my wardrobe beyond the hand me downs, and to slip into something well made and even comfortable. This one was tempting, but I forced it down with an effort of will. I had a list, you see, of things I needed this week, and at the top of that list was a weapon. A wooden sword was good enough for practice, thankfully, or my skull would be in considerably worse shape by now, but I needed something that could actually protect me. This had never been an issue before, when I was a destitute orphan, but now I had real money, so sooner or later someone would be overcome with greed and strike at me, despite the protections afforded to children. I¡¯d seen it happen once or twice, both ending with the perpetrator¡¯s hanging, but that never seemed to deter more scum of the earth from giving it the old college try. Nodding to myself, I set a course for the smithy with five gild in tow. Chapter 8: Jack of Knives Chapter 8: Jack of Knives Weapons were pretty heavily regulated in England, at least, those acquired from official sources. That meant any firearms and most professionally crafted tools for melee, made mostly on demand for ceremonial reasons or movie sets. A licence was required, at minimum, sometimes even a background check complete with national ID. Most people didn¡¯t bother with any of this, unless they needed to order in bulk, show their pieces conspicuously, or go hunting among their fellows. It was pointless, slow, and expensive, and could draw the wrong kinds of attention if used in the commission of crime, which was of course the entire point of the scheme. Stepping into the small, family owned smithy was thus a breath of fresh air, an entire world away from the onerous regulations that had been the bane of my workday in London, across three industries and four continents. Monsters existed in abundance, after all, and while Frontier didn¡¯t typically house many, there were always some on the periphery of human society. Scavengers and opportunistic ambushers, wary of grown men but willing to try their luck on the small, sick and frail. Carrying a weapon for self defence was the norm, not the exception, something I planned to take full advantage of. There was nobody in the ground floor of the two storey house, the door left unlocked and only a handful of townsfolk out in the nearby streets. I was tempted to just grab something and run, really, but caution tempered my hand. Whilst the larger weapons, such as the polearms, battleaxes and greatswords in display were likely too heavy for such a gambit, the knives could easily fit in my belt, without hindering my movements in the least. Even so, I demurred; it would be an inauspicious start of my career, if I were to be caught here; I didn¡¯t know if reaching my birthday - Class day, I mentally corrected - in prison would influence what I got, but it seemed a likely enough possibility that I didn¡¯t want to risk it. For all that I used to run an employment programme aimed at rehabilitating released prisoners, preaching the value of turning lives around while pocketing the hefty investment from the Ministry of Justice for my own use, being branded with a literal Convict class would likely be a death knell to my ambitions. Instead, I waited patiently at the threshold for the man of the house; he was definitely in, or at least, someone was beating his anvil upstairs with great enthusiasm. No, that wasn¡¯t a euphemism; most small businesses like this are both production and sales under a single roof. I reached inside my pocket, and froze, irritated with myself. I¡¯d been looking for my phone, and of course found nothing, not even the time of day. Sadly, the System that existed here didn¡¯t come with any built-in functionality for telling time, nor any games or books to amuse my modern attention span. Instead, as the minutes ground on, I was forced to indulge in the lowest of London amusements: people watching. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. This early in the morning, it was slim pickings: a handful of guards chattering away as they hefted heavy halberds, en route to their shift on the town wall. A clergyman trailed by a gaggle of young novitiates, whose enthusiasm for the cloth didn¡¯t quite extend to forming a neat and orderly line: the Brit in me was appalled, truly. The Matron, out for her morning walk, followed by a rather rotund man who vacillated in her wake; the rumour around the orphanage claimed he was smitten with her, but personally, I thought he had the look of someone who owed her a great deal of money. I couldn¡¯t say exactly what tipped me off, save for a general look of gormless nerves and his generally hunched posture, the kind I often saw when a subordinate came to my desk, having made an utter mess of his assignment. Thankfully, the sound of steps pulled me away from that pitiful sight, and brought me back on schedule for the day. The blacksmith had the appearance of, well, a smith: a brown leather apron, most of his body covered in to ward off the heat, and a hammer in hand, still glowing with embers of red from the forge. He looked me over, instantly dismissing me as a threat, and began to fuss over his hammer, whispering to it in a language I couldn¡¯t understand. With every syllable spoken, the heat around the hammer¡¯s head dissipated a little bit more; I watched intently, eager to witness every scrap of magic, but sadly got nothing more from the whole process than a show. [Blacksmith] As far as the man himself, I was rather surprised at the relative dearth of information: while the System had hardly been verbose so far, this was the least I¡¯d ever gotten when inspecting someone. ¡°Don¡¯t mind it,¡± he advised me. ¡°I¡¯ve got an item on me that hides my status. I could even get rid of Blacksmith if I wanted, but well, that much is obvious when you look at me, so no point hiding what I am. Besides, showing up as absolutely nothing looks suspicious as hell, so that¡¯s a quick way to end up sitting in a dark room with half a dozen guards pointing their swords at your neck.¡± I got the distinct feeling he was speaking from personal experience here, and filed that little tidbit away for the future. Even if I went away without spending a penny, this excursion had already proved productive: every conversation with a local, who grew up living and breathing the System, taught me just a little bit more. For the first time in a long time, I began to yearn for my Class day; it was nothing to celebrate as an old man, more a curse that reminded me of my impending mortality, but now? I was in the prime of my life again, and intended to enjoy it. ¡°So, my name aside, what are you looking for at my shop?¡± Chapter 9: Fair Trade Chapter 9: Fair Trade ¡°Well, first of all, I was looking for a bit of information on money,¡± I admitted, pulling out my five gild for his perusal. Truth be told, I could have hidden this bit and tried to learn by osmosis, but generally speaking, bluffing only tended to work with a decent understanding of the cards in hand. Also, the Blacksmith could likely see my status, and I was sure he¡¯d seen many children come and go in his time, looking for their first blade. He could still rip me off, but so could anyone else I asked, and it was better to learn the value of my money sooner rather than later. Besides, there weren¡¯t any price tags in the shop: trust me, I checked. ¡°First time, lad?¡± The smith grunted, settling into a seat behind the shop counter, his eyes raised to look slightly above my head, presumably at my own name and level. ¡°First time,¡± I agreed, not wanting to give too much away. ¡°My Class day is six days from now, but I thought I¡¯d get a bit of a head start on shopping.¡± ¡°Smart,¡± at this, his lips twitched just a little. ¡°Too many children only bother thinking about practicalities afterwards, only to discover that commissions take time, and shops can¡¯t just magick up their shopping list overnight.¡± Foolish, but not surprising, I thought at that tidbit: teenagers were not generally known for their forward planning, and that held true, even if they matured a bit sooner in this world. ¡°Now, that coin you¡¯re holding,¡± the smith changed topics abruptly. ¡°That¡¯s one gilt, the basic unit of currency in Frontier, against which all others are measured. Any shop in the nation that¡¯s registered with the treasury will accept it as good; any shop that doesn¡¯t, you should avoid. There¡¯s a few reasons why a shop might choose not to register, but none of them bode well for a customer willing to take the black. Better stick to official businesses, your coin and life are both safer that way.¡± ¡°Official businesses?¡± I questioned, my eyes flitting to a small bronze plaque on the counter. It declared, with great pomp and circumstance, that Little Richard¡¯s Stickers was ¡®Recognised in the Name of His Majesty the King, Defender of the Realm¡¯, alongside over two dozen more titles, growing steadily smaller on the plaque as its maker ran out of room to write. ¡°Official businesses,¡± the smith grinned, nodding to the plaque. ¡°Means we pay our taxes, and are subject to routine and surprise inspections by the auditors. In return, we¡¯re guaranteed certain protections against theft and loss of goods, or damage to the shopfront by unnatural means. More importantly for you, as a shopper, it means our goods are fit for purpose, haven¡¯t been tampered with, and are unlikely to fail at the wrong time and get you killed.¡± This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind,¡± I replied, completely honestly. Truly, I was both surprised and reassured to hear of what seemed like the beginnings of a state backed regulator, paired with an underwritten insurance policy. While there was plenty to say about the benefits of unrestrained capitalism in the interest of accruing wealth, as a consumer, I was also happy to hear that my odds of dying from food poisoning or similar would be reduced greatly. I still intended to take advantage of what black markets existed, of course, just not for my own consumption. Don¡¯t get high on your own supply, as the old adage goes. ¡°Moving back to your original question, one gild can get you a good meal in most inns or public houses. Three gilt will include that plus a room to stay for the night. For my goods, specifically?¡± The smith pointed towards the rack of knives on the back, the shortest of them comparable to a Swiss Army Knife back home, the longest a machete the size of my forearm. ¡°Those are made with regular iron for the body, and cost between ten gilt for the smallest to forty gilt for the largest. The cutting edge has a thin line of steel, but not to the point where they can impart too much force. Those won¡¯t do you any good against a soldier in armour, but they¡¯re enough to deal with the local wildlife, and the occasional low level monster that sneaks past the walls.¡± Turning away from the knives, then turned to face the heavier armaments, that I had earlier noted as poor targets for larceny. ¡°Axes, halberds, maces, polearms, even lances for those who can afford a horse and barding. Much larger, and labour intensive to make, not to mention that I need to import the right kind of wood. All of that adds up, so you won¡¯t get any of these for less than fifty gilt, and most run closer to a hundred. Of course, these are just what I have ready made, for someone willing to buy a weapon off the shelf and isn¡¯t too particular about the design. Now, if you want to commission something custom made? That takes anywhere from two weeks to two months, depending on the complexity. You¡¯ll need to either supply the materials, or pay me the going rate plus a markup, so that I can pay my broker to get me what I need. Then, add on the costs of actually making the thing? We¡¯re talking three to five hundred gilt for something simple but stylised, like a sword with the family crest making up the guard; or upwards of a thousand for a lance featuring a golden filligree of a hippogryph, covering most of the weapon.¡± ¡°A bit out of my price range, that,¡± I joked, trying and failing to imagine what such a gaudy weapon could be used for. Eventually, I decided that it told me nothing useful, besides the fact that conspicuous consumption was alive and well in Frontier. ¡°Mine too,¡± the smith laughed. ¡°Anyway, that¡¯s the top end of what I¡¯m willing to make. There¡¯s enchanted items, of course, but those require Class abilities that I¡¯m nowhere near acquiring, otherwise I wouldn¡¯t be working in a shop in a small town like this. Armour can cost a bit more, but I¡¯ve nothing to do with that, weapons keep me busy enough already, so you can visit the shop down the road if you need that kind of protection.¡± His eyes refocused on me, winding down from his spiel on the craft, as if remembering that he was a merchant and still needed to make a sale. ¡°So, now that I¡¯ve given you the nuts and bolts of the trade, what are you in the market for?¡± Chapter 10: To The Edge Chapter 10: To The Edge In the end, it wasn¡¯t much of a question, which weapon to buy. I immediately ruled out all the fancy specimens on display, never mind the idea of a custom model, and turned towards Britain¡¯s old favourite: the knife. Now, say what you like about stereotypes, but this particular one has its roots in the truth. Firearms were heavily regulated in England, and whilst this wouldn¡¯t usually be enough to deter illegal activity, the use of them in the commission of crime came with a far harsher response. Instead of the regular police officers with their tasers, gun crime was met by specialist armed police, and those captured alive faced far harsher sentences. Accordingly, the preferred tool for crime was the humble knife, and it was likewise the only weapon on display with which I had any familiarity. Oh, I was sure a spear would be objectively better in most combat situations, given its reach and penetrative force, but I had no fifty-odd gilt to my name, and no connections to lean on. Private tuition in the martial arts was out of the question, and I didn¡¯t fancy the idea of learning on the job, so a knife was the only real option, even before considering the matter of price. Examining the stock one at a time, I tested each knife in turn, assessing ease of grip on the hilt, the distribution of weight, and how they felt in both a forward and reverse grip. That alone eliminated over half the stock, namely anything with a blade over six inches long: all of them were heavier than equivalent blades back home, too heavy for me to use properly. It didn¡¯t slow me down much, maybe half a second with each switch, but half a second could be a matter of life and death, so out of the running they went. From there, I went in reverse order, testing the longest knife first, on the assumption that the longest blade I could reasonably handle would be the correct choice. Two rapid thrusts, into a horizontal swipe, nothing advanced, but you didn¡¯t need to be an expert with a knife to make someone bleed. The six incher went back on the rack, its bulbous wooden hilt too heavy and slow on the return. The five incher nearly slid out of my grasp on the first thrust, proving its glossy metal hilt pretty but ineffective. I struck gold on the third test, a four and a half inch blade with one edge smooth and the other serrated: good for both soft targets and harder fabrics. Light enough to dance in my hand, and heavy enough to do some damage, this was the one. ¡°How much?¡± Was the only question worth asking, as I placed my chosen weapon on the counter. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°You¡¯ve fought with knives before,¡± the smith remarked, with not a hint of accusation in his tone, only calm certainty. ¡°Only wooden weapons, in this lifetime,¡± I replied, sticking to a technical truth, which was the best kind of truth in business negotiations, as far as I was concerned. ¡°I did try to learn to use a sword at first, like every young boy who dreams of becoming a wandering hero, slaying monsters and demons. Alas, I fear I don¡¯t have much talent for it; I took a nasty blow to the head just recently while practising, enough to send me to the healers. With my Class day fast approaching, I had to make the decision to go with what I was good at, rather than what I¡¯d been hoping for.¡± I had no idea at the time whether lie detecting magic existed in this world, but truthfully (pun intended) that didn¡¯t affect my behaviour at all. The best lies were always woven throughout with truth, to a degree that made distinguishing between them all but impossible: this philosophy had allowed me to play the part of a concerned friend while milking rich pensions down to their last pound, so believe me when I say I¡¯m good at spinning lies. Everything I was giving the smith, except perhaps my exact motivations, were based on verifiable facts, such that even if he went to the matron or even Amelia, he wouldn¡¯t hear anything to cast doubt on my tale. ¡°That¡¯s very mature of you,¡± he replied, a hint of approval now apparent in his otherwise bland tone. ¡°Keep that level head of yours, and you might last a bit longer than my usual clients. That¡¯ll be twenty gilt please.¡± ¡°Here¡¯s five right now,¡± I replied immediately, placing all I had in my pocket on the counter to seal the deal. ¡°I¡¯ll be right back, just need to grab the other fifteen from back home.¡± ¡°No need to rush,¡± the smith agreed patiently, taking both payment and knife and placing them in a drawer, out of sight and mind. ¡°I¡¯ll hold this one for three days, get me the rest before then and it¡¯s yours.¡± I was already halfway out the door before he finished his sentence: time was wasting, and now that I actually knew how much I had on hand? There was simply too much to do. ¡ª Amelia Dawn frowned as she scrubbed, the rough soap stinging her hands as it cleared away the thick rivulets of blood and gore coating them both. While most of her healing was done by magic, some treatments still required a more personal touch; it couldn¡¯t be avoided, really, not that she minded it much. Nobody who feared blood would ever have been assigned the Healer class, the System was far too wise to make such a rookie mistake. After a solid minute of scrubbing, her hands were clean again, allowing Amelia to make her way from the sink, down to the small iron plaque she kept at the back of her office, nestled innocuously amidst a throng of paintings. ¡°Monitor.¡± At a word, a screen appeared, showing the names, levels and locations of all of her Contacts. Most of what she saw bore little notice, except for one intriguing update far to the north. ¡°Oh? Another Assassin? That will be useful, it¡¯s not long now, until the next changelings start to appear.¡± Chapter 11: Donde Esta La Biblioteca Chapter 11: Donde Esta La Biblioteca After a quick round trip to the orphanage and back, I was twenty gilt poorer, and the proud owner of my very own knife. I say quick, but by the time all was said and done, and I returned home for the second time, it was already nearly noon. Truly, I never appreciated the convenience of online shopping, until it was cruelly taken away from me. That¡¯s not to downplay my satisfaction with the day, however; with thirty-three gilt in my pocket and a way to protect it in a pinch, much of the invisible weight upon me had faded away. True, it was hardly a princely inheritance, so much as a short windfall to tide over the period between leaving the orphanage and starting a new career, but that was still more than many of Frontier¡¯s orphans got. I wasn¡¯t spending it right away, however, not when the orphanage still provided me with three meals a day. Being one of the first to arrive in the dining hall, I was able to grab my serving of fish stew without a queue, and sit myself down at the bench in the corner, to watch everyone else trickle in. The stew was good, a thick white, almost creamy surface, thickened with oatmeal with mixings of powdered fish, lentils, and a hint of pepper and spice. Sipping slowly, mindful of the heat, I kept a trained eye on the comings and goings in the hall. The line was gettin rather long, but there was plenty for everyone, and eventually everyone got their food, and half the benches in the hall were filled. The other half were out performing some off-site activity, which was a fancy way of saying child labour. It wasn¡¯t compulsory, but for those without an inheritance, it was a good way to earn a bit of a buffer, in case they couldn¡¯t walk from the orphanage right into a job, if their class wasn¡¯t good enough to make them a hot commodity. Will never bothered, secure in the knowledge he had a trust set aside. I would have taken more initiative, had I possessed my memories at the time, but there was no point bemoaning the past. Some of the quicker eaters were already cleaning up, eager to head outside and play in the pleasant summer heat. It was a bit much for me, personally, being used to the mild English summers, so I wasn¡¯t in any hurry as I sauntered out of the hall, leaving my tray on the table to be the bane of service workers everywhere. If word got to the head of house, I¡¯d receive a dressing down, perhaps lose a meal, but that hardly mattered at this stage of things. I had a target, you say, and I didn¡¯t mean the straw dummies people practised their weapons on. No, what I meant was the library. Perhaps this came as a surprise to you, dear reader. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Certainly, I was immensely shocked to spot it in passing, as I headed for the smithy; Will had walked past many times before, but simply never taken note of the place, not being the kind to seek out any reading beyond his mandatory education. It was a sobering realisation, that my understanding of my new world was limited to the unreliable whims and memories of a teenage boy, but it was better to find out with something innocuous, rather than anything truly disastrous. Now, what was I talking about? Oh, yes, the library. Somehow, public libraries existed as an institution in Frontier, sharing some similarities with those of England. The first, major difference, was that it wasn¡¯t free, which, in hindsight might partially explain Will¡¯s aversion to the place. In any event, as the sign by the door explained very clearly, they charged a fee of three thrones a day, for which you were issued a day pass, and permitted to read any of the contents within. Additional charges were in place for taking books out; evidently, the librarians here didn¡¯t believe in the honour system to keep their stock, instead insisting on deposits to cover the book¡¯s value. This would be returned, should the book itself return in good condition, minus a lending fee, and helped keep people honest. Frankly, this place was a godsend for me, being at the time cash rich, but poor in knowledge. I didn¡¯t hesitate to march over to the reception and all but slam eighteen gilt on the table, making my intent crystal clear. The receptionist scooped up the coins, taking one and holding it up against some crystalline glass, before nodding and bagging the lot. For this expenditure, over half of my remaining funds, I received a paper pass, good for the next six days. Barely able to restrain my smile, I wandered through the back doors, passing from reception to the library proper. I am not a man prone to wallowing in the past. The future is in my sights, and the present exists primarily as a means to achieve it. But sometimes, nostalgia is simply inescapable. The smell hit me first, of old wood, ink, and that inexplicable hint of smoke and vanilla. This was something near and dear to me, having grown up in my first life before the rise of the digital behemoths that reshaped publishing with the eBook. For me, books were physical objects, first and foremost; blocky repositories of knowledge that I couldn¡¯t help but love. Knowledge was power, after all, and power could make a man very wealthy indeed. Wandering between the shelves at random, I noted immediately the lack of categorisation; old Melvil Dewey never got the chance to work his magic here. Books were stacked every which way, without any indication of what they contained; which, to be fair, was how I liked it. With the eagerness of a young book, exploring a used book shop for the first time, I headed to the nearest shelf, scanned the titles until one caught my eye, and began to read. Chapter 12: Link Start Chapter 12: Link Start I practically lived in the library for the next six days, exiting for lunch at the eatery right opposite, draining a further six gilt in the process, and to head home in time for dinner and sleep. I read anything and everything, from ancient myths to old maps to civil jurisprudence, anything that caught the eye and had the potential to make a difference in my future. As I did, I was forced to grudgingly raise my evaluation of the Frontier regime: for a feudal monarchy on the fringes of human territory, they ran a surprisingly sophisticated programme of information control. See, on the practical side of things, the available books were remarkably factual in their content. If I wanted to learn the optimal methods of rotating crops to prevent soil degradation, there was a manual for that. Books on swordplay, archery and horsemanship were plentiful, as well the requisite fantasy novels and myths, lionising the heroes of the past and present, all the better to inspire young readers to join their ranks in the future. Even magic was well represented, albeit solely in the theoretical, and with copious cautionary tales advising against self-study. This, I could only deem prudent, as having seen how humans behaved across two lifetimes, I knew that giving someone the power to throw fireballs unsupervised would only end in disaster. But where such practical subjects were well represented, the more academic disciplines were notable in their absence of rigour. I couldn¡¯t find a single tome covering finance or economics, the politics and history sections were a laughable display of propaganda, so blatant that they would make the worst regimes back on Earth blush, and the newest religious tract available was over a hundred years old, and more dust than paper. As for governance, medicine, philosophy, or law? All absent, though the latter at least was taught in a simplified form as part of compulsory education, amounting pretty much to ¡®obey the authorities¡¯, couched in a hundred metaphors. To be fair, there were many reasons why this unequal selection could be the case. Perhaps the missing areas were simply not well developed enough to be understood by the layman, and held only in the libraries of specialised trade guilds. Alternatively, we were so far from the cradle of civilisation that it wasn¡¯t worth the price or effort to send them here, and any truly promising students travelled to learn at schools and universities in cities far away. Both examples had been commonplace in England, going back before the days of Gutenberg and his printing press. But the more I thought it over, the more certain I was that this situation had been deliberately engineered. A map of the town had shown no less than three orphanages operating in close vicinity. I couldn¡¯t be sure, but I highly doubted this was the norm, or a standard distribution across all human territories. Moreover, nearly half of the residents in my orphanage had a distinctly foreign accent. Never to the point where comprehension was difficult, but enough to tell that they were from far away. They rarely talked about it, which was understandable; orphans rarely had happy backstories to share, but it was still pretty blatant, which made me think. So, say you put all the orphans together, or in clumps across the border territories. They grew up listening to the tales of local heroes; there were enough of them that at least one came from every notable town. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Coupled with this, the tales of loss and destruction, because out here, everyone had lost people to monster attacks and raids, or knew someone who had. Their education was geared towards physical endurance, and even those who showed more initiative and paid their way into the library would only find narratives reinforcing their preexisting niche. Doesn¡¯t this sound like a specialised academy of sorts? Nothing overt, but enough to create a dependable pipeline of loyal subjects, willing to give their labour and lives for the sake of humanity, whilst discouraging any pursuits that might infringe on the privileges of those living further from the border. It all made sense, seen in that light. So, how does this affect me, you might be wondering. After all, I already learned all I needed in a more advanced society, so I could skip the education and head for the nearby capitol to make my fortune, right? Wrong. At the end of the day, the availability of information served as a barometer of society as a whole, and the picture being painted was worrying. If the institutions supporting the status quo had both the power and patience to arrange such an elaborate scheme, then they were unlikely to welcome anyone who bucked the trend. At best, heading inland to make an honest living would be met with derision and ostracisation, and that was if discrimination didn¡¯t take more overt forms. Sure, there would likely be places available for people willing to swallow such indignities for a chance at a better life, but I had no interest in wasting my second life, slaving away in the gig economy. Even a salaried position didn¡¯t appeal to me, knowing the years-long grind it would take to reach anything approximating my old position in life. So no, I wasn¡¯t going to play along, and I¡¯d find a way to make it big, by hook or by crook. In a way, this realisation was small; a decision made, without any of the required actions to follow through. And yet. And yet... Nobody knew for certain how Class assignment worked. All they had was empirical evidence, from those who had gone before. Could intent itself also matter, for this most important of days? Was this the time of Potter and the Sorting Hat? Probably not, but again, nobody would be willing to bet their life on the answer being ¡®no¡¯. I stood, then, stretching muscles sore from a combination of inactivity and poor posture. I should have corrected that, but honestly, as I rubbed my tired eyes, I couldn¡¯t find it in myself to care. It could cause problems again, when I grow old once more, but well. Magic is a far better cure than a chiropractor. I¡¯d run out of steam to read, and the candle had run out, plunging the reading room into darkness. I¡¯d brought everything I owned with me: a single set of clothes, nine gilt, and my knife in its sheath. Everything else had been returned to the orphanage, for the use of the next unfortunate to come through its doors. My Class day was today, but I didn¡¯t know exactly when that was; maternity sheets in Frontier weren¡¯t accurate down to the minute, so all I could do was wait, burn the midnight oil,andand wait some more. Until finally. [System Update commencing, please standby.] Chapter 13: One Brings Shadow, One Brings Light Chapter 13: One Brings Shadow, One Brings Light [System Update commencing, please standby.] Strange, isn¡¯t it, how five simple words can decide a man¡¯s fate? Not quite the crushing finality of ¡®Guilty¡¯, but intimidating all the same. I¡¯d brushed up on how it worked, of course, I wasn¡¯t completely daft, but truth be told there was precious little information on it. Not even a book, more of a pamphlet, the standardised kind popular with tourist traps, restaurants and missionaries. The entire process was simple, beginning at the exact second one reached adulthood, in the eyes of the System. An update would begin, the Child class was removed, and a new class would be assigned, one that in many cases would remain the same for the rest of the recipient¡¯s life. Class evolution was noted as possible, but a rare phenomenon that occurred on a case by case basis, the mechanics of which the author wasn¡¯t even prepared to guess at, there was that little information to work with. Furthermore, the pamphlet advised being standing, preferably in an open space, to avoid any accidents, should the class they receive cause a change in size, which was rare but not unheard of. I followed these instructions to the letter, displaying a strict adherence to the rules that I¡¯d never shown for any of my prescription medicines, because this was important, but even so, I still ended up surprised. [Curious.] The System was talking to me, I realised. Not just listing something already happening, but actually addressing me directly. [Human, yet not. Two lives, encapsulated in a single soul. Irregular. The criteria for Class selection will be adjusted, in light of this information. Please wait calmly.] I obeyed and I waited, because it wasn¡¯t as if I could do anything else. Not when the entire world by myself had faded to monochrome grey, and the door that would have let me back into the main library had vanished from sight. I was trapped, by an entity that evidently, could alter reality at a whim. The pamphlet had never mentioned anything like this, but then again, I doubted many people awoke memories of their past lives, so maybe I was just special that way. [I see what happened now. A transposition across the sea of souls. Unusual, but not unprecedented, not when expanding the pool of candidates. You¡¯re the first human I¡¯ve seen it happen to, though, so you may want to keep quiet about this. At least, until you¡¯re powerful enough not to end up on some mad mage¡¯s dissection table.] I nodded, to show my assent: truthfully, I had exactly zero inclination to ever share that part of my history, even before this warning. While many extolled honesty as a virtue, I knew full well that some truths brought no benefit to anyone, only pain. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! [It would be unfair to assign a single Class, as there are none which can perfectly reconcile two distinct sets of perspectives, desires and capabilities. Instead, I will give you something usually reserved for certain rare classes of monsters: a choice.] I gulped, not even daring to talk, lest I interrupt the System¡¯s train of thought at such a critical juncture. A paranoid precaution, perhaps, but I took it all the same. [Choice the first, the path of the predecessor, the Class that, in another timeline, an uninjured young man would have received. Soldier: Defender of the people, and bulwark of humanity. With a strong sword arm, a stalwart shield, and your comrades at your back, your contributions shall shape the course of history. Onward, to distant shores, upon the path to glory!] Soldier. One of the most common classes, making up well over a third of the Class days here in Allensward. The description was something straight out of a fantasy novel, all but calibrated to the tastes of wide eyed youths, hungry for adventure, which I supposed was the entire point of it. That¡¯s not to say it was all bad: steady employment was pretty much guaranteed, as humanity always needed soldiers for the eternal war. Depending on the deployment, there were genuine opportunities to see the world, pick up new skills, and possibly rise through the ranks to earn a pension, a plot of land, or even, for the very highest achievers, nobility. Of course, all of the above presupposed a level of talent that Will Swindell simply didn¡¯t possess: he was a middling performer at a small orphanage in a small town, and surely only a frog in the well in the grand scheme of things. My knowledge of warfare on Earth was unlikely to help either, given the very different societal and technological paradigms, even before taking into account the System, and magic. Never mind reaching nobility, joining the meat grinder was far more likely to earn him a shallow grave. No, this was not, and would never be, the path for me. [Choice the second, the path of the transmigrator, the Class that you, who has assumed the mantle of Will Swindell, align most closely to. Merchant: A purveyor of goods and evil in equal measure, the lifeblood of nations and marshal of coin. Yours is not a place of glory, envied by the masses and disdained by your lords. Yet through dealings fair and foul, a path opens before you, laid in gold.] Far from the most flattering description, I thought at the time, even if I begrudgingly acknowledged it as fair. Merchant, after all, described a far wider variety of people than Soldier did, running the gamut from the virtuous sage whose profits are reinvested wholly in the people, to the mundane examples of shrewd dealings, and all the way onward to the amoral and greedy such as, well, myself. It was definitely the preferable of the two Classes offered, as I had a wealth of knowledge and experience accumulated over many decades, were I to pursue this path anew. It wasn¡¯t much of a choice at all, really, which was the source of some confusion. That, and the fact that the System had yet to ask me for my input. So, I stayed silent, kept an open ear, and waited for the other shoe to drop. [Choice the third, the path entwined. This Class does not exist. You would be the first and the last.] Chapter 14: Two Toned Echoes, Tumbling Through Time Chapter 14: Two Toned Echoes, Tumbling Through Time [Choice the third, the path entwined. This Class does not exist. You would be the first and the last, to carve this mark upon the firmament. Soldier of Fortune: In war, there is opportunity, and this world has been at war for a very long time. Turn strength to wealth, and wealth to strength, until you stand unequalled in either. A path of the highest risk and reward. Three paths before you, now make your choice.] Now, reading this, you might assume that I¡¯d been a big risk taker in my previous life. But that wasn¡¯t really the case, despite how it all ended. In fact, I daresay I was risk averse, when I took my degree in Economics to a private pension fund, rather than trying to make it in a big city bank, trading house, or hedge fund.. I¡¯d climbed the ladder the old fashioned way, working hard and keeping my head down, albeit with one eye always on the next rung of the ladder. I did what was needed, to ensure that when my manager resigned, retired, or was fired, I¡¯d always be the first name in mind for their replacement. It was only when I reached executive status, well over two decades into my career, that I got the kind of access needed to run the kind of fraud I envisioned. Too many questions, at the lower levels, to risk such a thing. Too many nosy colleagues, annoying interns, and overbearing managers to even consider it. No, it was only when I¡¯d become an old veteran of the firm, whose integrity was unquestioned, that I started to pocket some of the money for myself. Why did I do it? Well, mostly to prove that I could. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I spent most of the money that I took home, after a thorough laundering of course. Some of it went to visible luxuries: tailored suits, handcrafted watches and casks of fine whisky, but never too much beyond my supposed salary, lest I attract the attention of the taxman. Most of it went into more hidden assets: private homes on every continent bar Antarctica, discreet accounts and wealth funds in Switzerland and Hong Kong, and far more besides. But at the end of the day, I had no overbearing need for that extra money, I wouldn¡¯t have starved or even been deprived without it. No, like most fraudsters at my level, I ultimately did it to indulge my own pride, to take what I viewed as mine, and to do it without ever being caught until the day I died. That last bit didn¡¯t quite work out, it goes without saying, though I came close: perhaps another two decades at most, and I¡¯d have died peacefully in bed, leaving my deception to be discovered only in death. So, no, I was never particularly reckless, and yet, the third and final Class for me was undeniably reckless, and only after a good minute¡¯s thought, did I realise why. It was a challenge. I could probably keep myself alive until retirement as a Soldier, keeping my head down and following orders. I could probably make a good living as a Merchant, finding my own niche to profit from, without taking too much and offending the vested interests that undoubtedly existed, guarding their wealth with just as much jealousy as the oligarchs back home. But did I want that? No. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. My previous life was spent going slow and steady, and it took decades of work to reach the status I eventually did. Even then, it wasn¡¯t enough to save me in the end. I wasn¡¯t wealthy enough to pay off my pursuers, wasn¡¯t powerful enough to quash the charges against me, and in the end, I¡¯d had to leave it all behind, before they dragged me to the jailhouse. The thought of returning to that rat race anew? It triggered some deep-seated revulsion, right down to my soul, and in that moment, my choice was clear. [Soldier of Fortune selected. Class upgrade: Child >>> Level 1 Soldier of Fortune Trait removed: Foundation Building: One Level received for every full year lived. Child class evolves at Level 18. Traits gained: Money is Power: All attributes scale with accumulated wealth. Money in the Pocket: A private storage space for your personal belongings. Masquerade: Your Class is invisible, and you appear Classless by default. Alternatively, you may choose to display a false identity. Available identities: Soldier, Merchant. Covenants gained: Self-Made Man: Class will be lost if you ever resort to taking a loan. Thief in Law: Class will be lost if you ever accept legitimate employment. Class upgrade complete. Good luck and have fun!] The first thing that I did was to set my public Class as Merchant, reckoning that it was less threatening than Soldier, and thus the best for making people underestimate me. Once that was done, I made sure to pat myself down thoroughly, checking for any of the aforementioned bodily changes. I didn¡¯t find any, nor did I really feel any different after the Class upgrade, physically at least. Mentally, there was a toggle now, sliding smoothly into place as though it had always been there. I could feel my nine remaining coins, and the hilt of my knife, both just waiting to be summoned from my personal inventory. ¡°That¡¯s pretty good, huh?¡± I muttered. The Matron had to use a storage ring to achieve a similar effect, and I knew from talking to the Blacksmith that magical items were uncommon, as they required a crafter with uncommon skills, so I could only assume they commanded a price worthy of such rarity. Will¡¯s memories couldn¡¯t remember seeing any other such storage effects, except in the hands of the occasional travellers from distant lands, which only supported my hypothesis. To get such a benefit as a starting trait for my Class? That was very valuable, truly worthy of a class labelled as the highest reward. Though of course, there was also the other side of the coin to consider. Chapter 15: Consideration Chapter 15: Consideration I dismissed all of the notifications, and finally pulled up my sheet in full, getting my first proper look at the status page in adulthood. [Will Swindell Class (True): Level 1 Soldier of Fortune Class (Public): Level 1 Merchant Traits Covenants Contacts Inventory A few things stood out to me that weren¡¯t readily apparent in the updates before. My fake Class was the same level as the real one; I¡¯d thought that would be the case, but it was nice to have it confirmed. Whilst there was something to be said for making people underestimate me, too much of a divergence between appearance and label could raise eyebrows, just as much as an unusual class. The Inventory showing the characteristics of my weapon was a nice touch, even down to the differences between each edge. Finally, I made note of the bracket next to my money: the fact that the System saw fit to specify my Gilt as being from Frontier, well, that indicated a few things. The existence of alternative currencies, the fact that said currencies were backed by individual Kingdoms, and that there were similar currencies, close enough in name that a distinction had to be drawn. None of that mattered just yet, but it was always nice to see mentions of international trade, as this subject, along with many others, had been entirely absent in the Allensward Library. Another deliberate omission, I could only assume. So, a few bits that were good to know, but no true surprises out of the lot, which meant I could put all of that aside for the moment, and focus on what I was going to do with my life. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. The Covenants were quite restrictive in that regard, removing many paths I might have considered. True, I was already planning to maintain a high degree of independence, and becoming a salaryman again would¡¯ve run counter to this, but not being able to take any legitimate employment went beyond that. If I was reading that correctly, and I had a strong, System-granted hunch that I was, then there were two distinct components to this Covenant. Firstly, the issue of Employment. Essentially, to keep my class, I must not place myself under the effective authority of another, for any reason or role. Whether that meant a full-time job as a clerk, a part-time gig watching a shopfront, or even helping someone out on a contractual basis, like in an Adventurer¡¯s Guild,which I knew existed, even if not exactly where the closest branch was. Unless I was doing something solely for my own benefit, without any obligations to another, it would not be allowed. This would¡¯ve been an absolute prohibition to organised labour, had it stood alone, but fortunately, it was paired with a second word: legitimate. That word had many meanings, dependent upon context, but in this particular case, it meant something which was accepted by society, the pursuit of which wouldn¡¯t subject an individual to penalties, were their actions to be revealed. I had a few ideas on how to use this, but more on that in a bit. The second Covenant was much simpler, but probably even more limiting, being an absolute ban on being financially indebted. Now, this was hardly a new concept to me: warnings and even prohibitions against debt had been the subject of debate for thousands of years, back on Earth. But in the immediate term, it did mean that I wouldn¡¯t be able to simply find a rich backer, gorge myself on their resources and gold, and then dispose of them once I became strong enough and thereby avoid any issue of repayment. Annoying in the short-term, perhaps, but hardly an issue in the long term, because despite all the restrictions imposed, they were more than made up for by the advantages gained. The private Inventory alone would¡¯ve made it all worthwhile: I¡¯m a man who grew up watching Looney Tunes, so you¡¯d better believe I knew the immense value of hammerspace, particularly if the world mainly expected storage items, and were thus unprepared for it as a passive ability. I could make an easy fortune as a smuggler, if I decided to go that route, or a saboteur, or a spy, or an assassin. The list goes on and on really, so I won¡¯t belabour the point. The second boon, Masquerade, played a synergistic role which, combined with the above, would give me plentiful options for deception and disguise. I¡¯d have to polish up on my acting, of course, but that was simply a matter of time and dedication, and I had plenty of both. Money is Power, meanwhile, provided nothing on the outset, but in turn would ensure that I never stopped scaling: no matter the enemy or threat standing in my way, I could overcome them in the end, as long as I became rich enough. All in all, Soldier of Fortune was a class of immense potential, which of course meant that I would be a dead man, the moment anyone important figured out how it worked. Highest risk and reward indeed, System. That was just fine by me, however; I¡¯d played it safe for sixty-odd years already, and came out at the end of it all without much to show for my efforts. This time around, I decided, I would live for much longer, and by the time I was done, there wouldn¡¯t be a single person capable of standing against me. Today, Allensward, tomorrow, the world! Chapter 16: Edge Wood Chapter 16: Edge Wood So, you might be wondering at this point, but how does someone go about conquering the world? How do I start, now that I¡¯ve found my resolve to overturn the status quo and climb my way to the top? Well, as it turned out, the beginning of a villain¡¯s journey looks a lot like the hero¡¯s. Namely, I was making my way to the woods at the edge of town, ready to give my knife a test run on some less than intelligent opponents. I¡¯d come bright and early, for the best chance to be alone. That way, I could be free to test if the regular levelling methods I¡¯d read about worked for my class. My destination, the unfortunately named Edge Wood, was a remnant of a monster incursion from long before my time. An Apex Dryad, apparently, who moved a forest in her wake, growing her army with every step she took. Most of that horde was long gone, burned to a crisp by siegecraft and spellfire, but a small chunk was spared and maintained to this day, at the direction of the war council in those days. At first, this was for research purposes, so that humanity¡¯s best and brightest could learn how the Apex Dryad was formed, and ways to counter such incursions in the future, but even long after the final scholar departed, the forest remained. It was useful to have a small patch of wilderness where low level monsters spawn naturally. For harvesting beginning reagents, and, as in my case, for a bit of training. All of this, I read in a small pamphlet that wouldn¡¯t have looked out of place in a saturday morning cartoon, complete with cute drawings of slimes and ladybugs. That¡¯s not to say no precautions were taken, however; low level monsters were still monsters, after all. ¡°Halt!¡± Case in point, the bored looking guard leaning on the wooden fence; one that wasn¡¯t just a fence, but the anchor for a wide ranging enchantment that kept monsters inside the boundary at all times. ¡°State your purpose for visiting.¡± [Guardsman Spike - Level 3 Soldier] His voice was gruff but not accusing, more a perfunctory question he must have asked thousands of times before. His long spear stayed on his back, and he didn¡¯t rise to intercept me, so I counted that as a win. ¡°Had my Class day recently. Wanted to try my hand at some easy targets, before going crazy.¡± Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. I¡¯d switched my public Class to Soldier for this trip, since that would look far more believable than a Merchant trying to stab a Slime, even if they could probably pull it off at this level. ¡°Congratulations!¡± Spike grinned, after a moment staring above my head, presumably at my own tag, before clasping a fist to his heart in a martial salute, one that I returned in kind. ¡°Always good to see a fellow Soldier start to come into his own. Alright, the rules here are simple: you head in after sunrise, and leave before sunset. If you have to run, head for a fence and hop over it, nothing will be able to follow you out. The monsters inside get stronger after dark, so don¡¯t expect any help if you bite off more than you can chew. Got it?¡± ¡°Got it,¡± I nodded, having no intention to fall, not to something as simple as overconfidence. Spike let me pass after that, with one final call to ¡°not die¡±. That was the first proof that my disguise was holding up: he would¡¯ve been much more suspicious had he seen a blank spot where my Class should have been. A Child, likewise, would not have been allowed inside at all: though they still tried, on occasion. Will had seen a boy from an older cohort do it, just once. He¡¯d returned to the orphanage with an arm bent the wrong way round, requiring the staff on duty to go fetch a healer. His arm had been fixed quickly after that, just in time for the Matron to grab him, and tan his buttocks black and blue with a belt in front of all the other children. That, the healer hadn¡¯t fixed: a lesson for the future, he¡¯d called it. Needless to say, Will never tried to sneak in after that: some risks, he knew even at the time, simply weren¡¯t worth taking. I kept that in mind as I took my first steps into the foliage: it wasn¡¯t particularly tall, reaching no higher than my ankles, but it could still present a danger, as a tripping hazard if nothing else. Once inside the woods, it didn¡¯t take long for enemies to start appearing. They only spawned in darkness, and the small matches available at present likewise limited the size of the mobs on offer. [Skeleton - Level 1] My first opponent, accordingly, was the skeleton of a rat, a faint red glow visible in empty eye sockets as it leapt out of a patch of overgrown weeds to take a bite at my ankle. Annoyingly, it was fast enough to succeed, even if its tiny teeth caused nothing more than discomfort through my trousers. I didn¡¯t bother summoning my knife for this, given the lack of vital points to stab. Instead, I knelt down to get within striking distance, and used what nature had given me, pounding at the skeletal rodent with my fist. One strike was enough to get it off my ankle, followed by a stomp or two for good measure, shattering the skeleton beyond repair. Examining what remained of its head, I found the unnatural light in its eyes was gone, the traditional indicator that the magic animating its body had likewise faded. All of that was self-evident. What wasn¡¯t apparent, was any sign of experience gained. As I expected, then; my Class was irregular. That wasn¡¯t a problem, in the sense that there was nothing wrong with the System: it simply meant that in this case, I would have to work just a little bit harder than most. Chapter 17: The Irregular at Magic High School Chapter 17: The Irregular at Magic High School Most classes levelled up following classical RPG conventions. Soldiers gained experience by killing enemies, farmers by planting and harvesting crops or rearing livestock, crafters by successfully crafting, and so on. Reach an experience threshold, and then level up: nice and simple. The more complex a class, however, the further from the norm the levelling requirements might deviate. The Healer was an example I knew well: they levelled up by healing injuries, and not self-inflicted ones either, so they couldn¡¯t level simply by repeatedly breaking skin. This necessarily placed a limit on how many Healers could be found in each town or village: any more than a handful in peacetime, and there simply wasn¡¯t enough experience to go around. Unfortunately, this was where things became tricky for me. Most irregular classes were still known quantities, which meant learning how they worked was simple: a newbie would find, or be found by a veteran, who would show them the ropes in a traditional master and apprentice relationship. But, as my class was deemed unique by the System, well, I¡¯d have to figure it out on my own. I could only hope I¡¯d get a notification when I did something right, otherwise, it was going to be rather difficult to say the least. I still stayed in the woods, even after this discovery, both because I wanted a sample size greater than one for my theory, and also to keep the Guardsman Spike from getting suspicious. Any excited newbie, given the chance to explore for the very first time, would at least keep until they were a bit tired. So, I summoned my knife, stood right where I was, and waited for a few more mobs to arrive. They did so, gradually appearing one at a time, truly like the mobs in a tutorial level. Firstly, I watched a small red Slime emerge from a thin stream, and stabbed it half a dozen times until it deflated. Next up, another rat, alive this time, but trying the exact same approach as its dead predecessor. I didn¡¯t like this one bite me, instead, one quick kick sent it flying off into the distance, assuredly wounded if not already dead. Finally, to my bemusement, I saw a small treasure chest appear, right at my feet. I stabbed it, because I wasn¡¯t born yesterday, and the tiny mimic keeled over and died. By that point, with still no experience forthcoming, I was ready to call it a day on exploration. I¡¯d spent almost an hour in the woods, interspersed between fighting and waiting, and had even broken enough of a sweat to be a convincingly tired youngster. As I dismissed my knife and went to head back the way I came, I heard a soft meow. At first, I thought I was more tired than expected, and my ears were playing tricks on me, but then I heard it again, and again, each time growing closer, and soon accompanied by the soft rustling of grass behind me as well. Bowing to the inevitable, I turned back once more, and there he was. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. [Cat - Level 1] A striped brown tabby cat, with hints of orange lightness showing in patches. A domestic shorthair, if I had to guess, the most common category of cat back in England, not so much a breed as a descriptor that excluded the presence of any particular lineage of note. He was padding up to me with a curious lack of fear, given I was a stranger, though perhaps the mangled rat carcass in his mouth explained that. Even a single kick would have imparted some of my scent onto the prey animal, and if it was subsequently found by a cat, who now saw me as the provider of sustenance? Well, why not? I always liked cats, and they¡¯re a supervillain staple for a reason. So I leaned down, held a hand out within reach, and let the cat sniff my hand, to build an association between my scent and a full stomach. He was a friendly one, and took barely a few minutes before he was pressing his head up against my palm, allowing me to go in for a bit of petting. ¡°Looks like I¡¯m adopting,¡± I joked, rubbing his cheeks and behind the ears, too, for good measure. Of course, this raised more questions, like how I was going to provide for a pet when I currently lacked any income, or even a place to sleep for the night. But in truth, I¡¯d already decided that it hardly mattered: if I couldn¡¯t even handle a single pet, which was a considerable step down from managing a team of hundreds of people (even if some of them were considerably dumber than a cat), then I was clearly already doomed. So, I continued petting the cat, who had now taken on the form of the loaf, when a stray thought struck me. [Money in the Pocket: A private storage space for your personal belongings.] Like the rest of my Class, my inventory was fairly nondescript, but back in England, certainly, pets were considered to be personal property. This cat was clearly attached to me, had accepted my food and my hand, so if I put all of that together, and even believed it¡­ [Cat stored. Would you like to assign a name?] ¡°It worked!¡± I barked out a laugh, delighted; this wouldn¡¯t solve all of the issues with having a pet, but it would make transportation simple, at least. [Would you like to name the cat ¡°It Worked¡±?] ¡°What? No, definitely not,¡± I backtracked immediately, before the System could confirm something very unfortunate. ¡°Let me think for a second, here.¡± Thankfully, that utterance wasn¡¯t suggested as another choice; the System chose to spare me a second round of panic. In that time, I considered the cat¡¯s demeanour, his friendliness, size and colouration, and ultimately, I came to a decision. ¡°Pumpkin.¡± [Cat has been named Pumpkin.] If that decision bore the same name as my favourite childhood fruit? Well, that particular factoid can stay as our little secret. Chapter 18: A Cat Is Fine Too Chapter 18: A Cat Is Fine Too Satisfied with my choice of name, I released Pumpkin from my Inventory, at which point he reappeared on the ground next to me. The friendly cat seemed completely unruffled by the brief time spent in storage, and busied himself by chasing his own tail, spinning in circles all the while. That kind of behaviour was more often associated with dogs, though I¡¯d also seen it in another cat before. Oddly enough, that one had been orange, too, so maybe there was a genetic component behind such strange mannerisms? I let Pumpkin have at it, for what felt like a solid five minutes, before he dropped to the ground, tired out by chasing his own behind. That gave me an opening to pick him up, draping the tuckered out feline across my shoulders, with his head leaning against the right side of my face. I could¡¯ve taken him back into town in my storage, of course, but by doing it this way, I could establish a proper backstory for how I met him. It might even head off a few problems down the line, as the last thing I needed was to be accused of stealing someone¡¯s pet again; people were unlikely to be as lenient with me in adulthood, as they¡¯d been when I was five. Moving on from my childhood misadventures, the walk back into town was comparatively calm. I hadn¡¯t headed very far into the woods to begin with, so it only took a few minutes before I could see the fence again. Guardsman Spike was still there, protecting the front gate, though he was currently sitting on the fence, smoking from a tobacco pipe: it must have been break time. ¡°Back already, young man?¡± Spike chuckled when I was less than a metre away, without ever turning his head at that. ¡°How¡¯d you know it was me?¡± I asked at once, wondering if Soldiers had access to detection skills that didn¡¯t require line of sight. ¡°Same footsteps,¡± came the rather more mundane answer. ¡°This place isn¡¯t that busy, it¡¯s not hard to keep track of three very different ways of walking.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Perhaps I¡¯d been underestimating the locals, I considered, as I let myself back into town. I¡¯d yet to see anyone over Level 3, either personally or in Will¡¯s inherited memories, which, when combined with everything I¡¯d read indicating Allensward as being a small, sleepy town, had led to a general assumption of indolence. Spike¡¯s echolocation trick was impressive, something I doubted was nearly as simple as he made it sound. It was the kind of thing someone didn¡¯t learn without a good reason; the kind of oddity that marked a combat veteran, now that I thought about it a bit more. Pumpkin, perhaps sensing my disquiet or merely wanting to play, decided that was the best time to take a nip out of my ear. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°Ouch!¡± I flicked his ear with a finger in return, prompting a low growl; though not another bite, as I hadn¡¯t flicked him that hard. I heard a few giggles from the side at that; turning my head, I saw a young child, not yet in her teens, pointing and staring at Pumpkin with starstruck eyes while her mother tried to pull her along on their daily errands. It was such a typical reaction, across two very different worlds, that I couldn¡¯t help but laugh. [10 EXP gained.] Then, all of a sudden, I wasn¡¯t laughing anymore. I kept walking, because suddenly coming to a halt in the middle of the street would have looked supremely odd, but I also called up my status sheet for a second opinion on what just happened. [Will Swindell Class (True): Level 1 Soldier of Fortune Class (Public): Level 1 Soldier Experience: 10/100] True to expectations, everything was the same, barring a single, innocuous line near the top, right below my name and Class. Unfortunately, whilst I could now see my Experience bar, and the 10 XP that I just gained, there was no indication from the System as to why. Engrossed in speculation as I was, I nearly reached the Orphanage before I snapped out of it; that was the most familiar route, after all, eighteen years of muscle memory making me follow it automatically, even after I¡¯d aged out of state care. Thankfully, I wasn¡¯t far off the main street, and all it took was a slight turn for me to head towards the Inn instead. ¡°What¡¯ll this get me?¡± I asked the elderly innkeeper up front, who was definitely displaying a gag name somehow, placing the remainder of my worldly coin on the desk in front of him. [Inne Keeper - ???] ¡°Is this your first night out all alone?¡± He asked in return, eyes twinkling through thick brows, round spectacles and a bushy beard, his manner strangely similar to certain depictions of a magical headmaster. He even had the right attitude, completely ignoring my initial question to redirect the conversation along his preferred line of thought. Still, I bit back the harsh reply that first came to mind, in favour of a stoic nod and slight breath in, just quick enough to suggest a hint of nerves. Nine Gilt wouldn¡¯t go very far at the best of times, so if he wanted to see me as a down on my luck youngster and give me a discount, I wasn¡¯t going to complain. ¡°I see. I see. Hard times indeed, for a strapping young lad like yourself to be travelling alone.¡± Pumpkin yowled from his place on my shoulder, drawing the Innkeeper¡¯s eye as though annoyed at his exclusion. ¡°Not completely alone,¡± he amended. ¡°Good, very good. A pet is often a source of unconditional love, something rarely found amongst supposedly higher species. Keep him close, won¡¯t you?¡± ¡°That¡¯s the plan,¡± I replied quickly, trying not to think of how he was sounding a bit like a nonce. ¡°The price?¡± ¡°Hmm? Oh, yes. Three nights, room and board included for yourself and your feline friend.¡± That was roughly what I¡¯d been told by the Blacksmith, as far as value went, so I didn¡¯t argue and let him scoop away the last of my inheritance, before bolting upstairs as soon as he handed me my room key. I had a lot to think about, after all. Chapter 19: Greed is Good Chapter 19: Greed is Good My room wasn¡¯t bad, for an inn in a town stuck in the middle of nowhere. All of the electrical appliances of modern times were missing, and there wasn¡¯t a single hint of magic to fill in the gap, but the bed was well kept, the desk neat and tidy, and the en-suite bathroom even featured indoor plumbing, which hadn¡¯t come about until the 1800s back in England. It was a big step up from my room in the orphanage, as well as several budget hotels I¡¯d had the misfortune of staying in over the years. There was even one perk that had long since been phased out in my past life: an ashtray, a matchbox and a packet of tobacco, all of it legal to be smoked indoors. It had been a long time since I last smoked: the general trend towards healthy living in the early twenty-first century saw to that, but I¡¯d indulged plenty in my younger years, so I didn¡¯t hesitate to scoop up a big heaping of tobacco, fill up the provided pipe with it, and give it a good light with the complimentary matchstick, before placing the pipe against my lips and taking a long, slow drag. I didn¡¯t gag or retch, so it was already going far better than my first taste of a cigarette, many decades ago. Admittedly, traditional tobacco was far weaker than a Marlboro, but this body wasn¡¯t used to the taste either, so that was probably for the best. Pumpkin mewed leaning her head over to examine the curious, burning object, but I turned my head away before distracting him with more petting. I wasn¡¯t going to give my cat tobacco: there was only one way such a fiasco would end, with vomit all over my nice, expensive room. Shaking my head, I parked myself down at the writing desk, taking even, methodical drags from my pipe, all this while I pondered the living enigma curled around my neck. There were classes that benefited from the presence of animals in various ways. Farmers, mainly, but also Scouts, Hunters and Beastmasters, all of whom required plenty of nearby fauna for the sake of their advancement. Even Merchants could benefit indirectly, through the sale of live specimens or animal products, but somehow, I doubted this was what the System had in mind for me. I¡¯d initially thought it was taking possession of Pumpkin which granted me XP either, but that couldn¡¯t be it either, because it didn¡¯t trigger when I first got him; I only received a notification after the encounter with the mother and daughter pair, only then did I get anything to show for it, besides a cat, that is, so what was I missing? It¡¯s hard, trying to force a revelation out of thin air. Often, the sheer effort involved only increases stress levels, causing the brain to short out and enter the dread blank space that was the bane of many students during exam season. I knew this, so I didn¡¯t try; I leaned back, enjoyed my tobacco and my company, and merely hoped that in doing so, I would stumbled upon some fresh insight. Was it logical? Not really, but life wasn¡¯t logical, and many great discoveries had likewise been the result of a single moment of inspiration. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Manipulation. To this day, I can¡¯t say for sure how I arrived at that one-word answer. Perhaps it was as I rolled my pipe, the deft movements of my fingers dictating angle and velocity? Or was it the purring I¡¯d managed to coax from Pumpkin, now loafing lazily against the small of my back as I rubbed at his belly? Or maybe, even the flashback to the little girl, how Pumpkin¡¯s mere presence had her ready to baulk at the commands of her gene-sire? I slapped myself at that last thought: a nicotine rush had a way of making the mind wander, sometimes a little too much, and I sincerely doubted that the God-Emperor of Mankind had anything to do with my current situation. Nonetheless, that was how I found my answer. Pumpkin was only half of the puzzle, in that she was counted as my possession. It was only when I leveraged her to impose a design upon the world, that I was rewarded for the fact. Possession and manipulation, the twin facets that defined my Class? Could it really be so simple? [Congratulations.] Yes. Yes, it could. I was smiling ear to ear by now, my pipe snuffed out against the rim of the table, my hand moving mechanically, barely enough to placate Pumpkin and keep him still. Pulling up my status page for the umpteenth time that day, I finally saw the last piece of the jigsaw that I needed to determine my next course of action. [Will Swindell Class (True): Level 1 Soldier of Fortune Class (Public): Level 1 Soldier Experience: 10/100 Traits Covenants Contacts Inventory Advancement ¡°Greed, then. The answer is sheer, unbridled greed. I can do that. Greed is good, after all. Greed is good.¡± I didn¡¯t quite laugh maniacally as I collapsed into my bed, after that; my voice was far too deep for such delusions, and I was most definitely not a tenor. Also, such a laugh would likely have led to an intervention from the Innkeeper, or any other guests that happened to overhear it, and I really didn¡¯t need the attention of law enforcement so early into my new career. I didn¡¯t even have an alibi yet. Patreon Announcement Patreon Announcement I hope you¡¯ve been enjoying Fantasy Arms Dealer thus far! With the latest chapter out, the initial launch period has concluded with over 20,000 words published. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. I¡¯ll be posting daily for the rest of Writathon at least, but for those who can¡¯t wait for more, check out my Patreon, where I have 20 early chapters available, with more to come soon. https://www.patreon.com/c/Nihilea Chapter 20: Smooth Criminal Chapter 20: Smooth Criminal You know that old expression: there are weeks where nothing happens, and there are hours when weeks happen? I might have paraphrased that slightly from the true saying, but you get the gist of it, right? Long stretches of boredom punctuated by brief, intense periods of mayhem: something anyone who ever worked in a customer facing job can likely appreciate. Intensely draining, physically, mentally and spiritually, the lattermost something I¡¯d never fully believed in, until the day I woke up with two sets of memories a mere week ago. True, I hadn¡¯t spent that long in Edge Wood, barely enough time to fight a few baby mobs, but between the very little sleep I¡¯d managed to get since my Class Day, followed by the actual Class and one revelation after another, all of it culminating in the revelation at the Inn? Well, I was shattered. I didn¡¯t even remember falling asleep, only that it couldn¡¯t have happened any later than mid morning. Despite that early night, when I next opened my eyes, it was bright again, and my stomach was growling like a rabid beast. Strangely, Pumpkin looked completely unconcerned at my extended rest; he hadn¡¯t woken me up even once, begging for food. It only took a few cursory looks around the room to discover why, and to remind myself of two salient facts. Firstly, that for all Pumpkin looked like the typical pet back in England, he was in fact a wild cat and was more than capable of fending for himself, and secondly, my inn room had a rat infestation. Truly, the Innkeeper had known of my reincarnation, and done his absolute best to make my room remind me of London. I¡¯m joking, by the way. About the Innkeeper, not the rats, those were both big and numerous, though thankfully the three laid out on the floor were missing their heads, and large chunks of their abdomen too. ¡°I should probably tell someone about that,¡± I yawned, picking myself up and unlocking the door at least. The Innkeeper took my good news a bit better than I expected, even saying he wouldn¡¯t charge me extra for the mess, on account of me having missed two meals the previous day, and thus being in credit as far as his tab was concerned. Thus reassured, both by the Innkeeper''s character and the fact he hadn''t uncovered my reclamation yesterday, I promptly headed back to my room, this time bringing a basket of bread and offal for Pumpkin¡¯s sake, and locked the door behind me again. Now that I was refreshed, it was time to experiment. The System guidance, some of it explicitly spelled out, and some of it as hunches, a sort of gut instinct that something was right. That wasn¡¯t good enough for me, though, not where levelling up was concerned. I wanted to know exactly what counted, and how best to optimise my growth: my life would depend on it, in all likelihood. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. [Loaf of Bread stored. Loaf of Bread withdrawn.] First, I tried to ¡®steal¡¯ a loaf of bread. That had no impact, which was more or less expected: I¡¯d already paid for my meals, so this wasn¡¯t theft, only me claiming what was mine by right. The offal had the same result, with the exception of Pumpkin hissing at me, thinking that I was stealing his food. Having concluded that portion of the experiment, I tossed both the bread and offal to Pumpkin, which kept the slightly gluttonous cat busy while I did the rest of my testing. Trying to store the entire bed failed outright, and I got a sense of amusement from the System, telling me that something so large simply wasn¡¯t going to fit. Not quite what I was going for, but still good to know that I couldn¡¯t just grab someone¡¯s house and walk off with it. But it was my next attempt that actually bore fruit. [Wicker Basket stored. 1 XP gained.] While the bread and offal had both been mine, the basket hadn¡¯t been: it was only a container, facilitating the delivery of my food, so there was an unspoken expectation that he¡¯d get it back, and by taking it, I¡¯d gained experience. Just a single point, because it was a common basket, not some ancient work of art, but every little helped, and this in particular helped me establish a trend. [Wicker Basket withdrawn.] Removing the basket and returning it to the desk didn¡¯t remove my experience gained, even when I did so with the full intention of giving it back to the Innkeeper [Wicker Basket stored.] On the other hand, storing that same basket again didn¡¯t give me anything more, so infinite XP glitches were off the table, pun intended. [Wicker Basket withdrawn.] Leaving the basket back out, because it really wasn¡¯t worth getting a criminal record over, I considered what I¡¯d learned so far. Clearly, intent was a major element of how the System apportioned XP: what I¡¯d seen so far didn¡¯t feel like the hard coded calculations of a spreadsheet, but rather the active, holistic management of a being whose surveillance capabilities would have the CIA kneeling at its feet. Not a bad thing, mind you, just interesting: I¡¯d already known the System could speak, but every interaction I had with it made it just a little more human, in my eyes. ¡°Alright, that¡¯s enough testing for now,¡± I declared, because really, there wasn¡¯t much more to be gained here. I could strip the entire inn of goods, and probably not even level up, and the requirements would only scale exponentially past Level 1, judging by the dearth of anybody past Level 3 in Allensward. There were far more productive things to be doing with my time, but for that, I¡¯d need to wait until nightfall. Having made my decision, I reached over to pick up Pumpkin, determined to get to know him better in the meantime. ¡°Two easy meals, and a day of relaxation, then,¡± I decided, vowing not to miss a second round of meals at the same inn. Chapter 21: Knock Knock Chapter 21: Knock Knock True to my word, I spent the next day taking it easy, catching up on some much needed sleep after a week of anxiety and more reading than I¡¯ve done since my final week of university exams. I lounged in my room at the inn, enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of sustained peace and quiet, something that was rare back at the orphanage, and utterly non-existent as a CEO in the internet age, who was only ever one phone call away from a crisis. I ate at least a tenth of my body weight in oatmeal and stew, had my first taste of traditional ale, and repeatedly failed to stab my cat. Before you go crazy about that last one, keep in mind that this was a bit of an accident. I¡¯d decided not to be completely sedentary during my day off, and at least put in a bit of effort to practise with my knife. That was another advantage of it, over the sword; whereas the latter required a fair bit of open space to swing, knives were made for brawls in confined spaces, and so I was able to run through a few drills in the privacy of my room. At least, until Pumpkin became interested in what I was doing, and demanded to join in, refusing to take no for an answer. ¡°Careful, watch the claws,¡± I grimaced, reaching up to lift the smug cat off of my shoulder. He¡¯d gotten me again, twisted his body in midair to avoid the swipe of my knife (sheathed, of course, because I didn¡¯t want to actually harm him, and had justified wariness for training accidents by this point) to plant himself on top of me. This had happened several times now, which only reinforced what I¡¯d already suspected: that the cats of this world were a bit tougher than the moggies back home. My secretary¡¯s old cat, certainly, could never have achieved such feats of dexterity. [Pumpkin - Level 2 Cat] Also, they were able to level, and quickly too, which meant I was now the lowest levelled member in our party of two. I¡¯d have loved to know the exact rate by which he earned experience, and what he got for the level up, but alas, I¡¯m not fluent in Cat. While I was lost in thought, Pumpkin managed to wriggle free from my grasp and hit the ground at a roll, coming out of it only just before he would have hit the wall. Then, he was back to sitting upright, staring at the knife in my hand between licking his paws.. ¡°You definitely think this is a game,¡± I accused him, getting a meow in reply. ¡°Two to five in your favour, but don¡¯t think your streak will last.¡± This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. I hadn¡¯t had much luck with the standard posture thus far, so this time, I switched to an underhand grip, doing my best ice pick impression as I watched Pumpkin carefully. I¡¯d noticed his tail liked to twitch, right before lunging, so I kept a close eye on the appendage, even as his eyes began to dilate, the instincts of the hunt coming to life. Just as his tail lifted in anticipation, someone knocked on the door behind me. It wasn¡¯t particularly aggressive, nor even that loud, just a simple, open-knuckle rap on a wooden frame, but it was enough to distract me, my head turning just a touch to the side. ¡°Ouch!¡± Pumpkin landed with his claws on my neck this time. ¡°Damnit, two to six in your favour.¡± I was too preoccupied to grab him again, but this time, Pumpkin stayed on my neck, mirroring me while watching the door. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± I called out, because I hadn¡¯t been expecting company. ¡°Will, are you in there?¡± A vaguely familiar voice could be heard. ¡°It¡¯s Damien, can we talk?¡± Ah, I stood corrected, I was expecting company, in a fashion Damien was the one to knock me out, indirectly causing me to regain my memories, so it was only natural that he¡¯d want to see me at some point. Whilst injuries were a fact of life where training was concerned, sending someone to the healers was still rare: social norms would have him approach me with an apology, even without guilt factoring into considerations. That was fine then, I reflected, I might even get a round of drinks or a small gift out of it: Damien always had money from somewhere, despite being an orphan, so I might as well take advantage. The only question that remained, was what face I should present to him and by extension the world. After a moment¡¯s thought, I selected Merchant as my disguise for the day. Damien had always been a very active boy, and if I went with Soldier there was a high chance he¡¯d ask for a rematch, apology be damned: one that I¡¯d almost certainly lose. Sure, I had a Class now and he was still a child, but he also had a foot on me in height, better musculature and greater reach: I wasn¡¯t beating him without receiving skills to make up the difference, which I hadn¡¯t yet. As a Merchant, however, I¡¯d be a far less attractive sparring partner: defeating a non-combatant would earn him no praise, only ridicule for bullying the weak. My decision was made, so I opened the door, and there he was. It¡¯s odd how a simple change in perspective makes the world look so different. Damien had always looked so intimidating to Will in the past, a talented swordsman, almost certainly a Soldier if not a Hero in the making. Now, with the benefit of a few decades of life experience, I simply saw an average teenager, scuffing his feet in the welcome mat, wearing the typically sheepish expression of someone who¡¯d made a mistake. [Damien - Level 17 Child] ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± Damien began, bowing at the waist before I could get a word in edgewise. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have hit you so hard, please accept my apology!¡± Chapter 22: Goldfinger Chapter 22: Goldfinger Far from the most flowery apology I¡¯d ever heard, admittedly, but it was in keeping with what I recalled of his character. Indeed, if he¡¯d gone too much further I¡¯d have suspected someone of putting him up to it, but as it stood, the apology felt genuine, driven by embarrassment and guilt rather than anything more problematic. I still let him sweat for a little bit, because I¡¯m petty like that, but only for half a minute. ¡°Raise your head,¡± I said simply. ¡°Injury is always a possibility when training. Better here, with wooden swords and healers nearby, than on the battlefield. Apology accepted.¡± Damien did so, a look of relief on his face. Amusingly, his eyes immediately drifted upward, meaning he¡¯d bowed so quickly that this was his first proper look at my name tag. ¡°Thank you,¡± Damien bobbed his head. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking for you for days now, I was beginning to think you¡¯d already left town, when I finally heard you were here.¡± Ah, right, I hadn¡¯t actually told anybody my plans, as ephemeral as they were at present. ¡°I probably will, before long,¡± I replied, entirely honestly. ¡°But I decided I could spare a few days, figuring out what to do with my life.¡± Pumpkin purred, making himself known as he rose up from my shoulders, shedding his disguise as a particularly furry scarf. ¡°Oh?¡± Damien started, only noticing the cat just then. ¡°You¡¯ve been busy, I see. Made your first purchase as a Merchant already? Or is he more of a pet?¡± Damien raised his hand, reaching for Pumpkin, who was less than pleased with that description and bit his finger. Not too hard, given it was still attached, but it certainly sent a message. ¡°He¡¯s a feisty one,¡± I warned blandly, entirely too late to help. Damien was unfortunately unable to reply, being far too preoccupied with prying Pumpkin off of his arm. ¡ª Five minutes later¡­ ¡°So, where are you planning to go from here?¡± Damien asked, as he wrapped a thick bandage around his hand. Pumpkin hadn¡¯t bitten too deep, not enough for the boy to overcome his aversion to medical treatment. It would probably be fine: humans in this world, I¡¯d already observed, trended towards the tougher end of the spectrum. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°I¡¯m not entirely sure,¡± I admitted, in between sips of tea. I hadn¡¯t had much to do during the recent catastrophe, so I¡¯d defaulted to British tradition and made myself a brew. Granted, it wasn¡¯t a proper English Breakfast tea, more of a mixture of flowers and spices, akin to a mulled wine minus the alcohol, but it still went down well, and merely the tradition was a source of comfort in and of itself. ¡°There aren¡¯t too many shops in Allensward, and the ones I¡¯ve seen are already well staffed. I could probably get a menial job, as a clerk maybe, but the prospects aren¡¯t great without a route to a genuine apprenticeship, so I was thinking of going further afield.¡± In the absence of trade schools and formal employment, that was how shops were passed down; either by blood or from master to student. I had no intention of dealing with either, of course, but Damien didn¡¯t have to know that. ¡°Off to Gresom then? Or maybe Dreche?¡± Damien guessed. They were both reasonable assumptions, the former being the closest city by distance, off to the South, and a regional trading hub for all and sundry, whilst the latter was further West but situated in the most fertile plains to be found in the Kingdom, and was accordingly a behemoth in sectors of food production and export. Personally, were I genuinely in the market for it, I¡¯d have gone for Light¡¯s End to the East instead, which was a considerably harder journey but would lead to Frontier¡¯s singular warm water port, and the cornerstone of maritime power. What can I say? Old habits die hard. I wasn¡¯t really looking however, so I merely hummed in agreement. ¡°Possibly, though I wouldn¡¯t be going immediately,¡± I demurred. ¡°Preferably not without some coin in my pocket, and possibly some company. Definitely not now, on the cusp of winter. There are far less painful ways to die than exposure and frostbite.¡± This much, on the other hand, was true. Travelling long distances in Frontier wasn¡¯t as simple as hopping on the train: I didn¡¯t own a horse, nor did I know the rare and coveted Teleport spell, so what awaited me was a weeks long journey by foot. Doable, if the weather remained mild as it had been the past week, but also potentially deadly in the event of a sudden blizzard, as often happened as Winter approached. So, I needed a solution, one that Damien might be able to provide, if my hunch was correct, and he wasn¡¯t here solely to make a courtesy call. I didn¡¯t press him on it, though, since that would make him defensive; I merely continued to drink my tea, watching Damien shift uncomfortably in his chair, and waiting for him to get to the point. ¡°You need money, right?¡± Damien eventually asked a question, strictly rhetorical, but still better than the previous silence. ¡°What if I introduced you to a man? Keep in mind this, uh, isn¡¯t something the Matron would approve of.¡± ¡°To be clear, you¡¯re not talking about prostitution, right?¡± I didn¡¯t think he was, but better to check now than walk into a big misunderstanding. Also, it was funny to watch the boy¡¯s face redden as he spluttered out denials: I was doing him a favour, really, making him learn how to properly phrase his offers. ¡°Absolutely not,¡± Damien eventually choked out. ¡°No. No. It¡¯s just, I know someone who makes a living off of transporting goods. Legal goods even, just not through the proper channels, and they¡¯d prefer to keep it that way. They¡¯re always on the lookout for men willing to sign up, especially those with a good command of the written word; I know everyone¡¯s supposed to go to school, but that doesn¡¯t mean they all learn. Not like you did.¡± Well now, I thought as I turned that little tidbit over, this just got a whole lot more interesting. Chapter 23: The Water of Life Chapter 23: The Water of Life I had to admit, I hadn¡¯t seen that coming. Damien had always come across as fairly strait-laced, focused on physical training and with a love of old heroic ballads, a bit of a himbo, even. To have him blatantly admit to involvement in some kind of organised crime? That was a surprise, especially because historically, smugglers of legal substances almost inevitably began to dabble in the illegal, too. The temptation was always too much, because whereas they might make a slim profit via arbitrage, risking prison or worse to dodge a few tariffs or tolls, for maybe a fifty to a hundred percent profit margin over doing things legally, they could instead traffick drugs for a profit margin in the thousands. Just looking at those numbers, sooner or later, even the most oddly moralistic smugglers inevitably turn to the powder, of that I was certain. Still, was it a bad idea? I rose from the table we were both sat around, fetching a lukewarm jug of water from my desk. A gaudy pink decanter, it served its own purpose well enough, as I returned to my seat, pouring a glass to replace my long-finished cup of tea. I wasn¡¯t particularly thirsty, but this bought me time to think, as did one exploratory sip, before I gave him my answer. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re willing to tell me this much,¡± Nothing definitive, but given the subject matter, probing Damien for weakness or stupidity seemed prudent. ¡°Aren¡¯t you afraid I¡¯ll turn you in? There¡¯s a standing bounty on smugglers at the magistrate¡¯s office, as you well know; our teachers reminded us at least once a year, what it meant to be caught engaging in villainy.¡± ¡°You wouldn¡¯t dare,¡± was Damien¡¯s confident response, and again, I was taken aback. He sounded far too confident for a man confessing his crimes, and it took me a moment to understand why. He still thought I was the old Will, the one who shied away from him and always lost in the sparring arena. Whilst he was apologetic for how our most recent bout ended, Damien still seemed incapable of registering me as a threat, which was simply intolerable. Even if I was leaning towards hearing him out, approaching negotiations from such a position of weakness would end in a farcical outcome; I¡¯d be lucky to get a job as a chore boy, if that. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dare?¡± I huffed, throwing Damien¡¯s words back at him while tipping my glass ever so slightly towards him, the water inside it running to the edge, just short of spilling over. ¡°Of course not,¡± Damien concurred wholeheartedly. ¡°You know crossing me and the boys wouldn¡¯t end well, not unless you wanted to leave town earlier than planned.¡± This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°So you say,¡± I held my glass with one hand, and leaned forward, offering my other hand to him. Damien made a quizzical expression at that, but he had been raised properly; when someone offered you a handshake, you took it. His eyes locked on our handshake, he missed my glass emptying by itself, vanishing into my pocket dimension, as befit my property. One second later, I placed the empty glass on the table and brought the water back out, right into his airway. Damien shuddered, beginning to cough violently. It wasn¡¯t that dangerous, to be fair, he had most of the water back out and on the floor after just a little bit of retching. Three seconds at the most, no time at all in the grand scheme of things, and an eternity on the battlefield: it only took me two seconds, after all, to summon my knife and place the serrated edge against his throat, close enough to brush against him as he inhaled. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dare?¡± I repeated, and this time, silence was his reply. I let Damien cough out what remained of his surprise drink, by which point his face had gone three shades paler, and only then did I lean back into my seat, my knife gone again, in what must have seemed to him like an impressive feat of prestidigitation. Damien was staring at me, now mouth bobbing open and closed like the goldfish that once decorated my office aquarium. Pumpkin yowled from his place on my bed, an unmistakable glint of amusement in his bright amber eyes as he watched the show. ¡°You, what, how?¡± Not very intelligible, though I got the gist of his questioning. ¡°That¡¯s the funny thing with a Class,¡± I replied, giving him the technical truth, the best kind of truth. ¡°Even if it sounds harmless on the tin, it always comes with something extra, something that sets you apart from everyone else. You¡¯ll learn that on your own Class day, six months from now. If you¡¯re alive, that is.¡± Damien looked gratifyingly afraid, at this point, something I¡¯d rarely ever seen in my past life. I¡¯d ruined many over the negotiating table, but most such deals had been between businesses, where the consequences of defeat were simply a smaller piece of the pie, or opening the chequebook. Amusing, yes, but nowhere near the visceral satisfaction I felt at that moment, as Damien¡¯s will crumbled and he recognised me as his superior. [20 XP gained for intimidating your first victim.] The System even agreed with me, showing that I was undisputedly on the right track in life. ¡°I¡¯m not against meeting with your contact,¡± I continued, my lip twitching as Damien flinched. ¡°But do make it clear to them that I¡¯ll be expecting good compensation for bringing my talents onto their payroll. If I take the time to meet them, and the best they offer me is a job stacking crates? I¡¯m going to be very unhappy with you, do I make myself clear?¡± ¡°Very,¡± Damien agreed, nodding his head with vigour. ¡°Good,¡± I declared. ¡°I¡¯ll be staying at this inn for one more day, I expect you¡¯ll have a meeting place arranged for me, by tomorrow¡¯s end?¡± More nodding; at this point, Damien¡¯s neck had to be feeling the strain, between his impromptu drowning and the latter. ¡°Then you may go.¡± I have to say, despite all the times we attended Physical Education together, I¡¯d never seen Damien run quite that fast before. How nice. Chapter 24: Threading the Needle Chapter 24: Threading the Needle I was taking a bit of risk, letting Damien go after our rather heated exchange of views, but that was somewhat inevitable. Like in business negotiations, I had to show some promise in order to interest the other party, in this case whoever was looking to hire me, but not so much that they saw all of my cards. This way, I¡¯d hopefully get a decent role right off the bat, while holding my trump cards in reserve for when they inevitably attempted to alter the deal while we were underway. Besides, Damien was definitely projecting a bit in our conversation just then: whereas I had plenty of options I could explore, he was the one relying on the generosity of the state until his next Class day. If he were implicated in anything that would cause his standing to drop, he¡¯d be seriously hard pressed to survive that long. Putting my fellow orphan out of mind for the time being, I took a look out the window, where I could see that it was already getting dark, as my lazy day had bled into evening, the sun just about to sink beyond the horizon. ¡°Come on, Pumpkin, dinnertime!¡± I beckoned the cat, who leaped into my arms with remarkable alacrity; more and more, I suspected that he was able to understand me, though I couldn¡¯t yet return the favour. Holding him in my arms, I headed downstairs to find the inn quite busy, the dozen tables already filled to the brim with a mixture of locals and travellers. Like any modern hotel, you didn¡¯t actually need a room to eat at the restaurant: as long as you were willing to pay, there was a table for you, unless, like the two of us, you arrived late and they were already gone. ¡°Looks like we¡¯re eating in our room again,¡± I noted, giving Pumpkin a stroke behind the ears. He sniffed imperiously, before curling up against my chest and starting to make biscuits: clearly, he couldn¡¯t care less where we ate, so long as we did. The innkeep was at his usual spot, parked at the desk by the entrance, which, as I walked past, raised a few questions. ¡°If you¡¯re here, who¡¯s cooking?¡± I asked over my shoulder, because I¡¯d seen the chef and waiter leave for a supply run in the morning, and their cart had yet to return, as a quick glance outside confirmed.. Inne Keeper - whose name I didn¡¯t believe real for a single moment - didn¡¯t reply, instead opting to tap his finger on his desk. His quill flew up, dipped itself into his inkwell, and began to draw on a spare scrap of paper. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°Usually, when people talk about household magic, they aren¡¯t being so literal,¡± I remarked, which got a light chuckle from the innkeep, before I headed to the bar counter to fetch my meal. The menu flew over on its own accord, alighting softly within my hands, and I couldn¡¯t help but marvel at the level of control that implied: the innkeeper wasn¡¯t even looking in our direction, nor had I said anything to initiate a desire for service. There had to be a catch with household magic, I reckoned, either a prohibitive cost or other such consequence for prolonged use, otherwise there wouldn¡¯t be a need for full-time staff at all, just a couple contractors for work that happened outside the inn. Shaking my head, I turned my full attention to the menu, scrawled in chalk on a thin blackboard, as was the trend in retro steakhouses on the West End. The food on offer emphasises quality over variety, culminating in a limited menu that changes daily: today, I¡¯d be getting beetroot soup with cabbage and potatoes, a rice pudding, and the finest fresh cuts of offal for Pumpkin. ¡°Looks good to me, all paid in advance,¡± I declared to the menu, because here it wasn¡¯t a question of what to order, but rather whether you wanted what was on offer, and I definitely wanted it. I wasn¡¯t even surprised when the food floated out on a tray, in three large bowls heaped to the brim. The food here was good; simple, hearty fare that had yet to leave me hungry: something that far too many Michelin star restaurants, with their beautiful but tiny portions, could learn a thing or two from. Pumpkin climbed up my shoulder and settled around my neck, freeing up my hands to carry our bounty back upstairs, once again showing a remarkable level of intelligence where his food was concerned. This was earlier than I tended to eat dinner, given it was barely sundown, but that was all part of the plan. After all, I was going to a job interview the next day, and I refused to attend such a meeting wearing anything less than my best. An early night was in order, after which I¡¯d be doing some¡­ Alternative shopping. ¡ª By alternative shopping, I meant theft, just in case that wasn¡¯t clear. That was the only reason I was willing to get up in the pitch black, well after midnight with hours to go before sunrise, and slip into the night with only Pumpkin by my side. I didn¡¯t have any money, yet, and wearing the same set of clothes was getting old, even if I could instantly clean them by shoving them in my pocket dimension while leaving any accumulated filth behind. I wasn¡¯t going to make my first impression in a threadbare shirt, torn trousers and a pair of shoes two sizes too big for me, not when there were simple alternatives around. What a difference a single Class makes, I couldn¡¯t help but think, as Pumpkin led the way towards the town¡¯s commercial district. I wouldn¡¯t have dared do this even a week ago: being caught in the commission of a crime was one of the very few things that would cause a child¡¯s protection to be rescinded by the Kingdom, at which point I would be at their mercy, whereas now? I doubted there were more than a handful of people in Allensward I¡¯d need to worry about. With that in mind, my first stop? Some new threads. Chapter 25: Thief in the Night Chapter 25: Thief in the Night It was strange to be able to go outside at night, and have it be genuinely dark. It could never have happened in London, where fluorescent lights were never more than a few feet away, and even the suburbs had street lights that never went, courtesy of the cheap and plentiful electricity that the modern grid supported. It was different, in Frontier, where such lighting had to be sourced from either flammable fuels, which were expensive and volatile to handle, or through the use of magically imbued crystals that were exceedingly rare. Accordingly, the only places lit around the clock were those of strategic significance: the guard posts manning the walls, keeping watch for monsters, for instance, or perhaps for those guarding the home of the mayor, the Kingdom¡¯s local representative in the town. Accordingly, when I snuck out of the inn to go plunder the local shops, I did so by following the moon and stars, and by the gods, what a wonderful sight they were. The clear sky gave way to a dazzling river of lights, clustered so tightly together as to produce a blanket, each star¡¯s radiance merging seamlessly with those of its neighbours. I didn¡¯t recognise any familiar constellations, driving home yet again that this was a different, alien world. I felt small, under the stars, which only reinforced my determination to grow powerful: back on Earth, I¡¯d travelled extensively, and whilst I couldn¡¯t claim to have seen it all, not even close, I¡¯d visited every continent except Antarctica, and had a long photo reel of some of the greatest landmarks across human history. I¡¯d do the same again here, I vowed, and nobody would stop me. A nip at my ankles brought me back down to Earth (metaphorically), Pumpkin having grown impatient at my pause, and doubled back to get me back on track. Indeed, he¡¯d been taking the lead ever since we left the inn, heading unerringly towards the shopping district, with the surety of night vision that far surpassed my own. He was being very helpful here, both as a guide and a potential alibi: if I was caught somewhere I shouldn¡¯t be, then I was clearly just a hapless young man, chasing after my rebellious cat. Assuming I wasn¡¯t caught during anything too incriminating, that is. Putting the stray thought aside, I concentrated on following Pumpkin: it was still tricky, even after my eyes adapted to the dark, as he wasn¡¯t very big and his coat blended in well with the ground, but I made it work somehow. We couldn¡¯t see anyone else, either, another marked departure from what I was used to, and so we met no resistance as we arrived at our first target: the tailor. Whilst oddly advanced in some areas, thanks to the presence of magic, pret a porter was still a concept ahead of time, at just this far out in the middle of nowhere. Instead, people of means bought cloth at wholesale and brought them to a tailor, who would take their measurements and create clothes on demand. The poor, meanwhile, would make do with rough clothes of wool or linen, which they made at home or communally. This meant that not only would I be stealing from the tailor, but also whomever commissioned the clothes I took; I was hopeful that this would double any EXP gained from the theft, or at least provide a positive modifier to that effect. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Defying the stereotype of the master thief, we entered the tailor¡¯s not by a rooftop window, but simply by walking in through the front door. It was locked, yes, but that presented little challenge to me, when all I had to do was place both hands around the lock, grasping it uncontested and claiming it as mine, and letting the System do the rest. [Padlock (Locked) stored.] This was unlikely to be useful in future, unless I somehow found the key, but I figured it would be easy enough to toss it down a well somewhere. The door swung open, and we entered at the ground floor, which helpfully doubled as the main office and shopfront. Ignoring the mostly unfinished clothes on the tailor¡¯s table, we instead began to search the shelves on the walls, where the finished articles were stored pending collection from their commissioners. This part, admittedly, was always going to be down to luck: I simply had to hope that there would be clothes of a sufficient size and make, at least close enough to fit without too much discomfort. As it turned out, luck was on our side that day, and amidst the unsuitable sizes and appearances of far too much women¡¯s clothing, I found not one, not two, but three distinct pieces that fit me amidst the mess. [Gambeson stored.] Someone was clearly preparing for battle, and had ordered a thick woollen gambeson to serve as his armour, or to supplement heavier defences. Trying it out was made easy as well, as I simply had to store it, before pulling it back out around my body. It fit well, barring a slight emptiness around the lower abdomen; whomever commissioned this particular piece clearly ate both well and often. I didn¡¯t mind the mismatch, as there were several ways I could think to deal with it, should it prove necessary. Next up were a more conventional pick-up, a linen shirt and pants very similar to my own, enough that the System recognised it as such. [Backup shirt and pants stored.] Always good to have a spare, given the potential wear and tear imposed by an active lifestyle: my pocket dimension could remove dirt, but it couldn¡¯t yet repair clothing on its own, after all. Finally, perhaps both the most frivolous and potentially important, was a black cat mask that fit snugly around my face, covering nearly its entirety while leaving holes only for vision, breathing and eating. Frankly, I wasn¡¯t entirely sure what this was made for, as Halloween didn¡¯t exist as a concept in Frontier, but I decided not to look into it too deeply, for fear of finding answers that I¡¯d prefer not to know. [Mask (Cat) added.] It was a good haul, all told, and quick as well, taking no more than ten minutes to go through the lot. Predictably, it was as we prepared to set off for the next target, that we heard footsteps coming down from above. Chapter 26: Dead Money Chapter 26: Dead Money My first reaction was annoyance, to have come so far only to face a hurdle in the final hour. I smothered that quick, with experience borne from far too many business deals gone south, to consider what to do. I could run. That was the simplest, expected course of action: I already had what I needed, so why not vanish into the night, and leave the homeowner scratching his head? The problem was, if the homeowner was the tailor, and it probably was, as was common for craftsmen to live above their shops in this era, then unless he was utterly incompetent, he¡¯d do an audit of inventory and quickly realise what was missing. I was confident I could get away, but if he put out the descriptions then I wouldn¡¯t be able to use the stolen clothes without tying myself to the thief. [30 XP gained for a bit of shoplifting.] I paused, looking at the pop-up before quickly dismissing it: I hadn¡¯t gained a level just yet, so now was not the time for distractions. Back to the point, I couldn¡¯t run and leave the tailor to draw his own suspicions: in order to remain free to act in Allensward, I would need to do a bit of a cover up. ¡°Pumpkin, can you lure them to me?¡± I asked, as I ducked underneath the tailor¡¯s table, hiding myself beneath solid wood and tablecloth. Pumpkin meowed softly, which could have meant yes, no, or that he was hungry, but, peeking out from between an impromptu curtain, I watched him pad over to the foot of the stairs, and sit, just as the tailor¡¯s feet came into view. Hurriedly, I pulled the tablecloth back in place, concealing myself entirely. The System was fair, and only showed name tags if you could perceive the person in question, so I was safe, as long as he didn¡¯t look under the table too closely, but it did mean I was reliant on sound from here on out. ¡°A cat?¡± I heard the tailor say, a low, gruff voice, tinged with a hint of confusion. ¡°How¡¯d you get in here? Did Ralph forget to close the windows again?¡± Pumpkin hissed at him, scooting backwards a few steps, something I only heard because he wanted me to, having kept his claws out to clatter against the floorboard as he moved, even step ever slightly louder than the last. Good cat, I thought to myself, he was doing as I¡¯d asked, and setting up a classic ambush. ¡°Oi, get over here!¡± I heard an indignant yell, as the tailor tried to catch Pumpkin and was as successful as my own efforts, back when we were training: turns out, cats were significantly faster and more agile than humans, go figure. The correct way to catch a cat was with a trap, not whatever was going on nearby, but either the tailor had no experience with cats, or he wasn¡¯t thinking properly after being woken up in the middle of the night; either way, it was to my advantage. Pumpkin gave a mocking yowl in response, a terrible cross between nails and chalkboard and a screaming baby, before hopping onto the table right above me with a soft thump.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°By the fifth, could you stand still?¡± His footsteps were closer now, but still I waited until a faint shadow was visible even through the thin fabric, and he was mere inches from my face. Only then did I displace the tablecloth, and get a proper look at him. [Chip Norton - Level 2 Tailor] It was the tailor, which I¡¯d expected but hadn¡¯t been guaranteed: he could¡¯ve had a family or students boarding at his home, for all I knew. A short, stocky frame, hands calloused from manual labour, and a beard stretching down to his waist. I didn¡¯t bother to look at anything more than the basics, because I was loath to waste my advantage. I had sight of him, while he still hadn¡¯t seen me, his attention focused upon Pumpkin, and that made it simplicity itself to reach into my inventory, and withdraw my remaining nine gilt right inside his throat, before returning the tablecloth to its rightful position. [9 Gilt withdrawn.] This was perhaps overly paranoid of me, I reflected, as I heard the tailor fall to his knees, hands wrapped around his throat as he choked to death, but I genuinely believed that caution was warranted. This wasn¡¯t Damien, an orphan with no notable connections on the right side of the law: he knew people in passing, like any other orphan, but nobody would commit to a true relationship before he received a Class. Too likely to end in separation and heartbreak, that; similar to how puppy love between teens tends to wither, once university and the workplace came along and pulled them in very different directions. Likewise, he was unlikely to get much sympathy from his criminal friends, even if he mentioned that he¡¯d been assaulted. A tailor, on the other hand, was a fixture of the local community, and sure to have friends who would take umbrage at his murder. He might even have them on his Contacts list, and be tempted to name his killer as a final act of defiance. There was no point inviting such risks, so I didn¡¯t: he never saw me, so there was nothing to report. At best, he might tell someone he was choking, but by the time they woke up and came to his shop to investigate, it would be far too late for him. The Frontier Gild was a large, round bodied coin, approximately the same size as the two Pound sterling. One of them in the windpipe would have caused significant discomfort, two or three of them a danger; nine of them, packed in the same section of his throat? That was more than enough to completely block airflow to his lungs, at which point he¡¯d be unconscious before five minutes, and dead by ten, so all there was left to do was wait. In the end, Mister Norton fell on the short side of the scales, in death as in life, and passed from the world after seven and a half minutes. [50 EXP gained for your first premeditated kill!] Chapter 27: Murder, She Wrote Chapter 27: Murder, She Wrote [50 EXP gained for your first premeditated kill! Level up! Title gained - Murderer: Death comes easy, murder is hard. It requires a certain resolve, to take up a weapon and kill in cold blood, far from the battlefield where emotions run high. You are recognised by certain dark powers. It would be unwise to wear this Title in public.] ¡°Thanks for the warning,¡± I couldn¡¯t help but scoff as I crawled out from under the table, because really? [Really. The first person to earn that Title was executed after showing it off to impress his girlfriend.] ¡°Oh.¡± There was a lot I could say about that particular can of worms, but I still had much to do that night, too much to waste an hour on a diatribe against human stupidity. The System was being talkative again, too, volunteering information beyond the Level up itself, knowledge so old I doubted anyone still remembered it. I was grateful, of course, though I couldn¡¯t help wondering if everyone got the same treatment, or if this was another quirk of my particular Class. ¡°Hold on, you can¡¯t eat that,¡± I exclaimed, brought back to reality by Pumpkin hopping down next to the body. ¡°I¡¯ll treat you later, but we can¡¯t leave evidence of any foul play.¡± [9 Gilt stored.] That was why I¡¯d gone with the coins, after all: with them back in my inventory, by all outward appearances, old Chip Norton had died from a sudden loss of oxygen in his brain, the traditional symptoms of a stroke. Unfortunate, yes, but a simple fact of life that could happen to anyone of any age, but particularly trended towards the elderly. Even the bruising to his throat could be explained by his own hands wrapping around them, to try and restart his breathing: I doubted anyone would be able to tell what actually happened, short of a proper autopsy or magical interference, neither of which were likely, here. To further sell the deception, I spent a few moments taking random bits of clothing into my inventory, before tossing them out haphazardly, covering the corpse and also generally making a mess of the room. Clearly, all of this was down to the last flailing of a dying man, and there was no need to look into the exact contents of the shop. I couldn¡¯t help but smile at that, the System was correct when it bestowed my new achievement, premeditated murder was different. I¡¯d killed a man by accident before, the combination of a bit of speeding and an incautious pedestrian, but there¡¯d be no thought to that: just a sudden surge of panic that I¡¯d stamped down upon, continuing along the road to my intended destination.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. One of the first signs investigators looked for in such cases was odd behaviour, so I made sure to stick to my habits even after the crash, and if one particularly greedy associate took him a year¡¯s salary to testify that I¡¯d been in a performance review with him at the time of death, as well as to clean my car? Well, that was neither here nor there. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Pumpkin, off to the grocers next.¡± ¡ª I¡¯d always been a fan of multi-tasking while walking, as a way to maximise efficiency, and had no intention to break that trend in my new life. Letting Pumpkin take the lead again, since he¡¯d apparently memorised the layout of the town when I wasn¡¯t looking, I took the opportunity to finally make use of the new prompt that was now visible in the System. [Level Up? Y/N] With nothing else to occupy my time, I selected yes. [Congratulations! In reaching Level 2, you have made it into the top 90% of the human population by Level.] ¡°Excuse me?¡± I couldn¡¯t help blurting out. ¡°No way you¡¯re telling me a tenth of humanity dies before earning a single level up.¡± [Or even earlier, before they ever reach their Class Day. Magic can account for a lot, but this is still a feudal society, and not all monsters are mindless things, throwing themselves against the great walls.] ¡°You know what? Fair point,¡± I acknowledged, chastised. Infant mortality was an issue even back on Earth, in parts of the world, where diseases like Malaria thrived through to the twenty-first century, killing over a million people a year, many of them being children under five. [Moving on now, ahem. You have earned one automatic upgrade, to be applied to Masquerade: You may choose the Level of your displayed Public Class, up to a maximum of your True Level.] ¡°Cool,¡± I murmured, immediately bringing up my status sheet. [Will Swindell Class (True): Level 2 Soldier of Fortune Class (Public): Level 2 Merchant Title: [Empty] Experience: 111/300] I left the Title slot well alone, as that would be staying empty until I got something less offensive than Murderer, whilst exerting my will upon the third line and watching it change in real time. [Class (Public): Level 1 Merchant] That was better, and very convenient too: I¡¯d be meeting up with Damien again within the day, and he would surely have questions if I¡¯d levelled up in the meantime when I was supposed to be taking it easy at the inn. [Furthermore, you may select one of the two options below. 1) Wrath and Ruin: As a Soldier, once per day, break the limits of your body to deliver a devastating blow. As a Merchant, you will know when someone is trying to cheat you. 2) Death and Taxes: As a Soldier, wounds you inflict cause rapid decay. As a Merchant, curses you inflict last twice as long.] Well then, that was quite the choice, I thought to myself. Indeed, I¡¯d already gained valuable knowledge before even making my choice, because if the trend on these options held, then it meant I had a good idea of the blueprint for my future skills. Two options intertwined, one for each side of my Class, and only usable when the correct public Class was equipped. A limitation, yes, but also a helpful guardrail, ensuring that I only ever displayed skills that would be appropriate to my disguise, rather than blowing my cover with something ridiculous. Good to have, as a beginner, certainly, but irrelevant to the more important question just now: what to take? Chapter 28: A Little Bit of Everything Chapter 28: A Little Bit of Everything [Furthermore, you may select one of the two options below. 1) Wrath and Ruin: As a Soldier, once per day, break the limits of your body to deliver a devastating blow. As a Merchant, you will know when someone is trying to cheat you. 2) Death and Taxes: As a Soldier, wounds you inflict cause rapid decay. As a Merchant, curses you inflict last twice as long.] The choice was aggravating, because on the face of it, Wrath and Ruin was the obvious winner. Being able to focus my strength to punch above my weight could easily end a fight at my current level, assuming an opponent who didn¡¯t outmatch me by too much. The second half of the ability would also prove its worth, with negotiations coming up with respect to the local criminal enterprise, the first of many undoubtedly. Yet despite the clear benefits, I hesitated to lock in my choice. The old Will would have done so without hesitation, but with the benefit of another life¡¯s experience, I saw it for the trap that it was. Given time, I could learn to break the limits of my body without taking a trait for it: the heroic sagas in the library all agreed on this point, propaganda though they may be. Eventually, combat experience would allow me to do it naturally, and the selection would be wasted. Likewise, with the second half? That was something easily accomplished, with a keen mind and an eye to detail. To take it would be to admit that I had no confidence in myself to negotiate on my own behalf, and that was just unacceptable. Meanwhile, Death and Taxes provided capabilities I was unlikely to learn naturally, poison being typically the domain of the Assassin and similar classes, while curses were more commonly associated with the Mage or Warlock. Even if I couldn¡¯t leverage these abilities fully, at present, the potential of a built-in, damage over time component in all of my blows? That alone held greater potential than Wrath and Ruin, and if I ever learned to cast a curse, the difference in power would only grow. With that in mind, the choice before me was obvious: Wrath and Ruin was the safe choice, augmenting what I could already do, while Death and Taxes was the risky bet, a wager on my ability to reach greater heights. Put in that context, my decision was obvious: I didn¡¯t become a Soldier of Fortune to play it safe. [Death and Taxes selected.] I was very pleased with myself, having avoided falling back into old habits of caution. Less so, a second later, when I tripped over a furry bump in the night, and face planted into the dirt. Pumpkin, not content with that alone, added insult to injury by batting a paw against my face, until I pulled myself back up into a seated position. The reason why he did this became apparent as I stared at the building we¡¯d reached: I¡¯d let my mind wander, preoccupied with questions of levelling, and hadn¡¯t even noticed we¡¯d reached our destination.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Supermarkets didn¡¯t exist in Frontier, not in the modern sense, where vast shops contained wide varieties of foodstuffs and ingredients, often a dozen varieties or more of each major product. With transportation and preservation far more limited, because while ice and teleportation magic existed, they were far too rare to be wasted on wheels of cheese, stores were by necessity restricted in what they could offer. For a landlocked, rural town like Allensward, that meant the harvest from the fields nearby, supplemented by anything foraged or hunted in the forest, with only a very small proportion of food being imported from afar. The shopping format resembled more a farmer¡¯s market, with stalls set out during the day, laden with produce ready for purchase by gilt or by barter, and locked away again in the evening. [Padlock (locked) stored.] Pulling the same trick as before, I popped another lock into my inventory, opening up the small building where goods were kept overnight, to prevent spoilage and loss due to bad weather or vermin. It was unguarded, somewhat surprisingly: even with the death penalty on offer, for those caught stealing from the stockpile, I¡¯d have expected a more prudent approach to security. Still, I wasn¡¯t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so I began to move between crates of goods, feeling my way through the dark warehouse and helping myself to a little bit of everything. [Items stored: 3x Loaf of bread 6x Apple Strange looking rainbow fruit Bag of oatmeal Cheese wheel Bucket of stagnant water.] I paused, re-reading that last line, before dumping it back where I found it, because there was no way I was going to drink that. Magic was wonderful, but I had no desire to see how well it fared against the likes of E. coli. [Bucket of stagnant water withdrawn.] Pumpkin hadn¡¯t been idle, either, as he darted around, taking advantage of his superior night vision to bring me some of the good stuff from further away. [Items stored: 4x Chunk of Salt Pork 6x Orange Lemon 12x Plums] Before long, a varied assortment of food had made its way into my interdimensional pockets. I didn¡¯t take too much, of course, instead practising the age-old tradition of skimming a little off the top, enough to feed the two of us without making it too obvious that larceny had taken place, when the shopkeeper arrived to sort the inventory in the morning. Most of what I¡¯d found was normal enough, the sort of thing I wouldn¡¯t have blinked an eye at, back in London. The salt pork was maybe a little old-fashioned, but still a viable export, and featured prominently for its longevity and ease of transport, at certain shops catering towards campers, athletes and preppers. There was one item of curiosity, however: a fruit in the hue of a rainbow, which I¡¯d not have noticed without the System prompt, having grabbed it in near-darkness. [Rainbow fruit withdrawn.] ¡°What in the world is this?¡± I muttered to myself, holding the fruit close for a better look at it. Chapter 29: Taste the Rainbow Chapter 29: Taste the Rainbow Unfortunately, bringing the fruit closer to my eyes didn''t magically reveal any additional information. Maybe if I had the Farmer Class, it would have helped, but neither of the components of my Class specialised in fruit, and that left me with a problem. On the one hand, it was stored in a warehouse filled with food, lending a strong expectation that it was fit for human consumption. On the other hand, it was a strange looking fruit, one that I had no memories of ever seeing on Will¡¯s table, and more importantly, why was I getting the sudden and inexplicable urge to eat it. [Rainbow fruit stored.] The urge vanished as soon as I stuffed it back in my inventory, far too quickly to be natural, and I decided not to touch that one for a while. Not until I had some expert advice, as to why a fruit would want to be eaten: no matter how I sliced it, that sounded like some Grade A schmuck bait to me. Putting that aside, I did a final combing through the crates that were open and within reach, but found nothing too pressing to take. I wasn¡¯t stocking up for a month-long expedition here, just grabbing a bit of spare food in case I needed to spend a few days alone, should the upcoming negotiations fail. ¡°Easy there,¡± I murmured, as Pumpkin hopped on my shoulder and settled down like a weighted blanket around my neck, clearly done with leading the way for the night. [Dried fish stored.] Packing away the last of the bounty he graciously provided me, I let myself back outside, before placing my hand on the door handle, and doing something a bit underhanded. [Padlock (locked) withdrawn.] By withdrawing from my pocket dimension in just the right place, I was able to lock the door again, as if it had never moved in the first place. I¡¯d not bothered to do so at the tailor¡¯s, since a missing lock would be consistent with the general mess I¡¯d left behind to sell the evidence of a stroke; but in this latter case, the less evidence of my presence, the better. That was two out of three targets down, and so far, so good. I didn¡¯t need guidance to reach the final building of the night, either, as it was somewhere I¡¯d already visited before: the smithy. True, it was a bit ungrateful of me, to go and burgle someone who¡¯d taken time out of his day to explain the business situation of the Kingdom to me, but I needed access to more weapons, and beggars can¡¯t be choosers. I¡¯d left this heist for last, because of the three it was the one most likely to go wrong, and the faster I could get back to bed in the inn, the more airtight my alibi. It also helped that I¡¯d visited just days ago, and bought a novice¡¯s weapon for myself: hopefully, that would help deflect suspicion from me. Oh, I had no doubt that the truth of my actions would come to light, sooner or later, the key ways to tilt the odds towards later, by which point I would be out of town and far beyond reproach, leaving the locals with the bag: a strategy I¡¯d employed successfully for decades, in fact, until the very end.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. The smithy looked much the same as before, even down the front door: despite it being the dead of night, there was no lock in place, the owner seemingly confident enough to leave the door open. Ironically, that made me more cautious than anything else I¡¯d seen so far, backing away a few steps and dropping to a crouch. I was on edge, because in my experience, those who deviated from the norm were the most unpredictable, and either the blacksmith was a fool for leaving himself unguarded, or he had reasons to be so confident in himself. The lack of information on his name tag only made me more paranoid, as he clearly had ways to conceal himself, much like I did, and I wasn¡¯t sure as to what end it served. [Dirt stored.] After grabbing a contingency from the ground, just in case, I reached up to pry Pumpkin off of my back, which was a delicate exercise at the best of times. Thankfully, he seemed to be in a good mood after the previous round of pilfering, and let himself be pulled free without his claws making an appearance. Then, I wrapped one hand around his stomach, nudged the smithy door open with a foot, and tossed him through the opening like an American football. Pumpkin yowled in displeasure as he landed, even though he landed on his feet with impeccable grace, and I knew he¡¯d make me pay for that later, but it was worth it, to test my target¡¯s ears. Hearing loss was a traditional occupational hazard for blacksmiths, the logical consequence of long hours spent at the smithy, exposed to loud hammering of hammer on anvil. As before, if he heard Pumpkin¡¯s entrance and came downstairs to investigate, then all he¡¯d find was a cat, and if not¡­ [30 EXP gained for throwing a cat as a distraction. Seriously, what is wrong with you?] I suppressed a laugh as the System made its disapproval clear: I¡¯d never have done such a thing back in England, but if Pumpkin was a regular alley cat, then I was a flying saucer. He¡¯d already proved himself far too intelligent to fit the mould, and was levelling up as well, so here was surely far tougher than he appeared. I counted down under my breath for a full minute, as Pumpkin wandered around, testing his claws against various lengths of wood: nobody came downstairs, and indeed, I heard not a single sound of stirring from above. Maybe I was just overthinking things, I reasoned, as I headed inside to join Pumpkin, beginning to examine the weapon racks. This is a town in the middle of nowhere, that hadn¡¯t faced hardship in a generation, maybe security really was that lax. Chapter 30: Say Cheese Chapter 30: Say Cheese Typically, I¡¯d barely spent ten seconds in the smithy, when what looked like a disco ball lit up on the ceiling, bathing the room in red. I''d seen it in passing, when I''d bought my knife, but had thought it a mere decoration, like the streamers they often went up in shops around Christmas time, not some kind of targeted burglar alarm, one that didn''t react to Pumpkin but caught me immediately. Still, it wasn''t doing anything to keep me there, so I simply turned around and headed back out, writing this one off as a loss. Pumpkin followed eagerly behind me, keen to get away from the noise, as I followed my memory to trace a familiar path further out of town. I''d been planning to head back to the inn, after hitting all three targets, but that felt unwise in light of the alarm: the last thing I needed was for some nosy guard to follow me back. Instead, I equipped my Soldier class at Level 2, having gone classless up to this point to thwart potential observers, and headed for Edge Wood. The authorities discouraged people from visiting the wood at night, due to the tendency for stronger monsters to spawn, but it wasn''t illegal to do so, and people still did, for training. Nobody accosted me on the way to the wood, nor was there a guardsman at the gate at this time of the night, so the coast was clear, and all it would take was a single running jump to vault the fence and head inside. I didn¡¯t, though, because it wouldn¡¯t do me any good: Soldier of Fortune didn¡¯t level that way, so I¡¯d only be wasting my time and facing danger for no good reason. No, I didn¡¯t need the actual experience, just the alibi. Lying down in the dirt, still decidedly on the safe side of the fence, I rolled around a bit, getting my clothes nice and dishevelled in keeping with the after-effects of vigorous exercise. [Knife withdrawn.] Then, pulling out my knife in its sheath, I set it beside me, and coaxed Pumpkin to climb onto my chest, adding his warmth to my own, to offset some of the chill of a cool autumn night. Now the very image of an over enthusiastic rookie, driven to exhaustion during training, I settled down to catch what sleep I could, before dawn broke. I was resting right next to Guardsman Spike¡¯s post, so I was fairly certain either he or his colleagues would find me in the morning, out cold after a hard day of grinding mobs. It wasn¡¯t the best excuse I¡¯d ever come up with, but it was enough, and that¡¯s what counted. It wasn¡¯t even hard to fall asleep, as I¡¯d gotten less than my daily preference to go on this excursion, so if anything, I was just making up the hours. [10 EXP gained for refuge in audacity.]Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. On that cheerful note from the System, I drifted off to sleep. ¡ª I woke up groggily, to someone shaking me softly by the shoulder. My response was swift and certain, a punch flying towards the offender¡¯s head before I was even fully aware of my position. Guardsman Spike caught it with ease, his iron grip locking my arm in place without any visible effort, as I blinked back to wakefulness. ¡°Huh?¡± I uttered, starting the day off slowly, in the absence of a morning coffee. ¡°Back with us now, are you?¡± Spike sounded amused, letting me go once he saw the awareness return to my eyes. ¡°Yeah, I guess so,¡± I replied, sitting up slowly and rubbing the pins and needles out of my arms. ¡°What time is it?¡± ¡°Just past dawn,¡± Spike replied, eyeing my knife briefly as I clipped the sheath to my belt. ¡°Busy night of training?¡± He sounded slightly reproachful, though not as nearly as much as I¡¯d been expecting, given the horror stories some of the older orphans had told Will. Granted, those same orphans had come back in need of immediate medical care, whereas I looked ruffled but fine, so he probably just thought I could handle myself. ¡°Too much, probably,¡± I laughed, affecting a sheepish grin as I stood up fully for some morning stretches. It wasn¡¯t the first time I¡¯d slept in suboptimal conditions, and it didn¡¯t take long to get myself back in working order, all the aches and pains fading away with the admirable ease of youth. ¡°Worth it, though,¡± I quipped at the end, smiling proudly as though I¡¯d just caught the sun in my palm. ¡°Aye, you levelled up,¡± Spike noted. ¡°Quite quick, as well, just a few days after your first visit. Did you get anything nice for your first skill?¡± ¡°Wrathful Strike,¡± I replied immediately. ¡°It lets me put all of my strength into a single blow. Really good power behind it, but it¡¯s damn draining to use, I barely had the energy to move after testing it out. Probably why I¡¯m sleeping here instead of the inn, heh.¡± I wasn¡¯t sure if Wrathful Strike was a real skill, since I was just quoting the Soldier half of the option I didn¡¯t take for Level 2, but the mechanics sounded plausible enough from what I knew of the Soldier Class. ¡°A good skill indeed,¡± Spike acknowledged, a hand to his chin as his eyes stared into the distance, doubtlessly remembering the good old days. ¡°Try to make sure you have a companion, if you¡¯re going to use that skill. Having someone to drag you home after you¡¯re out cold can be the difference between life and death.¡± I nodded along, happy to receive that tidbit from the veteran guardsman: it was nothing I hadn¡¯t guessed already, but I never turned down free advice, you never knew when it might come in handy. ¡°You might want to get a weapon with longer reach,¡± Spike continued, his eyes at the knife at my waist again. ¡°Hitting hard means nothing if your blow can¡¯t connect, and your enemy lands his first.¡± ¡°I¡¯d love to,¡± I agreed readily, drawing the serrated blade to give him a better look at it. He was definitely probing for something with his suggestions: something about my potential involvement in a break-in at the smithy, perhaps? ¡°Sadly, I could only afford this knife with the gilt I had after my Class day. Maybe later, once I have more to my name.¡± If he wanted to check with the smithy, who¡¯d confirm I bought my knife all above board, then that was just fine by me. Chapter 31: The Cat in the Hat Chapter 31: The Cat in the Hat Our conversation petered out after that, as Spike had a job to do, allowing me to get back to town, Pumpkin riding on my back the whole way through. [Knife stored.] I¡¯d stowed my knife and swapped back to a Level 1 Merchant as soon as I was out of the guardsman¡¯s sight, returning to the inn much as I¡¯d left it. The innkeeper was already up, despite it being barely sunrise, humming a jaunty tune as he scribbled runes along the bar counter: something to do with his household magic, I was fairly sure. That suited me just fine, because I was still tired, a few hours on the dirt not being particularly restful. Breakfast would have to be sacrificed, I decided, heading to my room for a wash and some more sleep. Pumpkin was clearly tucked out as well, as he even went into the bath with me, and I''d never known a cat to enjoy the water when they had the energy to protest. It got him quite clean, which was nice, but left the room smelling like a wet cat, which was less pleasant, so I stuffed him back in my inventory to dry off in peace. I wasn''t entirely sure when Damien would pop back up, so I had to make the most of the time I had left to get back into top shape. Finally falling back into the comfort of my bed, I was out like a light the moment my head hit the pillow. ¡ª Pumpkin blinked, finding himself inside a familiar set of stone walls, yet again. He¡¯d just been rubbing himself against Will¡¯s face, when the familiar pull had grabbed him by the soul and dragged him back to this drab, grey room, the floor covered with various belongings strewn haphazardly on the floor. Spotting the fish he¡¯d been saving for later, Pumpkin padded over, intent on an early lunch, since Will wasn¡¯t present to stop him. As he approached the filleted mackerel, however, a glimmer of light at the corner of his eye caught his attention. There in the corner of the room, half-buried under a mound of dirt and barely visible, was a strange, rainbow-coloured fruit. Its peel changed hue with every passing moment, going from red to orange to yellow, unto green and blue, and finally purple, before circling back to red and beginning the cycle anew. [Rainbow Fruit] The System declared, rather unhelpfully, both because that description provided no new information, and because Pumpkin was in no mood to read, not any more. Where his mind faltered, however, his stomach took the lead, growling to let him know it was time to eat. He might have thought this strange, considering he was well fed the day before, but the fruit¡¯s strange compulsion was able to overcome any doubt on the matter, and before he knew it, Pumpkin had opened his jaw wide, and gobbled down the rainbow fruit, all but swallowing it whole in his haste. It was delicious, and quite possibly the sweetest thing he¡¯d ever eaten: strawberry with just a tinge of catnip for an extra kick, just the aftertaste being enough to knock the moggy flat.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. [Skill fruit consumed. User registered: Pumpkin - Level 2 Cat. Generating profile. Pumpkin Class: Level 2 Cat Title: [Empty] Experience: 203/300 Traits Titles Advancement Pumpkin¡¯s mouth was burning now, the aftertaste having gone from decadently sweet to absolute sourness, making his lips pucker in misery. He turned back to the fish he¡¯d abandoned in favour of the fruit, digging in with desperate fervour, less concerned about filling his belly, moreso the sheer desire to taste anything else save for a lemon, concentrated one hundred fold. It worked, the salty, savoury fish gradually fighting back the sourness, until Pumpkin was able to taste the fresh air again without wanting to gag. [Skill fruit integration complete. Unlocking rare racial Trait for Class: Cat. Trait unlocked - Nine Lives: 9/9 remaining.] Pumpkin tilted his head at that: he didn¡¯t feel any different, physically at least, yet was struck with the absolute certainty that death wouldn¡¯t be the end for him, not any more. How did he take that revelation, you might ask? Well, Pumpkin was no longer hungry, but he was still tired, so he wasted no time climbing into Will¡¯s stolen gambeson, turning into a loaf underneath the warm padded jacket, and falling asleep. ¡ª I awoke some time after noon, finally feeling less like a zombie and more like a functioning human being. I¡¯d never been one of those maniacs who could live happily off of four hours a night, not without a substantial dose of caffeine, so I¡¯d always insisted on the importance of getting eight hours of sleep. I¡¯d enforced this quite strictly with my employees as well, clamping down on workaholism and ensuring that they didn¡¯t take their work home with them. This saved me a fortune on overtime wages, and somehow contributed towards my image as a benevolent CEO as well: truly an indictment of the British work culture, that a bare minimum adherence to regulations was regarded as praiseworthy. But then, I¡¯d always made sure to keep everything running well and above board, except for my ponzi scheme itself. As the old saying goes, never commit more than one crime at a time; I¡¯d toed every line, and complied with every workplace regulation, all to ensure that nobody ever thought to launch an investigation, one that could uncover the financial irregularities I¡¯d done my best to keep buried. It hadn¡¯t worked forever, but I¡¯d had a few good decades, and I was content with that. Damien knocked on my door just then, calling my name with characteristic volume. Briefly, I wondered if he could detect criminal thoughts, before I set the thought aside and put my game face on. Time to see if he got me the meeting I wanted. Chapter 32: Mind the Gap Chapter 32: Mind the Gap Briefly, I considered taking Damien¡¯s report from bed, before dismissing the idea. It would be a touch too disrespectful, enough to breed the embers of resentment, even after how easily I put him in his place last time. Also, I¡¯d yet to obtain a way to open doors from a distance. Climbing out of bed begrudgingly, I made use of my inventory¡¯s mundane utility, and summoned my ill-gotten gambeson on top of my regular clothes, figuring that a bit of protection couldn¡¯t go amiss for the upcoming meeting. [Pumpkin the Cat withdrawn.] Pumpkin came along for the ride, landing on my head as the gambeson fell into place. ¡°Have you been sleeping in my clothes?¡± I asked suspiciously, having encountered such behaviour from cats before. Pumpkin meowed, sounding rather ambivalent. ¡°Will, are you in there?¡± Damien was getting rather insistent in his knocking, so I put the matter aside and promptly ignored him. Just briefly, mind you, long enough to grab one final item for the trip ahead. [Jug of water stored.] The inn¡¯s complimentary tap water, now a permanent fixture of my inventory: I figured I could maybe spook a few people by repeating the water trick I¡¯d gotten Damien with, and even if that wasn¡¯t needed, a portable source of potable water would never be a bad thing to have. Only then did I finally open the door and let Damien in. ¡°Are you ready to go?¡± Damien asked immediately, looking around my room as if expecting it to be in a state of disarray. ¡°Yes,¡± I replied brusquely, a bit offended at the insinuation: I¡¯ll have you know I¡¯m a very neat fellow. ¡°The meeting is now?¡± ¡°Walk with me,¡± Damien replied, already heading for the stairs. I followed along, intrigued: the boy had never been so taciturn before, and I couldn¡¯t help but wonder at the reason behind that. As amazing as I was, surely the humiliation I¡¯d inflicted couldn¡¯t have been the sole cause of such a drastic change in personality? I pondered the question as we left, idly waving goodbye to the Innkeeper. I¡¯d missed a number of meals, and thus overpaid, but I wasn¡¯t about to quibble with him over it: especially as he might discover I¡¯d stolen back my money, if he were inclined to check his drawer. ¡°So, mind telling me who we¡¯re meeting?¡± I asked conversationally as we headed away from the main street. ¡°In broad daylight too. I was expecting something in a dark alleyway on a rainy night.¡±The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°You¡¯ve read too many heroic sagas, real life doesn¡¯t work like that,¡± Damien¡¯s lip twitched, a flicker of life back in his voice as we traded jibes, before his face flattened again. ¡°Seriously though, I¡¯m not going to blindfold you or anything, just know that you¡¯ll be in big trouble if you tell anybody. Be respectful as well, when we arrive, I¡¯ve told them about your trick with the water, it won¡¯t work a second time.¡± I just shook my head at that: somehow, Damien had fixated on the idea that I was a water mage of sorts. Oh well, I didn¡¯t mind indulging his delusions for a little while longer. True to his words, we were actually heading into the nice part of town, where their houses were clean, the road free of cracks, and the households mostly owned their property rather than holding it in the name of the mayor. It was also the area furthest from the orphanages, and there were typically no orphans within line of sight, present company excepted. It didn¡¯t mean much, in a town with maybe a few thousand people at most, but even at such a small scale, society still found a way to divide itself. The house we eventually stopped at was, to be frank, identical to the other ten along the terraced row, to the point where I¡¯d be hard pressed to remember the location even without the aforementioned blindfold. Damien was first to the door, giving it one hard knock, followed by three softer, rapid taps, and another hard knock to finish. The door swung open at the obvious secret handshake, and I followed him in. The insides were unimpressive, to put it mildly. Wooden crates adorned every free space along the corridors, shelves were packed to bursting with them too, and the overall effect was a cramped, claustrophobic space reminiscent of the aisles at an Asian supermarket. Taking care not to step on anything breakable, I followed Damien¡¯s footsteps, to eventually make out of the entryway of doom, and to two odd-looking men sat at a coffee table, with a third leaning against the wall at the back, all of them looking my way as Damien and I sat opposite the pair. [Little Boy - Level 1 Thief] The man to my left, diagonally, was a thin, wiry fellow in keeping with his epithet. His pale skin belied a pair of shifty blue eyes, almost hidden under thick blonde locks of hair, locking first on to me, to Damien, then flitting every which way with each passing second. [Fat Man - Level 1 Brawler] His counterpart, and I could scarcely believe the name tags I was seeing, was considerably more rotund, albeit accompanied by obvious muscles along his bare arms and legs, akin to those of a sumo wrestler, though not quite so extreme in size. His face featured a broken and crudely repaired nose, and the signature cauliflower ears of a boxer, testament to his willingness to fight, if not his effectiveness. [-] The man against the wall, on the other hand, was the most interesting of all. Classless, at least by appearance, something that was said to spark unease in observers, so used to the System as everyone in this world was. A method of intimidation, perhaps, backed by the fact that he alone didn¡¯t seem nervous: the two sitting opposite tried to hide it, but the twitching eyes and shaky limbs made it rather obvious. His position, likewise, would suggest he was a mere guard or onlooker, but by my reckoning, he might well be something more. ¡°So, who am I talking to here?¡± I eventually broke the silence, as nobody else seemed willing to. ¡°Damien was rather recalcitrant to mention any of you.¡± Chapter 33: Prepare for Trouble, and Make it Double Chapter 33: Prepare for Trouble, and Make it Double ¡°That¡¯s because we told him to keep us on the down-low,¡± Little Boy declared, pointing a boney finger at Damien. ¡°In our line of work, too much attention is a bad thing! This ain¡¯t like a legitimate business, we don¡¯t do advertisements here.¡± ¡°We¡¯re the Allen Keys, the best smugglers in the region, and we move cargo from place to place: no questions, no failure,¡± Fat Man continued, picking up the thread from his partner. ¡°Through rain, sleet and snow, around every patrol and toll, we¡¯ll get your goods where they¡¯re needed.¡± ¡°For a small fee, naturally,¡± Little Boy finished off, the pair of them remarkably in sync. ¡°But far less than the competition asks, oh yes. Why, for the small price of only ten percent of your earnings, we¡¯ll even throw in a no win no fee guarantee¡­¡± I zoned out as the pair continued, only half-listening as the pair of outlaws proclaimed the greatness of their smuggling operation with a surprising degree of showmanship, given their claim to avoid advertising. It was pretty clear by that point that, beyond their organisation¡¯s name, very little of value would be coming from their screed, so I let my attention drift, to take in the small details that actually mattered. Little Boy seemed to be struggling to keep up with the speech: several times, I watched him pause, his hands twitching and reaching for the table, for something that didn¡¯t exist. Never for long, as he reasserted control of his limbs once he realised what was happening, but combined with the smacking of his lips, it was pretty obvious what was going on. There¡¯d normally be refreshments at a meeting like this. That was a basic courtesy and a fact of life, a bit of food and water to make everyone¡¯s life easier, in case the negotiations dragged on as they often did. Tea or coffee, preferably, or a glass of water at minimum, but this time there was nothing. Clearly, Damien¡¯s warning on my capabilities had been heeded, but they¡¯d been working with faulty information, and assumed that my prowess depended on the presence of liquid: an unfortunate oversight, albeit understandable, given how little I¡¯d shown off thus far. Fat Man was faring better, his voice strong and steady throughout, indicative of someone with plenty of experience at public speaking. Not particularly energetic in his delivery, and I got the sense that most of what he was saying came from a speech recited by rote, but it got the point across, which was what mattered in the end. Curiously, neither of the men opposite me were armed, at least not visibly. I didn¡¯t doubt the presence of a hidden shiv or two, but even forgoing the appearance of weaponry was a statement of sorts, one that I couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of. Did they believe themselves safe, because we approached this meeting under the flag of truce? Possible. Alternatively, they were greatly underestimating me, which seemed unlikely if they were willing to take precautions merely to safeguard against my supposed powers. Idly, my eyes met the man at the back again: he hadn¡¯t moved since we started, resembling a statue more than a human being.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. [-] The System wasn¡¯t any more helpful now, either, its detection foiled by whatever countermeasures he had in place. He noticed my eyes on him, however, and pointed at each of the two men speaking, before drawing his finger across his throat, followed by a thumbs up. All in all, a gesture that was impossible to misinterpret, though it raised more questions than answers, why someone ostensibly on the same side would be happy to see the pair die. ¡°...so you see, with your talent at hiding things in plain sight, you¡¯re the perfect man to join our crew.¡± Little boy was breathing heavily now, his lungs protesting the impromptu workout. ¡°For a very generous three percent of the total profit, you too can become a courier in the night. What do you say?¡± Fat Man grinned, revealing two surprisingly healthy rows of teeth: whatever else had gone on in the fighting ring, he¡¯d clearly sported a mouthguard during his bouts. ¡°To summarise, you want me to sign a five-year contract to join your organisation. During that time, I¡¯d be helping load carriages, drive them, and keep a lookout for Kingdom patrols and toll collectors, all while delivering packages filled with contraband to nearby towns and cities. All this,for three percent of the take at the end. Does that sound right?¡± ¡°See, you got it already,¡± Little Boy simpered, pulling a row of parchment out from under the table.. ¡°I can already tell, you¡¯ll be a model member of the Allen Keys; if you would, just sign here, here and here?¡± The terms of the contract were nothing special; much more verbose when written down than in the spoken word, but they were broadly analogous to the pair¡¯s explanation. What concerned me was not the contract itself, but the power I could feel in the parchment, being enough to make my hair stand on end despite my present lack of magical senses. Somehow, I got the impression that, if I were to sign this piece of paper, breaking the contract wouldn''t be quite as simple as the old cut and run. Taking the quill from Fat Man¡¯s outstretched hand, I considered the document carefully, pretending to read at a much slower pace, as would be expected of a first time negotiator, rather than the seasoned operator I was in truth. Eventually, I got to the bottom of the document, and frowned at the blank spot that thirsted for my ink, metaphorically speaking. ¡°Damien,¡± I said, making the boy next to me jerk in his seat. ¡°I thought you were told to negotiate good terms for me. Three percentage of the net profit to be worked like a dog, is this your idea of a good deal?¡± Chapter 34: Beat It Chapter 34: Beat It ¡°It¡¯s a good deal!¡± Damien protested, his face puckered up in offence. ¡°A single round trip of the caravan can earn a profit of thousands of gilt. I¡¯m not sure how you were able to hide that water of yours, but if you use that on the shipment, then that cuts the risk of discovery to almost zero. No need to look over your shoulder, worried that the outriders are going to round you up at any minute. Just a leisurely trip to the surrounding towns, there and back again, before claiming your share of the spoils. ¡°Indeed?¡± I turned to Damien now, looking him in the eye as my brows raised at his claim. ¡°Tell me then, what kind of goods are we talking about, to have that kind of profit margin? From what you told me earlier, this operation deals in legal goods, just with a bit of skimming off the top, courtesy of dodging the Kingdom¡¯s men, looking to take their cut. What kind of legal good can command such a premium: dragon scales?¡± I was openly mocking Damien by now, which was only fair, given how he¡¯d made a mockery of his attempt to recruit me. The boy reddened, and opened his mouth to defend himself, only to be cut off by a laugh from behind. ¡°Legal goods?¡± The man at the wall scoffed, speaking up for the first time. ¡°That¡¯s quite the yarn you¡¯ve spun, that¡¯s for certain. Look around you, lad; you¡¯re in a house stuffed to the brim with wooden crates, each of them nice and tall, just perfect to hide something near the bottom and a disguise on top. Do you really think we¡¯d demean ourselves, to smuggle something legal?¡± ¡°We sell drugs,¡± Fat Man clarified, helpfully, as the man in the back had been full of vitriol, but rather lacking in detail. ¡°Wrap them nice and proper, douse them to kill the scent, and then pile fruits and vegetables on top to hide them on route.¡± ¡°I see,¡± I murmured, never taking my eyes off of Damien, even as I listened to what his criminal associates had to say. ¡°These circumstances, Damien would have known the truth of it all, before today?¡± ¡°He must have suspected, at least,¡± Little Boy confirmed, throwing Damien under the bus without hesitation. ¡°He¡¯s not the best, where numbers are concerned, but even he should know that the hundreds of gilt we gave him to play lookout weren¡¯t from selling fruit.¡± I heard Damien inhale, doubtless to try and dissemble his way out of his guilt, but it was far too late, and I¡¯d already heard enough. ¡°I can forgive a failed attempt to negotiate on my behalf,¡± I scowled, cutting off whatever he was about to say. ¡°But I cannot forgive your lies. Defend yourself, Damien, you¡¯re all out of chances.¡± To his credit, Damien didn¡¯t hesitate or beg for forgiveness. He¡¯d come without a sword, ostensibly unarmed as I was, but quickly reached into his pants for a hidden knife, stumbling out of his chair and backing away to try and create some distance between us.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. [Plum withdrawn.] Unfortunately for Damien, he¡¯d fallen afoul of one of the oldest perils of backpedalling: not watching his feet as he moved. His heel came down on the ripest of the twelve plums I¡¯d pocketed from the warehouse, and that was dangerous, because a ripe plum is barely more than a mass of slippery liquid in a peel, and at the angle he was taking, the sudden loss of balance was enough to make him tumble. [Knife withdrawn.] I followed Damien up, far more sedately, and came upon him as he landed, a rusty shiv clattering to the floor next to his outstretched hand. I didn¡¯t give him a chance to recover, taking my four and a half inch knife in a reverse grip, and doing what it did best: stabbing straight down on a prone opponent. I dropped in a far more controlled fashion, my knees landing on his chest as I went for my first stab. Damien caught the blow on his arm, gritting his teeth against the pain as my blade cut deep. But whilst he was prepared to endure that much, my knife¡¯s serrated edge did far worse as I pulled it back, drawing a jagged gash the length of his arm before tearing itself free at his wrist. Damien screamed, the burning agony of his wound sapping his attention, as bright red blood poured out from his ulnar artery. Unused to an injury of that degree, Damien reverted to base instinct and did the worst possible thing he could in a fight: he froze up. My second stab, accordingly, found no resistance as it punched a hole clear through his throat, as I took my knife in a two-handed grip, all the better to rip and tear until it was done. People don¡¯t tend to live long with their throat cut open, and Damien, bless him, was no exception to this rule. [30 XP gained for cutting out the middleman.] Pumpkin chose that moment to hop down from my head, where he¡¯d been perched and largely forgotten since I first left the inn. He looked up at me, his big round eyes almost pleading, and thought it took a moment, I quickly realised what he wanted from me. ¡°You can eat this one,¡± I said with a laugh. ¡°We¡¯ll need to hide the death, naturally, but that¡¯s a matter of dealing with bones, this time around, and I¡¯m sure our associates here would be willing to help with a bit of a cover up.¡± [Knife stored.] I returned my knife to my inventory, though the plum was regrettably beyond recovery, and retook my seat facing the pair of crooks, this time all on my lonesome. It was always remarkable, just how fast knife fights were in real life: none of that extended hacking and slashing, as Hollywood preferred to show, just a few seconds was all it took to snuff out someone¡¯s life. Case in point, the entire exchange with Damien had taken less than a minute, start to finish. Little Boy had turned three shades paler in the interim, and I mentally marked him as someone new to violence, while Fat Man merely nodded at me, an approving glint in his eye. ¡°That was well done,¡± the man at the wall, too, was full of praise just then. ¡°We¡¯ll deal with the body, at the cost of one percent of your cut.¡± ¡°Acceptable,¡± I replied immediately, because although I could sort it out myself, that would require me to reveal Death and Taxes, and I¡¯d rather keep that in the back pocket until it was truly needed. ¡°And how much is my cut, while we¡¯re on the subject? I¡¯m sure we can all agree that three percent is a farcical offer.¡± The negotiations began anew, as Pumpkin ate the evidence in the background. Chapter 35: Gladhanding Chapter 35: Gladhanding I may have mentioned before, but my inventory was very useful for mundane purposes too. Removing the blood on my clothes, from a short-lived scuffle, and even the residue of the splattered plum beneath Damien¡¯s boot. Neither of these acts generated a usable item, so presumably they merely vanished, forever lost in whatever void the System used as a garbage disposal, but more importantly, it kept me clean, and obscured the cause of death to a degree as well. Doubtless, the spectators to our fight knew I did something to make Damien trip and fall, but that could be interpreted in many different ways, and I preferred to keep my hand hidden, where possible. In any event, with Damien out of the way, the remaining members of the Allen Keys (a name that would never fail to remind me of DIY furniture) seemed much more at ease, and willing to genuinely negotiate. Was the late orphan simply horrible at the table, or was he in truth a test, to see how I reacted to being scammed? Honestly, I gave it even odds on either option. In his absence, the man at the wall had taken the now vacant seat next to me, showing a commendable lack of fear, given the untimely demise of its previous occupant. More importantly, whether it was my actions or the fulfilment of some condition set by the System, I was now able to see his name tag. [Harvey Miller - Level 3 Thief Dead Hand: Frontier Branch] His name was ordinary, enough to either be true or false, while the class was likewise within the range of expectations: for it was only natural for a criminal enterprise to be heavy on thieves. Far more interesting to me, however, was the second line, which I understood to be the spot typically occupied by Titles. Now, I only had one title, and in keeping with what the library had taught me, they weren¡¯t easy to get. Typically, they were rewarded by the System only for particularly life changing events, such as a first kill, in my case. For membership of an organisation to merit a title, more than anything else, signified that it was one that had some teeth, particularly given the branch designation, and the international connections that implied. I flicked my eyes up briefly, and Harvey inclined his head. He¡¯d intended to show me this, then. As we were both facing one another, on the same side of the table, neither the Little Boy nor the Fat Man saw this bit of byplay, which I also believed to be intentional: as I¡¯d surmised earlier, they were also subordinates, while the silent man was the authority here. ¡°So, I have to ask,¡± I began, glancing back to the peanut gallery for a moment. ¡°These two and their names¡­¡± ¡°Fake, naturally,¡± Harvey confirmed my suspicions. ¡°They are both local to this area, and are responsible for our local stockpiles, so it would be problematic, were their identities revealed. I am a traveller, never staying in one place for too long, and I intend to move again shortly, so there is no risk in revealing myself.¡±Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. An explanation and a veiled threat all in one: after all, I was also a local, as far as they knew. I was almost impressed. Behind me, Pumpkin walked up and hopped onto my lap, having eaten his fill in the interim. I swept a hand over his face, removing the odd bloodstain, but on the whole he was a careful groomer, and didn¡¯t need more than a little nudge here and there. The lazy cat settled down, head first on my lap and began to snore. ¡°Fair enough,¡± I shrugged, unruffled by the reveal. ¡°I¡¯m hoping to move on as well, while we¡¯re on the topic. Allensward. Well, it wasn¡¯t a bad place to grow up, but there¡¯s no real future here, not for the ambitious.¡± ¡°Ambition is to be respected,¡± Harvey nodded sagely. ¡°Very well, since you intend to play a genuine part in the great game, let me explain to you how the Dead Hand works.¡± Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Little Boy and Fat Man were both relaxed here, without a single twitch: they knew enough to not be surprised by the name drop, at least. ¡°Primarily, we are an organisation interested in the pursuit of profit, regardless of any laws that might impede our pursuits. This can mean different things, depending on the particulars of each Kingdom we operate in, but in Frontier? It means smuggling. Being at the northern edge of human territory, everything that happens, does so in the shadow of eternal conflict. Men and weapons come from the South to join the meat grinder, while casualties, orphans and damaged material return from the North. Around this, a vast logistical operation exists, bringing in everything from essentials like food and drink, to ammunition, to replacement clothing and entertainment. Teleportation exists, but only works with the direct supervision of a Mage specialised in spatial magicks. There aren¡¯t many of them, so the practice is both highly regulated, and very expensive, reserved only for critical deployments and the most expensive products. For everything else, it¡¯s got to travel the long way around. The Kingdom of Frontier benefits from this, in the forms of tolls and taxation: the former applied to checkpoints at key locations along the north-south route, and the latter assessed upon a caravan¡¯s arrival at their destination. These are the legal sources of revenue, but naturally, they aren¡¯t the only ones. Corruption is a fact of life, endemic across the Kingdom, so if you¡¯re moving goods in any significant quantities, expect to have to pay bribes along the way, to make sure everything arrives at its destination. Are you following me so far?¡± I nodded, impressed with what I was hearing. Ironically, it was an outlaw who was providing the most thorough explanation of human trade I¡¯d yet come across in this life: the library, by contrast, preferred to focus on the great deeds of heroes, while hand waving the rest away. ¡°Good. Now, there¡¯s a lot of money to be made, so people still participate despite the problems, because you can still make it rich even after every greedy guard or bureaucrat takes their cut. But people don¡¯t like it, and the search for ways around the tolls is never-ending. That¡¯s where people like us come in.¡± Harvey came from a good background, I realised, listening to him talk: there was a certain dark charisma around him, one that suggested a formal education and training in rhetoric. I hung upon his every word, as he finished his preamble and began to delve deeper. Chapter 36: Space Invaders Chapter 36: Space Invaders ¡°Commerce directed northward is heavily regulated: everything is meant to facilitate the war effort in some way, shape or form. Even goods that, on the face of it, have nothing to do with the front line have to be justified in that context, or else the purveyors in question will be denied a trading permit. As you can imagine, this is clearly much easier for some categories than others. Packs of cards and dice so soldiers can pass the time are not controversial, as they help keep morale high. Even alcohol or prostitution can be justified in this manner, albeit couched in euphemisms more acceptable to the more puritan of officials. The problem comes, when substances have a clear, detrimental effect on human productivity, but people still want it. These products are strictly forbidden, across the length and breadth of the Great Wall, and trafficking them is punishable by death. But people still want it, and they¡¯re willing to pay a big premium for the privilege.¡± So far, so good, was my general opinion of the presentation thus far. It was a very top level view of how narcotics trafficking became as prevalent as it did, back on Earth, the kind of presentation that might feature on the first module of an MBA, the vaunted Master of Business Administration degree that C-suite executives the world over adored, as an example of the ingenuity that drove the grey economy. Frontier, if anything, had it even easier, as the entire transit could be conducted on land, without those pesky oceans in the way, not to mention the existence of teleportation, though that raised another question. ¡°If drugs are that expensive, then why not hire a spatial Mage?¡± I asked, very reasonably in my opinion. ¡°You said that they were rare and expensive, but Mages are still human. Offer them enough money and they¡¯d surely be tempted.¡± ¡°Some are,¡± Harvey nodded, accepting my point. ¡°But there are additional risks to bringing magic on board, at least, if done in any great volume, as a business inevitably requires. Paying a singular mage to deliver a discreet snuff box to a waiting noble? Easily done, in a single casting of a spell. If you want to make real money, though, and we¡¯re talking pallet after pallet of drugs, then you¡¯ll need a ritual or a formation to send it any decent distance. The former carries steep requirements, such as mass ritual sacrifice of animals or even humans, which tend to be very hard to cover up and inevitably attract attention from law enforcement, while the latter causes the local, ambient magic to spike considerably, to a point where any nearby Mage worth the name will know what you¡¯re doing. Neither outcome is viable, if you prize the longevity of the organisation at all. Sometimes, simple really is best, which is why the humble smuggler¡¯s caravan remains the bread and butter of our organisation.¡± All of this was news to me, as I¡¯d read plenty about what magic was capable of, but very little on how it happened. Advertising my ignorance was inadvisable, however, so I merely nodded along as if I knew every detail of what he was describing already.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. ¡°Accordingly,¡± Harvey continued, when I remained silent at his rebuttal. ¡°We are always on the lookout for individuals with a proven talent for smuggling, along with the required ruthlessness to make it in the industry. When Damien came running to us, claiming that you¡¯d somehow overpowered and strangled him despite being a mere Merchant, well, that caught my attention, so I decided to bring you here and give you a chance. A gamble, perhaps, but one that paid off in my view. Damien had claimed you had the ability to manipulate water, but from how you dealt with him, your hidden power is something rather more versatile.¡± ¡°I can place things into a pocket dimension, provided they¡¯re small enough for me to hold,¡± I agreed, coupled with a live demonstration. [Plum withdrawn.] ¡°Nothing too big, but a little can go a long way, in battle and commerce alike, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡± There was no point trying to hide this much, considering Harvey had already seen it in action, and he was intelligent enough to put two and two together if we spent any time at all together. ¡°You need to hold the object to store and release it, but with a little sleight of hand? Yes, I could see how that might work.¡± I smirked at that, but otherwise stayed silent, letting Harvey come to his own (erroneous conclusions). ¡°Are there any limits to what you can store?¡± Harvey asked, after a moment¡¯s thought. ¡°I¡¯ve yet to find a limit in terms of materials,¡± I admitted, placing my free hand on Pumpkin¡¯s sleeping head. [Pumpkin the Cat stored. Plum stored.] ¡°There¡¯s a size limit, though: I can store a small animal, a knife, or a change of clothes, but don¡¯t expect me to bring an entire caravan or an inn with me.¡± ¡°If you could do that, you wouldn¡¯t be wasting your time listening to me,¡± Harvey guffawed, taking the limitations in good humour. ¡°That¡¯s still plenty, trust me: storage talents aren¡¯t even that rare, they show up for thieves and merchants alike with some regularity, for reasons that I think are obvious. Yours has fewer limitations than most, however, and that¡¯s enough for me to extend a good offer to you.¡± I tilted my head, inviting him to proceed, whilst my hand clenched just a little, ready to summon my knife should his offer prove as insulting as what Damien had been able to get for me. ¡°Allensward is a supply hub, one of many across Frontier, where drugs are collected from regional producers and gathered together, so that a single caravan can take it North, to the front lines. It¡¯s a good place for this, as the number of orphanages means that people ask fewer questions, when foreign men show up claiming to be looking for, or meeting someone. From here, our first trip goes Northwest to Heaven¡¯s Reach, at the very west end of the Great Wall. From there, we do a long arc East, visiting every fortress city along the front lines, until finally peeling off to Light¡¯s End by the coast, where we drop off the last of our cargo, bound for international markets. What do you think? Up for a little bit of travelling?¡± Chapter 37: Deal or No Deal Chapter 37: Deal or No Deal ¡°In principle, I¡¯m down for some travelling,¡± I agreed easily enough. ¡°But what I need are specifics. How long are we talking though, from here all the way to Light¡¯s End? What happens if I like the look of a stop and want to get off for good? Finally, and most importantly, what¡¯s my cut?¡± ¡°The longest time spent on the road is the initial stretch, to Heaven¡¯s Reach. That¡¯s a solid two weeks of travel in the best conditions, and potentially up to a month if we have to deal with delays from bad weather, if a storm rolls in during that time. Once we¡¯re at the border, things get a bit more dangerous, but we¡¯re also never far from civilization: the garrison requirements to man the Wall simply wouldn¡¯t allow it, since any dead zone for activity is a potential security breach. We¡¯ll be at a new settlement every two to three days, continuing all the way until we hit the mountain range that blocks off the northeast. From there, it¡¯s a simple weeklong journey down to Light¡¯s End, where we¡¯ll most likely part ways. So all in all? Two and a half months is my best guess, three months if you want to come back here after all is said and done.¡± ¡°Acceptable,¡± I murmured, running the numbers over in my head. A few months of travel time really wasn¡¯t bad, considering we were covering an entire border of the nation. It took a retired old paratrooper six whole years to cover the borders of the UK by himself, albeit he was walking rather than taking any form of transport. In any event, it wasn¡¯t as though I had to stay for the entire journey, right? ¡°If you want to leave at any point, then fine by me. You¡¯ll have to hand back any unsold merchandise, and then you can be on your way. Assuming we¡¯re still on good terms by then, I might even give you my Contact details, in case you¡¯re up for any jobs in the future.¡± ¡°Really?¡± That was the outcome I¡¯d been hoping for, but it still sounded oddly generous to me. ¡°No blood oaths, binding me to the Dead Hand for the rest of my life, however long it may be?¡± ¡°Nah, we don¡¯t do that kinda thing here,¡± Fat Man spoke up, making me turn as I remembered his existence, after a good long while focused on Harvey alone. ¡°Forcing someone to come along who doesn¡¯t want to, then giving him drugs and your back?¡± Little Boy likewise scoffed. "Not smart.¡± ¡°They have the right to it,¡± Harvey confirmed. ¡°It¡¯d be different, if you were looking to take up a leadership position in the organisation, but for a simple contract job as a courier? There¡¯s no need to go that far, it just breeds resentment.¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. A surprisingly even handed approach to recruitment, I was forced to acknowledge, and the most effective from a pragmatic point of view. Slavery had been the norm, back in mediaeval times on Earth: whether the chains came in an overt fashion, or were more subtle in the form of a class system, everyone had their place in the pecking order. The problem with that, of course, was that everyone in such a position was constantly looking for a way out, often by stepping over the bodies of their former captors. It made for a very hostile work environment, in more ways than one. ¡°Better than joining the army, even,¡± I joked, recalling the terms of enlistment featured so prominently in the library. Ten years at a minimum, the days to be counted from the end of basic training, when they were formally recorded on the roll of service. Before that, leaving was easier, and happened for a number of reasons, most commonly when a previously unknown medical issue popped up, leaving the recruit unfit to serve. After that though, discharge was only possible with officer approval, and desertion was a crime punishable by death: so more or less the same as back on Earth, a few decades prior. The main difference, though, was how many days they tended to spend in combat, as while a modern soldier could expect rotations in deployment, and post-operational leave after every deployment, the soldiers in Frontier would spend their entire deployment at the Walls. Sure, a generous pension awaited them at the end of their enlistment, but the casualty figures had been conspicuously absent in everything I¡¯d read, so they were likely pretty awful, by my reckoning. ¡°Ours is a better life than any dog of the King,¡± Harvey boasted, happy to play along. ¡°Better paid too, in fact, given the obvious utility of your storage skill, I¡¯m willing to offer you an entire five percent of earnings at each stop of the caravan. What do you say?¡± ¡°Did you name tag change just now, from Harvey to Damien?¡± I asked sardonically, as the actual negotiation began. ¡°None of you three have shown a similar talent, so forgive me if I believe it¡¯s not nearly as common as you claimed. Fifteen percent sounds fine, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡± ¡°We run a tight ship, but there¡¯s still plenty of men to consider,¡± Harvey protested. ¡°Our two friends here get a cut, for keeping the stockpile at Allensward safe, and then there¡¯s the carriage drivers, the guards and the two of us. Seven percent would be very generous, seen in that light.¡± ¡°Any busybody can drive a carriage, or swing a sword, but me? I can keep the most valuable or dangerous goods hidden from any inspection. What¡¯s thirteen percent to you, if it means keeping your head when things go sour?¡± ¡°I have to keep my head above water as well, and there are dues to be paid, that¡¯s part of what it means to be in a big organisation. Nine percent, that¡¯s as high as I¡¯m willing to go.¡± ¡°Eleven.¡± No need to drag it out any further, since we were both clearly targeting the same end-point. ¡°Ten percent, and I¡¯ll put in a good word for you with the Boss.¡± ¡°Deal.¡± We shook on it, like gentlemen, and unlike with Damien, I didn¡¯t even try to drown him. Progress. Chapter 38: Tithe Chapter 38: Tithe Ten percent of the earnings at each stop of the caravan. It was a better deal than it sounded, because we were talking gross revenue here: the total earned in sales, without considering any deductions for what was spent procuring the goods for sale. I wasn¡¯t investing anything into this venture beyond my talents and time, while the rewards could be considerable, and best of all, because the nature of this enterprise was so blatantly illegal, I wasn¡¯t at all at risk of falling afoul of my Class Covenants. Harvey had departed quickly after we made our deal, claiming to have business to attend to. That left me in the care of Little Boy and Fat Man, neither of whom looked sure what to do with me. ¡°First time doing business like this?¡± I asked rhetorically, because of course it was: neither of them looked nearly comfortable enough to claim otherwise. ¡°Yeah,¡± Little Boy confessed, sure enough. ¡°Our job¡¯s just to mind the house, make sure nobody¡¯s breaking in and finding all the goods. A bit of loading and unloading sometimes, if the regulars aren¡¯t around to haul crates, but nothing too big. I¡¯m happy with what I got, though; it pays better than working the fields, and I get to stay home near the family. Travelling sounds nice, but it¡¯s not for me.¡± ¡°Harvey offered to take us along, before,¡± Fat Man chimed in. ¡°Couldn¡¯t do it though, not with a bad leg from my fighting days. A bit of heavy work now and again is okay, but weeks of travel and sleeping in a rattling cart? No chance.¡± Their excuses for leaving money on the table were plausible enough, so I didn¡¯t pry any further: truth be told, the pair were amusing but simply not exciting enough for me to bother. Whatever secrets they held were weighed against a total lack of ambition, and found wanting in my eyes. Neither would be suitable companions for a high risk journey, and it would be high risk, that I could guarantee, because a trip to the border under constant siege by monsters simply couldn¡¯t be boring. ¡°How long until the next caravan leaves, anyway?¡± I asked instead, having missed that particular detail amidst the excitement of a proper business negotiation. ¡°Should be off at the end of the week,¡± Fat Man grunted. ¡°Another two nights, then setting off in the morning on the third day.¡± ¡°Wonderful,¡± I declared, before pausing as if to think. ¡°Say, you wouldn¡¯t mind hosting me here until then, right? I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t have much money left to stay in an inn.¡± That was a blatant lie, as I¡¯d reclaimed my nine gilt from before, but it helped to test two things: firstly, whether either of the pair could pick up my clear falsehoods, over a fairly low stakes matter, and secondly, how much they were willing to accommodate my requests, now that their boss had struck a deal with me. ¡°There¡¯s a spare bed in the attic for visitors, you can have that,¡± Little Boy promptly informed me. ¡°Just don¡¯t do anything dumb to draw the lawmen here.¡± ¡°Sounds good to me,¡± I agreed, before heading upstairs to go look at my new home for the next few days.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Damien¡¯s body was still on the ground behind me, after all, and I didn¡¯t want to get in the way of the cleaning. It would begin to smell soon, if it was just left there to rot, so best clear the way for the hired help. All in all, I¡¯d gotten rid of the incompetent fool who accidentally caused me to remember my past life, all while suitably impressing the members of an impressively well-run organised crime ring, and securing a lucrative contract on the local silk road. As I climbed up two flights of stairs into a dusty old attic, having to duck my head to avoid bashing it on the sloped rooftop, I considered the day well spent as I sank into the bed. [Pumpkin the Cat withdrawn.] Letting Pumpkin out to play, as he¡¯d be a useful sentry in case the duo below tried anything funny, I pulled the worn comforter over my clothes and settled in to catch up on some sleep. I was young again, but that was no reason to neglect my health, and I¡¯d done a lot of running the previous night. Before going to bed, I checked my status page again, as had become a habit in recent days. [Will Swindell Class (True): Level 2 Soldier of Fortune Class (Public): Level 1 Merchant Title: [Empty] Experience: 231/300 Traits Titles Covenants Advancement Contacts Inventory All told, some good progress towards my Class, and a decent collection in my inventory to cover most eventualities on the road. I even noticed that my experience had gone up since the start of the day, but where was the notification? [50 XP gained for joining a criminal enterprise.] Ah, there it was. On that wonderful note, I finally tucked my head beneath the pillow, and was quickly out like a light. Chapter 39: Watcher in the Dark Chapter 39: Watcher in the Dark Harvey Miller didn¡¯t own a home in Allensward. There was no point, not when he was present, at most, for a sixth of every year. Far lighter, then, to seek short term lodging on each visit, both for his logistics and his coin. So it was that Harvey locked the door behind him, in a similar inn room to the one Will had stayed at, albeit with an extra layer of polish and cleanliness, to reflect the area¡¯s wealthy clientele. He was of no mind to appreciate the decor, however, his hands shaking as he twisted the crown of his pocket watch, again and again and again. ¡°Thirteen to the right,¡± Harvey whispered under his breath, counting each turn with a tap of his foot. ¡°One to the left, pause for a heartbeat, then three more turns. One and three, then thirteen again.¡± Thirteen and thirteen and thirteen, a number bearing certain connotations in the workings of fate. Interpreted in this format as thirty turns exactly, not for a rite of divination, in this case, but as a password of sorts. As Harvey completed the final turn, the dial of the watch faded from black to crystal clear, the hands vanishing as well for good measure. A low hum could be heard, barely on the edge of the audible spectrum for humans, just enough to indicate that the device had been activated, applying a faint cloud of ambient magic upon its immediate surroundings. Not enough to disturb the mind of even a newborn, but sufficient to disrupt the delicate weavings required for divination magic. Only then, reassured that nobody was watching him, did Harvey open his contacts list and begin a call. [Amelia Dawn - Level 30 Necromancer] For a while, there was nothing across the line except the sound of dialling. That, too, was expected: Amelia was the best healer in Allensward and therefore much in demand, even with the recent hiring of several assistants to lighten her workload. In any event, it was nearly three minutes later that the call clicked through, connecting Harvey to the strongest person in the village, bar none. ¡°Amelia, we have a problem,¡± Harvey began without preamble. ¡°Of course we do, you¡¯re calling me. You never do that unless there¡¯s a problem,¡± came the supposed healer¡¯s acerbic reply. ¡°Let me guess, one of your minimum wage couriers dropped another crate of powder somewhere unsafe, and you need me to decontaminate it?¡± ¡°I wish,¡± Harvey groaned, reaching over for the first of six bottles of wine he¡¯d ordered for the night. ¡°Today¡¯s recruitment pitch got a bit out of hand, and well, Damien¡¯s dead.¡± ¡°Monitor.¡± That single word wasn¡¯t addressed to him, Harvey knew, but rather was prompting the System to bring up Amelia¡¯s list of contacts; a very extensive list, but that¡¯s what tended to happen when someone lived into their second century. God knows, he¡¯d only been a young boy when they first met, and Amelia hadn¡¯t aged a day since, nearly thirty years ago.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡°Oh? Another Assassin? That will be useful, it¡¯s not long now, until the next changelings start to appear.¡± ¡°Will could fulfil that role,¡± Harvey agreed, suppressing a shudder as he recalled the sudden and brutal execution that he¡¯d witnessed minutes ago. ¡°But he¡¯s more set on the path of the Merchant. A good head on him, that one, with a keen interest in what¡¯s going on beyond this sleepy little village. It¡¯s the eyes, windows to the soul, they are; his interest was genuine, no youngster can fool me and tell otherwise.¡± There was a long silence at the other end of the call, long enough for Harvey to gently clear his throat. ¡°I¡¯m still here,¡± Amelia replied, sounding somewhat distracted. ¡°Just digging up a medical file. There, I got it. William Swindell, prefers to be called Will. He was brought in for care, one week before his Class day, after a training accident at school. Damien was the other party to that, cracked him right in the head with a wooden practice sword, and left a nasty concussion for me to clear up.¡± ¡°Funnily enough, Damien neglected to mention that part to me,¡± Harvey sighed. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have sent him to meet Will, not even the first time, had I known there was bad blood between them, let alone the second.¡± ¡°What I¡¯m more curious about is how Will got the drop on you. I know you like to test new recruits in battle, have an older lad rough up the newbie, a bit of harmless hazing, before putting a stop to it all. But what I don¡¯t understand is, what did he do to Damien, that you couldn¡¯t pull them apart in time to keep it non-lethal?¡± ¡°Will has an innate storage ability,¡± Harvey sighed. ¡°That¡¯s what got me interested in the first place, although I¡¯d thought it was only for liquids, after Damien¡¯s initial report. Turns out, it fits anything he can carry in his hands, cold metal not being exempted, and he¡¯s good with his hands. Dropped some fruit behind Damien for the old slip and trip, then was on him with a knife in an instant. I¡¯m good, but even I can¡¯t do anything with Damien¡¯s neck sliced open.¡± ¡°You want me to cover this up.¡± ¡°I do,¡± Harvey bit his lip. ¡°There¡¯s something weird about Will, and I know this is hypocritical coming from me, but he doesn¡¯t move like a Level 1 Merchant, and I know the local schools don¡¯t teach kids to be anywhere near that vicious. There¡¯s something strange about him, and I want it.¡± ¡°Hmm. After I healed him, I gave him my Contact details, expecting to be asked for advice by a boy uncertain of his place in the world. Instead, he checks out of the Orphanage early, practically locks himself in the library until Class Day, and has been a blur about the village ever since. Curious.¡± ¡°A Horizon event?¡± Harvey offered uncertainty, after a moment¡¯s thought. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be the first time someone unlocked their hidden potential after a traumatic injury. The Royal Family alone can boast of three such cases, in this generation alone.¡± ¡°Perhaps. Too soon to tell, though. You¡¯re taking him along the usual route?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Harvey replied immediately, glad for the chance to steer the conversation back to more normal topics. ¡°Damien mentioned that Will used to want to be a Soldier. That¡¯s off the cards now, naturally, but it¡¯ll still do him some good, to see just what it is humanity fights against, beyond the walls. The coastal air won¡¯t do him any harm either.¡± ¡°Acceptable. Report back when you return next season. Damien died after pushing himself too far, training in the woods. Regrettable, but he never exhibited any true potential, and was earmarked for enlistment as a low ranked Soldier. No living relatives either, so there shouldn''t be any outcry, and only a perfunctory investigation that I will deal with.¡± ¡°In the woods, got it,¡± Harvey heaved a sigh of relief. ¡°Thanks again, Amelia. Talk later?¡± Amelia ended the call. Chapter 40: Felis Catus Chapter 40: Felis Catus Two days and nights passed in the blink of an eye, metaphorically speaking, while I enjoyed the hospitality of the Dead Hand. The accommodations weren¡¯t quite on par with the inn, consisting of an attic room with a single bed, with the rest of the amenities shared between a house of three, but it wasn¡¯t bad either. Fat Man and Little Boy largely avoided me, the latter flinching away, possibly out of fear, while the former was rarely in the house. ¡°Loading boxes, mostly,¡± was the reason he gave, when I asked over lunch where he was vanishing, all the time, which made as much sense as anything. Still, Little Boy proved an adequate cook, preparing simple but hearty dishes of porridge, stews and pies, three times a day. There was no dedicated pet food, as before, but Pumpkin was happy enough sharing a table with us, so I simply fed him the same as the rest of us. I¡¯m no vet, but cats eat just about anything in the wild, so I figured it would be fine. All in all, more than acceptable living conditions for just a few days, particularly when all of it came free of charge. I didn¡¯t see Harvey again during that time, so presumably he was very busy getting the caravan in order, but that simply gave me more time to myself, which I used in a mostly productive manner. ¡°Fetch!¡± Pumpkin stared at me, looking rather unimpressed as the chicken leg sailed off into the distance, but he did eventually paddle off to fetch it, even bringing back a few bones as evidence. This would be a good time to mention that I¡¯d never owned a cat before, and what little experience I had with pets came in a more canine variety. Sadly, Pumpkin wasn¡¯t too keen to play in the same manner, though he did enjoy curling up against me and falling asleep: by now, I was starting to think I¡¯d picked up a rather lazy cat. [Pumpkin the Cat stored.] It wasn¡¯t a bother, though, not when I didn¡¯t have to literally carry his weight everywhere. We¡¯d fallen into a good rhythm, where I¡¯d let him out at mealtimes, then he¡¯d stay for as long as it took to get tired and fall asleep, at which point I¡¯d return him to my inventory. This was perhaps not what the System had in mind, when it granted me the trait, but I certainly wasn¡¯t complaining: the alternative was a pet carrier of some kind, and those were universally unwieldy and ugly in equal measure. Today, unlike the previous two, we¡¯d only had breakfast thus far, though it was already nearly noon. Word had come from Harvey, who¡¯d told the two stooges that the caravan would be leaving today, which was why I was camped out in the front garden, waiting for him to arrive. I¡¯d mostly stayed indoors up until now, just to minimise the chance that someone connected me to a couple recent murders, however minimal the chance might be, but with only hours left on the clock for my time at Allensward, I was willing to take on a greater margin of risk.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. I first noticed the caravan not by sight, or even hearing, but by the tingling of my sinuses. I¡¯d never been the best around straw, it always caused a terrible itch back in the English suburbs, and had been one of the things I¡¯d gladly left behind on my move to London. Now, however, it returned with a vengeance, courtesy of the cargo horse who¡¯d probably been eating it just recently. Turning around, I saw an unknown man wearing a low-brimmed hat and a trenchcoat, directing the horse from the front of his carriage. Just one horse for the lot, surprisingly, despite the carriage extending considerably further back, looking big enough to fit four men and their cargo beneath an expansive tarpaulin cover. It was only the first of many, no less than half a dozen banding together to form the aforementioned caravan, a chain of vehicles grouped loosely together, with even more riders following around on horseback, wearing thick leather with bows strapped to their backs. The flap of the front carriage opened, and Harvey stuck his head out. ¡°Good, you¡¯re already here. Get inside, and let''s move.¡± He vanished back inside the tarp, clearing the way for me to climb onboard. The inside of the carriage was much as I¡¯d imagined it: a pair of leather seats, set slightly apart and both facing forward, a lamp on the floor to provide a bit of illumination, and every other space taken up by wooden boxes filled with goods: strawberries, if my nose wasn¡¯t leading me astray. A decent setup, though not quite up to the standards of The Gold State Coach that featured in coronation and jubilee celebrations back in England. Few carriages were, I suspected, but my sample size was too small to make a determination either way. ¡°You¡¯ll want one of these as well, consider it your signing bonus,¡± I turned my head just in time to see Harvey toss a bracelet at my head. [Pumpkin the Cat withdrawn.] Completely coincidentally, Pumpkin decided to come out to play, grabbed the shiny piece between his teeth as he vaulted off of Harvey¡¯s head, and back into my lap with the grace of an acrobat; only then depositing his acquisition into my waiting hand. [Blackened Bracelet: Hides your Name and Class when worn.] ¡°A magic item for free?¡± I raised my eyebrow at that, because even if my Class could do the same thing innately, everything I¡¯d heard suggested that such items came at a substantial premium. ¡°These aren¡¯t too hard to come across,¡± Harvey shrugged, rolling back a sleeve to reveal a similar bracelet around his own arm. ¡°Almost every Infiltrator-type monster will carry one, and they often drop intact upon death. Since the effect gives no direct combat power, it tends to be cheap at auction, too. Keep that on you, alright? The first rule of being an outlaw is to keep your name out of the news.¡± Some things remained true across both worlds, I reflected, as I slipped the bracelet on my wrist, even as Harvey yelled orders for the driver to depart. Chapter 41: Journey to the West Chapter 41: Journey to the West Up until this point in time, I¡¯d never ridden in a horse drawn carriage before. As a whole, the concept was nearly extinct back in England, only occasionally brought out for certain ceremonial roles (see the aforementioned coronation), as part of a historical reenactment at a fair or while filming a show, or by traditional religious movements which forbade the use of motor vehicles. Now, having three days of experience as a passenger under my belt (quite literally), I can say that it¡¯s not much fun. It was a far bumpier ride than the average car, bringing back memories of a mountainside holiday where my tour bus was tottering from side to side, making me wonder if we were about to take a plunge off a cliff every time we turned a corner. There were no windows, as we travelled with the tarp overhead strictly sealed, which combined with the floor lamp led to a significant amount of heat being produced. I¡¯d already stored my gambeson away, but even in only the thin shirt and pants I¡¯d brought from the orphanage, a thin sheen of sweat lined my brow. Not quite enough for me to strip further, as the discomfort, whilst present, was still less than what I¡¯d have felt going topless in front of a man at least two decades my senior, so I simply had to bear with it. I¡¯d brought Pumpkin back out, and he seemed to enjoy the heat a lot more than me, despite having a coat of fur to make it worse. That brought to mind half-forgotten articles on Wikipedia, which claimed that they thrived in hot, dry climates due to their distant ancestry as desert dwellers. Separately, that same article explained that they were worshipped in ancient Egypt, which I wasn¡¯t sure was true, but would go a long way to explain the average cat¡¯s attitude. In any event, I had nothing to do except pet the cat, since the carriage had little in the way of entertainment, though thankfully it wasn¡¯t short on food and drink, at least. The caravan was travelling at a punishing pace, one that demanded eight solid hours of travel, a short break, and then the same again repeating, until the sky grew too dark to safely navigate. Only then would we make camp, taking turns to sleep for four hours each, while the other kept watch, until light returned, and we started all over again. Frankly, I wasn¡¯t sure how the horse managed to keep up such a gruelling pace, and Harvey didn¡¯t answer when I asked, merely grinning at me, so I could only assume some kind of enhancement was at work, either chemical or magical. This demanded that I keep to only light refreshments, which might have been the point, but I didn¡¯t ask: some questions, I knew from experience, were best left unanswered. Harvey, on the other hand, spent most of the trip slumped in his chair, a faraway look in his eyes. Initially I¡¯d thought he was struggling with flashbacks or similar, until I saw his pupils moving methodically and realised he was working the System. But it was only when he started humming under his breath that I finally worked out what was going on: somehow, he¡¯d managed to acquire a music player as part of the System, and was doing the Frontier equivalent of plugging in his headphones and ignoring the outside world. Needless to say, I was very jealous when that realisation came. I''d kept quiet up until now, but eventually, my curiosity and desire for stimulation won out.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°How¡¯d you manage to get music on your System?¡± I finally asked, when my patience gave, ten minutes and three tunes later. ¡°Finally figured it out, have you?¡± Harvey asked, undeniably smug in the face of my boredom induced irritation. ¡°It¡¯s part of the Bard interface, one which anyone who takes the Class gets access to, in order to make use of the empowering Songs. If you subsequently switch to another Class? Well, you lose access to that magic, but the music player still remains, and makes for a good way to pass the time. Say, if we meet a Bard on our travels, you can get it for yourself; it doesn¡¯t take much to learn the very basics to access the Class, then drop it immediately after.¡± ¡°Tempting,¡± I admitted, already missing my considerable Spotify playlist from before. ¡°Would that overwrite my existing Class, though? I¡¯d rather not train up from Level 1 again.¡± I¡¯d changed my public Class to match my true level during the two nights off, explaining it to the others as having gained an advancement from my membership in the Dead Hand. Mainly, I¡¯d done this to soothe my OCD, since it really didn¡¯t like mismatched levels, but it also came in handy for excuses like these. ¡°Not as long as you return to Merchant within sixty seconds,¡± Harvey reassured me. ¡°The System always allows a grace period between reclassing, to avoid people being screwed by an accidental selection. Not that it always helps, you¡¯d be hard-pressed to meet an adventurer who hasn¡¯t reclassed while drunk, or knows somehow who did. Usually, those stories end on a light note; unless they were in the middle of fighting monsters, but in such cases, being drunk alone would be a death sentence anyway, so you couldn¡¯t even necessarily blame the reclass.¡± ¡°I''ll try my best never to reclass while three bottles in,¡± I replied drily, getting a chuckle out of Harvey before he returned to his music. Truly, this was why I¡¯d elected to travel with the caravan: I could¡¯ve set out alone and braved the wilds, yes, but there were benefits to going with a veteran of the trade, someone who knew the little quirks of the System that nobody ever bothered to write in a manual. I wasn¡¯t planning to stay with them forever, but this made a good starting point, until I made some contacts of my own, and was ready to launch my financial empire. I¡¯d put a lot of thought into what I wanted to do, both in the context of my own ambitions and the wider world, whilst also factoring in the restrictive Covenants of my Class. No loans, so I had to build my base from scratch, and nothing legitimate, so none of the safe markets regulated by the powers that be. Within this framework, there were still plenty of ways to become obscenely wealthy, all it required was for me to identify a unique selling point, a niche nobody had ever realised existed, and for me, that was weapons. There were plenty of them, of course, I¡¯d visited a shop full of weapons, but none carried the unique perspective of my time in modern society. More importantly, these weapons were all used to supply humans, to fight each other and the monsters up North. But nobody supplied the monsters, who all fought with their innate abilities, and wasn¡¯t that just a shame? An entire half of an endless conflict, looking for an edge only I would be willing to provide. Of course, I had to tread carefully here: being labelled the enemy of humanity would lead to death at best, and I planned to live to a ripe old age again. I had a few ideas on how to accomplish that, as well, but as my mind began to wander, a distant horn sounded, pulling me from my reverie. ¡°That¡¯s the outrider¡¯s alarm,¡± Harvey informed me, rising to his feet with his previous mirth gone. ¡°Arm yourself, we might have trouble brewing. Chapter 42: Violence is the Answer Chapter 42: Violence is the Answer You¡¯d think I¡¯d be worried, facing the prospect of actual combat for the first time. I wasn¡¯t necessarily counting the sparring matches back in Allensward, against baby monsters and people who¡¯d never fought a serious battle in their lives, but even whilst killing the latter, I¡¯d had little reaction to it all. To this day, I¡¯m unsure exactly why my reactions were so muted, when popular media loved to portray a first kill as some grand moment of self-reflection and horror, but for me, it was just business as usual. So, in truth, I was looking forward to testing myself against someone who knew how to fight back, especially since I¡¯d already been cooped up in the carriage for many hours already: a bit of violence seemed like just the thing to break up the monotony. The Blackened Bracelet was actually helpful here, as it¡¯s effect meant I could freely switch to Soldier without fielding questions about my Class: I could probably have explained it as some kind of shapeshift ability, which were uncommon though by no means unheard of, but it was always nice to not have to bother. [Knife withdrawn.] The cart came to a shuddering halt as I prepared myself, and Harvey quickly opened the flap in the tarp, letting us out into the crispy evening air. The sun was almost entirely gone, over the horizon, so we would have had to stop soon regardless, but it was still nice to get out early. I was a bit surprised to see the driver clamber into the now empty carriage, pulling the tarp closed behind him, but this seemed to be replicated across all six carriages, while the guards all dismounted, leaving their horses by the carriages as they drew their bows, forming a loose perimeter around the convoy. ¡°They¡¯re not going to fight mounted?¡± I questioned, my brow furrowed at the strange display. ¡°Also, why are the drivers hiding, for that matter?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not that easy to shoot accurately from horseback,¡± Harvey laughed, the Thief also defying my expectations by pulling out a massive greatsword from a storage space of his own, one almost as tall as I was from tip to pommel. ¡°Anyone who can do that consistently won¡¯t be wasting their time guarding caravans; we¡¯re talking years of training in a proper military, for that. The drivers aren''t combatants at all, they tend to have classes focused on animal care. Great to have, since their presence is what¡¯s keeping loose horses from running off in a panic, but not much use in a fight, so it¡¯s best they get out of the way. In that sense, the carriages are the best place to hide, because if we¡¯re being raided, the enemy won¡¯t want to target the merchandise.¡± ¡°Huh.¡± It did make sense, hearing it like that: perhaps I¡¯d just gotten so used to depictions of horse archers in films and TV that the logistics of it escaped me until then. The sound of hoofsteps pulled my attention to the road ahead, where one last man was rejoining the crowd, an ivory horn in his hands as he dismounted. The outrider, then. I couldn''t yet see any signs of the enemy, but I doubted they were far behind him. Looking around, I saw that we¡¯d stopped at a good place: a small hill that gave us the high ground on anybody trying to approach, perfect for a convoy heavy on archers. That did leave it in question, how much I¡¯d get to do, given my lack of ranged options: something I intended to change at the first opportunity. For the time being, I stood next to Harvey on the rough dirt path, playing the oldest game in the army: the waiting game.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Most of the archers were in a similar boat, standing around and fiddling with arrows or checking their bowstrings. One of them had some ability with earth magic, however, and was walking around the perimeter, summoning rows of earthen spikes to provide additional cover to his fellows, in a curious variation of the traditional archer¡¯s stake. ¡°Archers can use magic, too?¡± I muttered. ¡°Is this like the music player trick, or something else?¡± ¡°Something else,¡± Harvey grunted, his eyes fixed on something in the distance. ¡°Each individual can have only one Class at a time, this is an ironclad restriction of the System. There are many different specialisations within that, however, to the point where I¡¯d say no two people share the exact same build by Level 5, except for those following a prescribed build path. The most common example are Soldiers enlisting in the army, who are required by contract to follow a certain progression. At Level 2 they take Enhanced Senses: Hearing, to better receive orders in the heat of battle. At Level 3, they follow up with Resilience, which passively reduces the chances of illness, which would otherwise be the biggest killer in military life, even more so than their foes. At Level 4, they will take Weapon Specialisation in whichever is their main armament, granting enhanced proficiency in its use, and finally at Level 5 they select Phalanx, which very slightly bolsters all aspects of Soldiers within a small distance. Not too useful as an individual, but very powerful in the massed ranks that Soldiers tend to operate in. A formation of Level 5 soldiers following this methodology, working together in unison, can easily strike down opponents who are far superior on an individual basis, and it is through this teamwork that the rank and file of humanity hold the line against the eternal enemy.¡± ¡°Fascinating,¡± I admitted. ¡°Not the career choice I¡¯d make, but it¡¯s still interesting to learn how the other side thinks.¡± A small nudge at my ankle interrupted our spirited discussion on builds; looking down, I found that Pumpkin had decided to join me outside, clearly tiring of the driver he¡¯d been sharing the carriage with. ¡°Impressive,¡± Harvey praised, reaching down to pet the cat. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear him coming at all, and I have enhanced senses. You¡¯ve got the makings of a good Scout or Assassin, here.¡± I was about to ask whether a Cat could reclass in such a manner, or if Harvey was merely pulling my leg, when a faint sheen of silver caught my eye. Growing up in England, I was no stranger to fog, but something about the approaching haze struck me as off. It was coming on too thick and too sudden, moreso that I¡¯d seen even on the worst nights in London, and the faint tingling on my skin as the first wisps reached me didn¡¯t help matters. ¡°There¡¯s magic in this fog,¡± I reported immediately, drawing a sharp breath from Harvey. Then, the howling began. Chapter 43: Foggy Bottom Chapter 43: Foggy Bottom The fog definitely wasn¡¯t obeying the laws of physics I was used to seeing, as it wrapped around our convoy like the smothering hand of a government regulator, smothering all individuality within a thick, formless morass. [Water stored.] The sole saving grace was that it didn¡¯t appear immune to my inventory, allowing me to carve away any strands that got too close to my person. ¡°Storages work on it!¡± I shouted out, for everyone¡¯s benefit, because the more warm bodies we kept on our side, the better my odds of survival. There was plenty to be said about rugged individuality, and it certainly had its place, but not on the open battlefield, not at my current strength, anyway. So, I kept syphoning away as much fog as I could, all while trying to peer through it to figure out what was going on at a wider level. A sudden crack made my head jerk, and I nearly swung my knife out of reflex before I realised it wasn¡¯t something external. Bringing my status up, I ran my eyes over my latest messages, only to find something quite peculiar. [Jug destroyed.] I¡¯d taken a jug with me, before departing the inn, just in case I had to demonstrate my supposed hydrokinesis in the upcoming meeting. I hadn¡¯t used it at all, so it just sat there, a reliable source of water in case I ran out at any point, never a bad thing to have. Now, it was gone, but not everything had disappeared in that time, as a quick glance at my inventory showed. [Inventory Even more so than before, as I didn¡¯t think the jug could have managed more than a hundred and fifty ounces, even filled dangerously close to the brim. So, the container was gone, but the contents remained, now bolstered with every drop of fluid I extracted from the fog. In a way, it was reassuring, as the only addition being water meant that the fog itself consisted of natural materials, and that at least I wasn¡¯t presently inhaling some kind of chemical weapon. On the other hand, the abrupt destruction of an item in my pocket dimension raised strange questions about how, exactly, that space reacted to inputs. [Gambeson withdrawn.] That wasn¡¯t something I was in a position to experiment with, however, so I contented myself with merely bringing out my Gambeson, which I definitely hadn¡¯t forgotten about until this point, and returning my attention to the battle. Small holes were opening up in the fog elsewhere as well; I could spot Harvey, doing the same as me with his own storage, while three of the archers proved similarly blessed. The fog fought back, surging forward to cover the space we emptied, but its resources were not infinite, and in committing to close the gap, it paradoxically opened up our sight further ahead. [Wolf - Level 1] The first enemies to charge at us were not particularly threatening. Big grey wolves, the kind with taxidermies displayed in the British Museum, from back before our noble ancestors hunted them all to extinction. Supposedly, a conservation effort was looking to reintroduce them in the North, but as I never ventured further than Watford myself, I¡¯d not concerned myself with those reports, beyond mild amusement at the idea. So, wolves: pack hunters with large, sharp teeth and surprisingly sophisticated small group tactics. Dangerous to the common man, perhaps, but against several fire teams of Archers, who had by now regained at least limited line of sight? It was a bit of a turkey shoot, in all honesty. I wasn¡¯t sure what level any of them were, given that we were all wearing Blackened Bracelets, but the proficiency they were showing put olympic athletes back home to shame. There were no immobile targets here, only wolves running for us as fast as their long legs could carry them, but every shot found its mark without fail. In just a single volley, a third of the aggressors were out of commission, and after three, none yet stood to threaten us, having been culled one and all before ever reaching the defensive stakes, let alone my position. Boring? Yes, but also very efficient. [Water (300 oz)] I¡¯d added yet more water to my storage, which still showed no sign of rebuking my actions. I knew there had to be a limit; I¡¯d tried storing the carriage I was riding on, in a moment of travel induced boredom, and it didn''t work. That time, I got a definite sensation from the System, telling me to stop: not an error message or anything like that, but more a hunch that I was wasting my time. Was it not an absolute restriction, perhaps? Maybe I¡¯d be able to accomplish it once I reached a higher level. The fog was beginning to fade, as the three gifted Archers returned to defog duty, supplementing Harvey and myself once more, now that their bows aren¡¯t required up front. [Water (400 oz)] Once the last of it was gone, shortly after another benchmark in my storage, we were left staring out at an empty field again, no more enemies, just endless grassy plains stretching all the way to the horizon. ¡°That was far too easy,¡± Harvey remarked, feeling the same disquiet as I was. ¡°Who created the fog?¡± Was my addendum to the conversation. ¡°None of the wolves showed any off any magic, and it still hung around for a while after they dropped. Either it was running off of fumes from them, or-¡± Pumpkin hissed, sat up ramrod straight, and slapped his long, short-furred tail on the ground next to me. The impromptu tantrum would have been amusing to witness, if he didn¡¯t leave a dent the size of my head in the process, and if that hadn¡¯t drawn a painful scream, coming from directly below us. Ah, I remember thinking at the time, so that¡¯s how the other shoe drops. Chapter 44: Bottom鈥檚 Up Chapter 44: Bottom¡¯s Up The problem with facing an enemy coming from underground, is that I had no way to see them. An obvious statement, perhaps, but no less true for it. I had no way of going on the offensive, so even after Pumpkin¡¯s warning, all I could really do was to wait for the enemy to move, and then mount a counterattack, hoping that their first strike wasn¡¯t decisive. There was an undeniable element of luck at play here, but such was life on the battlefield: better a lucky general than a good one, as Napoleon was fond of saying. So I waited, blade in hand, for fate to flip a coin, and this time, it landed in my favour. I wasn¡¯t sure how the enemy was tracking us from underground, but the most likely suspect was some form of echolocation, so I kept very still, denying them knowledge through my movements. It paid off, as a massive paw emerged from the ground, two feet from my position and striking nothing. [Dire Mole - Level 2] Part of me wanted to run, staring at the razor sharp claws on display, likely capable of rending through my gambeson and flesh alike with ease. I ignored that instinct and closed the distance instead, banking on the fact those same paws would be unwieldy up close, designed as they were for a limited range of motion when digging. With me right in front of it and its paws out of position, the mole used what it had left and tried to bite me. [Backup shirt and pants withdrawn.] I gave him a mouthful of linen, which tore quite easily, but proved much harder to swallow, tying up the final threat to my well being. This cost me my change of clothes, but that was a more than acceptable loss, given it let me bury my knife in the mole¡¯s sunken eye socket. Yes, moles do indeed have eyes, albeit ones atrophied by disuse and barely a few millimetres wide, but I was standing at point blank range, and my hand was steady, ensuring that the tip of my blade went straight through the eye and into its brain. It twitched spasmodically, as I pulled my knife back, and then it was still: by all respects a clean kill. All of this seems very impressive, until one considers that the entire exchange happened in a handful of seconds. From the mole¡¯s emergence to its death, very little time had passed, and yet in that time, the air was filled with screams. Twelve moles emerged, one for each of the Archers at the perimeter. For nine of them, their luck held, like mine had, as their adversaries emerged out of position, their mighty paws striking naught but empty air. They were too close for the bow and arrow, but that mattered little, as the men of the convoy were experienced fighters, and swiftly drew secondary weapons: everything from daggers, to truncheons, to even a pair of brass knuckle dusters, and made short work of the creatures in melee range. But not everybody could be so lucky.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. The remaining three Archers found their luck turning sour, as more moles emerged at optimal angles, and their paws sank into soft flesh, severing lower limbs at the ankles, knees and thighs respectively. Unable to balance their weight amidst their shock and pain, the three stricken men toppled over, right into feeding range, and I got a first hand view of sharp teeth sinking into the necks, and learned that this particular species of mole boasted vampiric tendencies. It wasn¡¯t a pleasant sight, and I began to move towards the closest, intent on killing it while it was preoccupied, feeding upon the dead. I never got the chance to, however, as Harvey chose this moment to make his own move. I refer to this only in the abstract, because in truth, I didn¡¯t even see him move. One minute, he was next to me, staring at the enemy with a severe frown on his face; the next, he was behind the nearest mole, bringing his sword down and splitting it in two. Then his body faded into shadow, and he was behind the next mole, repeating the motion, and again, on the third and final survivor of the first wave. Then, he was back beside me again, his blade clean of blood and viscera, and if it weren¡¯t for the faint sheen of sweat suddenly present upon his brow, I might have believed that he¡¯d never moved at all. ¡°Still no casters,¡± was all Harvey said, making me nod grimly. We¡¯d faced two waves of attackers now, both rushing us with no heed to their own survival, the kind of behaviour that was suspicious in and of itself, where wild animals were concerned, for even they tended to have a minimal sense of self-preservation, hunger be damned. Coupled with the conspicuous lack of any magical element on the field, it was clear that these first two waves came under the direction of another. So, we remained tense, keeping an eye out for further surprises. The archers did much the same, six of the remaining nine standing at attention, spaced evenly around the convoy, while three broke off to attend to the fallen. The funerary rites I observed were sparse, little more than a short, one minute prayer, whispered under each Archer¡¯s breath, before they stripped the fallen clean. The bodies were then piled together on the roadside, doused with some liquid from one man¡¯s flask, and swiftly set alight. The impromptu pyre brought some relief, bringing light back to the hillside, even as the Sun vanished beneath the horizon. The smell wasn¡¯t too bad, either; a strange mixture of beef and pork on the frier, by my reckoning: I could see how the euphemism of long pork came about, if this was the outcome of burning flesh. Still, this entire process proceeded unimpeded, until even the last of the ashes guttered out, and only then did Harvey sheathe his sword, content that no third wave was coming. ¡°Back to the carriage,¡± he whispered, staring off into the distance. ¡°Get some sleep while you can, I¡¯ll take the first watch.¡± I wasn¡¯t going to say no to that, nor did I comment on missing dinner, because although death didn¡¯t affect me too badly, it was still hard to work up an appetite, right then and there. Chapter 45: Watch Out Chapter 45: Watch Out It was difficult to sleep, after the excitement that had punctuated my third day on the road. Part of that, I knew, was down to the residual adrenaline coursing through my body. I¡¯d barely fought, but even so, the evolutionary traits behind the fight or flight response were hard to overcome. The other half was the driver, who slept towards the front of the carriage. He snored, loudly. I still managed to catch a few winks, despite it all, and was thus marginally more awake when Harvey came to rouse me for the second watch of the night. He¡¯d done the first four hours, as had been his preference the entire trip, and I would do the last four, a simple, even divide. The archers were doing the same as I watched, three of them heading into a collapsible tent, while their counterparts settled in for their shift, bows ready at triangular points around the parked carriages. The horses had it easiest; all they needed were a pair of blinders placed over their eyes, and in the lack of stimulation that followed, they would promptly fall asleep. I had to admit, I was rather envious of their easygoing ways, at times. ¡°Anything to report?¡± I asked Harvey, the typical question that every shift change had. ¡°Nothing of note,¡± Harvey replied, completing the ritual as he headed for bed. In truth, both of us could have taken the entire eight hour watch, since we had little to do in the carriage anyway, and could sleep during the day. Apparently, however, it was customary for everyone to share the same schedule, as a way of building camaraderie, and I hadn¡¯t cared enough to protest, hence my present situation. That said, at least I wasn¡¯t alone the entire time. [Pumpkin the Cat withdrawn. Plum withdrawn. Cheese withdrawn. Salt pork withdrawn.] Settling down in the grass, I let Pumpkin out, right next to the salt pork, and he wasted no time claiming his fair share, gnawing on it shamelessly. ¡°Half and half split, remember,¡± I reminded him half-heartedly, and watched as his claw sliced the meat in half, nearly exactly down the middle; by this point in time, I had no doubt that he fully understood me, and only pretended to forget to wind me up. That was the last of this particular chunk of pork, one of four I¡¯d liberated from the warehouse back in Allensward. To wash down the salt, I followed it up with a plum a day, and a slice of cheese from the wheel. Hardly the best of meals, but still better than was available in the carriage, which consisted largely of hardtack dipped in gruel. I still ate it, because free food was free food, but Pumpkin had turned his nose up at the offering, and insisted on eating only from our private store. He wasn¡¯t the only one to be that picky, as nearly half the convoy likewise ate nothing during our afternoon rest break, for they too preferred whatever bits of food they¡¯d squirrelled away.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°It¡¯s tradition,¡± Harvey had explained, when I asked why he bothered providing a free spread when so few took part in it. ¡°The master of a caravan provides for everyone under his care, to do otherwise is to declare your own weakness, because who would follow a leader who couldn¡¯t keep his men fed? At the same time, it¡¯s also tradition for every outlaw to have their own private stash of food and drink, whether they have the advantage of an inventory or not, because this career is inherently uncertain, and you never know when your meal ticket is going to disappear. Taking advantage of someone¡¯s charity is all well and good, but no thief worthy of their name would ever rely on it.¡± This, of course, had not been written anywhere back in the library, but it was gratifying all the same to see such pragmatism at work. Truly, I was better served among such pleasant company, than attempting to climb the ladder again in ¡®legitimate¡¯ society. [Bread withdrawn.] Pumpkin had polished off his half of the pork, so I grabbed the rest and placed it on a slice of bread, along with my cheese, closing it off with a second slice for a makeshift ham and cheese sandwich. Despite the time of night, this was effectively my breakfast, as I¡¯d proceed to stay awake for most of the morning into the afternoon, so it made sense for this to be my biggest meal of the day. The communal lunch simply didn¡¯t compare in quality, and I¡¯d dispensed with dinner as a whole, not finding a convenient place to fit it in our busy travel schedule, but that was fine: dining like a pauper often meant forgoing entirely, so I was still following my dietary philosophy. ¡°Travelling isn¡¯t bad,¡± I decided, lying back to stare up at the stars, so much brighter here compared to back in England. ¡°Though I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d like to do this for a full month. Hopefully the weather stays good, and we can be done with this leg in another week and a half.¡± I probably shouldn¡¯t have said that, as heaven tended to take exception to the hubris of man, but more on that later. In truth, most of the journey thus far had been calm, boring even. The singular attack had been an exception to the rule, as generally, even the wild animals tended to avoid our rather loud, and clearly well armed caravan. The only thing that kept bothering me, swirling at the edge of my mind, was that I couldn¡¯t work out a motive for the attack. Caravans were tempting targets for brigands, true, both for their goods and for captives to be ransomed, but if that was the case, then why use wild animals? The three Archers who fell were certainly in no condition to be ransomed, and I doubted they¡¯d have taken much care with our contraband, had they prevailed. No, I concluded, it was far more likely a targeted attack, if not outright an assassination, and probably not aimed at me, given I¡¯d only joined the group days ago. Harvey was the likely target, being the one behind it all, so the question remained; who wanted him dead, and why? Chapter 46: Whisper on the Wind Chapter 46: Whisper on the Wind I only stayed on the ground for a little bit: the stars, while impressive to look at, were not known for their being quick to change, so the novelty ran out before long. Even the pale blue flames that flitted around in the distance couldn¡¯t keep my interest for long, so back to mundane affairs it was. Also, I didn¡¯t want to fall asleep, lest Pumpkin decide to try a creative way to wake me up. Odd sleep schedules were nothing new to me, yet another legacy of corporate London, but it still took a bit of adjustment to settle into a biphasic sleep pattern, at least for the first couple of nights. It hadn¡¯t come up until now, as this was the first night where we were running a proper watch: Harvey hadn¡¯t explained why in words, but I could see the rationale easily enough. There simply hadn¡¯t been the need for such a show of force, before now; I had no doubt there was at least one sentry awake at all times, because Harvey didn¡¯t strike me as stupid, but nothing like the combat readiness we had now, Shaking my head, I felt the slightest hint of nausea, as sleep tugged at the corner of my vision, so I turned to two reliable solutions for dealing with such circumstances: movement and sugar. [Orange withdrawn.] Not too much sugar, for I knew that consumption in excess inevitably led to a spike followed by a crash, but enough to keep some basic awareness about me. Fruit was a good choice for this, I thought, as I leveraged my superior strength in this second life to pull the orange in half with my bare hands. One half, I kept for myself, in keeping with my thoughts of moderation. Pumpkin was facing away from me, pawing at the grass, so I tossed the other half at his head, drawing a startled yelp as it bounced off the back of his skull, before the gluttonous cat stalked after the sweet and sour projectile for his own late night snack. I¡¯d pay for that later, I knew, but it was too tempting a target to resist, so just this once, I let the intrusive thoughts win. Pumpkin wouldn¡¯t be too mad, I knew, since he still got a meal out of my little prank. My blood sugar was now dealt with, so I moved on to the next stage of my grand plan for keeping awake for four hours: walking. Nothing too vigorous, just a slow, counter clockwise circle around the hill, keeping just within the perimeter established by the three Archers on shift. They turned as I approached, and nodded to me briefly before continuing on their vigil, which fit what I¡¯d seen of their personalities thus far. Serious and taciturn men, all of them, with whom I¡¯d barely exchanged a handful of words of the past few days. I¡¯d suspected them of being automatons of some sort, until the exchange with the moles proved emphatically that they bled red, but the possibility of them being some form of contracted servant still remained. Few humans remained that quiet by choice, and whilst I could have believed our convoy had a handful of such introverts, twelve of them together somewhat beggared belief. Still, there wasn¡¯t anything to be gained in broaching my suspicions, so I left them where they were, and continued to circle the small hill we were camped on.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. There were more flames now, dancing in the distance, some high in the sky, whilst others barely floated above the bodies of the wolves who fell in the first volley of arrows. They were quite beautiful to behold, even the faint light they emitted proved soothing to my senses, and bade my eyelids to close. Pumpkin was by my side, also sagging as he leaned against my ankle for support, feeling the weight of the night pressed down upon him. It would be so easy to shirk on my watch, I thought to myself, just lie down and fall asleep; Harvey was nowhere to be seen, surely he wouldn¡¯t mind? I slapped myself hard across my face, leaving a stinging red imprint and a burning pain, the latter being enough to break the illusion that had been cast upon me. The flames were gone, now, and in their place were strange, ethereal beings that might have looked human, were I sixty again and devoid of my glasses. [Wispen - Level 1] Dressed in rags and white as chalk, faintly translucent as they flew towards us, they were a sight fit for a B-rated horror film. [Water withdrawn.] Pumpkin wouldn¡¯t appreciate a slap, as it might trigger a retaliation I couldn¡¯t afford at the moment, so instead I turned to a feline¡¯s hated nemesis: water. Ten ounces, enough to fill a big cup, poured down on him, drawing a very unhappy hiss, before his tail rose and he properly beheld what was coming. [30 XP gained for resisting an esoteric Charm.] Well, that explained why I was feeling so tired despite sleeping through the first watch, and why Pumpkin, being of a species known for their nightly adventures, had been similarly afflicted. A useful bonus, assuming I survived the situation. ¡°To arms!¡± I shouted at the top of my lungs, raising the hue and cry. Pumpkin added to my efforts, producing the loudest screech I¡¯d ever heard, on par with a jet engine or a particularly disgruntled customer at the local coffee shop. It wasn¡¯t quite as visceral as physical interaction, but fortunately, our sheer volume was enough to startle the rest of the sentries out of their hypnosis. That was good, I reflected, as arrows flew out to disperse the approaching apparitions, because I still didn¡¯t have a ranged weapon, something that was looking more pressing with every engagement. The one saving grace of the whole situation was that the Wispen weren¡¯t invulnerable to physical damage; despite their ghostly appearance, arrows could and did harm them, outright killing with a single hit in most instances. They had numbers on their side, however, enough that some still made it to the convoy proper, so I did the only thing I could, and prepared to receive them. [Knife withdrawn.] Chapter 47: Ghostbusters Chapter 47: Ghostbusters Bereft of their supernatural compulsion, the Wispen weren¡¯t particularly threatening. Sure, they could levitate, which let them bypass the earthen stakes around our encampment, but their maximum speed capped out at a brisk jog, and their movements were well telegraphed, in the manner of amateurs who knew nothing about how to fight. Mostly, they lunged at me, attempting to use momentum and sheer weight of numbers to drag me down. I cut down the first few to approach, my knife sliding smoothly through the enemy, but seemingly following the laws of physics where their injuries were concerned. A knife through the neck was fatal, while stabbing them in the abdomen did little, and removing limbs, well, removed the limb, but left the rest mostly functional. They were easily manageable in a one-on-one; all I had to do was sidestep or backpedal as they went for the lunge, then cut them up while they were vulnerable, but as more and more of them breached our perimeter, the situation became strained. I¡¯d abandoned the perimeter by then, heading back to the carriages, where bleary eyed men were rousing themselves to join the fight. Even the drivers were out and about, this time, in contrast to the daytime ambush, though they weren¡¯t directly contributing to the fight; rather, they huddled next to our stabled horses, and did their best to prevent the skittish animals from panicking and fleeing into the night. That¡¯s where I found myself, defending our primary means of transport, because I would rather die a second time than walk all the way to our destination. Of course, having my back against a metaphorical wall meant I couldn¡¯t retreat any further, as neither the horses nor the drivers huddled behind me could protect themselves, so I had to get creative. Taking a pair of hands off the latest Wispen to try their luck, I watched as a dozen of them regrouped ahead of me. Most of them were missing at least one limb, which was perhaps the impetus for them abandoning their individual attempts, and grouping together for a massed attack. Such a move might well have spelled my doom, if all I had to fend them off with was a knife and a handful of victuals, but fortunately, I already had an excellent tool for crowd control, ready for just such an occasion. [Water withdrawn.] Dumping the entirety of my water supply in front of me, nearly three gallon¡¯s worth at once, was enough to push most of the floating menaces back, disrupting their charge as they hit a wall of water. Ducking to the side, I let one of them overshoot me, only for my hand to snap up and take his head, still mid-flight. Three of them died soon after, as Harvey reached my position and cut through them with a single overhead swing of his sword, whilst the remainder scattered, their brief moment of cohesion lost alongside their formation, as base instinct reasserted itself. Just for a moment, I dared to hope that the tide had turned, and that we¡¯d be getting out of this unfortunate encounter entirely unscathed. Predictably, that¡¯s when it all went a bit wrong.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°Get away from me!¡± Turns out, the stoicism of the Archers was not, in fact, shared by our drivers. The latter, waking up to find a horde of spectres gunning for their heads, had kept their heads up until now, but as the enemy drew ever closer to their position despite our best efforts, something had to give. Eventually, one of them reacted in the manner that confirmed their status as untrained non-combatants, as Harvey had put it earlier. Bluntly, they panicked. ¡°Burn!¡± One of the drivers had a side gig in elemental magic. I couldn¡¯t help but feel this was something I should have been aware of, as a ball of fire flew overhead, slamming into one of the Wispen and destroying it entirely. A good thing, right? Wrong. I didn¡¯t know the exact reason for this particular reaction, but upon bursting into flames and before dissipating entirely, the dying Wispen made the most hideous noise, accompanied by a wave of supernatural revulsion that made my hackles rise. I stayed where I was, because I was no slave to my emotions, and to their credit, most of the men did too. The horses, on the other hand, shot off like massive living rockets in every direction. ¡°Oh, forget it,¡± I barely heard Harvey grumble, before a second wave of emotion slammed into me. Unlike that of the Wispen, which inspired only terror, this new sensation electrified my every sense. Suddenly, I was no longer staring down eight angry ghosts, flying towards me. Now, they were barely moving, less than an inch every second, as though they were caught in slow motion, or rather, my reactions were being vastly accelerated. It barely took any effort, in that state, to weave between their positions, bringing my knife¡¯s smooth edge down for one cut after another, each parting a ghostly head from its shoulders. Eight Wispen died just like there, where I¡¯d previously had to tread carefully with any more than one at a time, their bodies fading into nothing as whatever magic animated them faded in death. It was a glorious moment, and then, time returned to normal. Hunger, the kind I¡¯d never ever felt, not even after running a half-marathon for charity, decades ago. [6x Apple withdrawn.] It consumed every waking moment of thought, and I could do nothing but grab the most sugary foods I had on hand, working my way through them in huge bites that would ordinarily make me fear for my stomach, but which in this instance was merely the fastest way to fill a gaping void in my soul. [8x Plum withdrawn.] The plums were next, as I skipped the oranges, unwilling to take the time to deal with peeling, and downed all eight of them in short order. [1/2 Loaf of Bread withdrawn.] Together, the fruit just about took the edge off, such that I was able to eat at an almost reasonable pace, once I started on the bread. I still ate the entire half loaf, before my body finally signalled its satisfaction, and I had the opportunity to look at the wider battlefield. [You have gained 50 XP for surviving the effects of Last Stand. Level up!] Chapter 48: Rule of Three Chapter 48: Rule of Three [Level up! Will Swindell Class (True): Level 3 Soldier of Fortune Class (Public): Level 3 Soldier Title: [Empty] Experience: 311/500] I took a moment to look around, as notifications began to flood in. Harvey was huddled together with the carriage drivers, all of them talking in quiet whispers, beyond my ability to hear. The remaining Archers fell into two camps: three of them looked no worse than wear, and were acting as couriers of sorts, running back and forth from the carriages to bring food to five of their peers, the latter of whom lay on the floor, busy stuffing their faces with anything within reach. They¡¯d been affected with the same condition I had, the Last Stand, but none of them looked dead, just in varying degrees of distress. The final Archer was laid out on the ground, seemingly unconscious, but he was still groaning in pain, so his wounds couldn¡¯t have been too bad. My due diligence done, I felt comfortable leaving them be, and turning my full attention to the System and my rightful reward. [You have earned one item upgrade, to be applied to an item of your choice. Thematic considerations apply here, so choose carefully.] I had no idea how to interpret that, so decided to leave it aside for later, as there was no pressing need for it at the moment. [In addition, you may choose one of the two paths below. 1) Hand Over Fist: Gain Proficiency (Close Combat) 2) Make it Rain: Gain Proficiency (Throwing Weapons)] ¡°Well that¡¯s annoying,¡± I muttered. It seemed that, much like my personal assistant back in the insurance fund, the System simply refused to offer me any easy choices. Harvey had mentioned weapon specialisations, not long ago, and how Level 4 Soldiers were required to take them as part of the national training regimen. That in itself implied a high degree of effectiveness, for it to become part of standard doctrine, and although I¡¯d gotten the offer one level earlier, that calculus hadn¡¯t changed. The problem of course, was that I dearly desired both of them. Close Combat was my bread and butter, up until now, and that was unlikely to ever change. Even taking into account my inventory, and any future diversification of my arsenal, adding in ranged options to the mix, getting up close and personal was always going to remain part of the game; that was true back on Earth, where militaries trained their men in good old fisticuffs, even in the era of planes and drones, and it would be even more true in this land of fantasy. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. But all the same, I also wanted throwing weapons, because they were a one-stop shop to curing my lack of options at range. I¡¯d have been more hesitant if it only offered proficiency in a single ranged weapon: those, particularly the more specialised ones, required expensive materials and expert craftsmen to make, and there was also the problem of ammunition to consider. With throwing weapons, though? Anything sharp or heavy I got my hands on would become a lethal weapon, from my trusty knife, to spare melee weapons lying around, or even rocks on the ground at a pinch, all provided extra optionality, and I wanted it all. But that wasn¡¯t an option, and I had to make a choice, and in that moment, my heart burned with greed. [Advancement condition met: More, always more! For your demonstration of unbridled greed, you have gained the option of a hidden deal for this level up. Instead of taking one of the two options above, you may instead select the following. 3) Near and Far Gain Proficiency (Close Combat) and Proficiency (Throwing Weapons) Gain another Covenant, Silvertongue: Class will be lost if you knowingly tell a direct lie.] I''d be lying if I said I even thought it through, because I selected option three the moment I read it fully. [Proficiency (Close Combat) gained. Proficiency (Throwing Weapons) gained. Covenant - Silvertongue gained.] It was a no-brainer, really. Sure, on the face of it, this particular Covenant was quite dangerous, but it actually had a significant amount of leeway built into it, due to three particular factors in the Covenant¡¯s wording. Firstly, the fact that it only applied when knowingly telling a lie neutralised the biggest threat: that I would accidentally lie and lose my Class. That modifier narrowed it down, requiring me to intentionally deceive, and that was something that could be worked around, particularly in conjunction with the second factor at play. See, the only requirement was to avoid lies that were direct; or in other words, a blatant untruth that could not be construed as anything else. This was completely fine in my book, because I tended to avoid such measures anyway, as they were not a viable way to operate for any length of time. Sure, such obvious lies might get you out of a sticky situation in the short-term, but relying on them inevitably created problems down the line, as more and more inconsistencies came to people¡¯s attention. Every incident increased the scrutiny a liar was under, until sooner or later, it was too much to hide from, and the truth came out. It was far better, I¡¯d learned decades ago, to rely on more subtle forms of misdirection, for example by telling technical truths, or by playing fast and loose with disclosure, ensuring that only some truths emerged, while other facts were hidden by omission. Third and lastly, the wording of the Covenant prohibited me from lying, but did not compel me to speak, so silence was always an option, even if that potentially carried a reputational risk. Much like a certain amendment popularised across the Atlantic, I simply had to be strategic about when I spoke, so as to avoid any self-incrimination. Between all of these safeguards, I felt comfortable taking the hidden deal, and leaving the consequences for my future self. My decision was made, one that I was fully satisfied with, so on that note, I finally turned my attention away from the System, and returned it to the wider situation. Chapter 49: Ice Ice Baby Chapter 49: Ice Ice Baby Harvey had wrapped up his discussion with the drivers, while I was preoccupied with the System. Each of them were heading back to their respective carriages, climbing back into blankets and sleeping bags to snatch what sleep they could. On one hand, that was a reasonable course of action, since the sun would be rising before long, and sleeping in the daytime was always harder. On the other hand, this meant we were ignoring the issue of the horses, which had sprinted off into the distance after the fireball fiasco, and our caravan wasn¡¯t going anywhere without them. Wonderful. ¡°It¡¯s not safe to go looking for them at night,¡± Harvey remarked, seeing me stare off into the distance and drawing the correct conclusion. ¡°Not with two sets of attacks already, each bearing hallmarks of manipulation. Splitting the party is the last thing we want to do, in this situation, so we¡¯ll wait until sunrise, and send a large party out to gather the horses. They won¡¯t have gotten too far away, they¡¯re trained to retreat only short distances, before settling down to wait for retrieval. It¡¯ll still take some time, but we should be able to get moving again by midday.¡± ¡°I take it that being attacked by ghosts isn¡¯t normal?¡± I joked, leaving any mention of time aside, as I knew better than to jinx our travelling timetable; British public transport had taught me that much at least. ¡°The odd apparition? That¡¯s normal enough, especially if the road takes you near any burial grounds.. But a massive swarm like that, appearing suddenly and chasing us down for no apparent reason?¡± Harvey shook his head ruefully at that. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I thought,¡± I sighed. ¡°Any idea who¡¯s out to get us?¡± ¡°Not so much who¡¯s behind it, but I do have some ideas as to what. We never got to examine the animal ambushers in a peaceful setting, so keep in mind this is just speculation, but given what¡¯s happened tonight, I have reason to suspect that the packs attacking us were already dead on arrival, and had to be helped along after the fact.¡± ¡°A Necromancer, then,¡± I concluded, having read enough to know they were real, albeit rarely seen in civilised lands. ¡°Aye, that would be the most likely culprit. A Necromancer can raise and command both animals and ghosts, and forming them into large hordes is a common tactic, using sheer weight of numbers to compensate for the relatively mindless nature of the undead. A dangerous Class, that one, capable of punching well above its Level when given time and bodies to prepare. Add on the strange fog, which would require a magical class to create, and I¡¯m fairly certain that¡¯s what we¡¯re up against. As for why they¡¯re after us, who can tell? It could be someone with a grudge against me, of which there are no few people, or it could simply be an opportunist, who found our small caravan and thought of us as easy targets.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Neither was a particularly appealing prospect, but there was little any of us could do about it. Our enemy had taken care not to appear in person, which meant we were stuck playing defence, as much as I¡¯d have loved to find him, and take a little off the top with my knife. Grimacing, I put the thought of mad mages aside, and turned my mind towards what we could control. Most of the Archers had recovered themselves, though none headed for the carriage, preferring to maintain a strengthened perimeter; I didn¡¯t blame them, as I doubted I¡¯d get much sleep either under such circumstances. The ninth Archer was still on the ground however, twisting and turning as if caught in a nightmare, and heedless of one of his comrades trying to shake him awake. ¡°Is he going to be alright?¡± I pointed the stricken man out to Harvey, because it didn¡¯t resemble any medical condition I was familiar with. ¡°He¡¯ll live,¡± Harvey shrugged. ¡°We got the Wispen off of him in time. As for why it happens, well, ghosts are intangible, so they can¡¯t inflict any physical harm, you know what I mean?¡± I nodded at that, to show I understood. ¡°Instead, if they touch you, they inflict the Chill of the Grave. Brief contact saps your strength and will to fight, and if that becomes prolonged, or multiple ghosts get involved, it can cause you to fall unconscious, with some awful nightmares to boot. He¡¯ll wake up though, because that¡¯s as far as it got; but if you¡¯re unconscious and give a bunch of ghosts time to work you over? Then your body freezes to death, and that¡¯s all she wrote.¡± One of the other Archers had returned, a small bundle of wood in his arms, while a third carried a dozen small stones in a bucket. As I watched, they assembled wood and stone into a crude fireplace, setting it alight just a few feet from their unconscious comrade. Then, both of them took a seat to either side of him, their bows relaxed in their hands, but still ready to be used at a moment¡¯s notice. ¡°To counter the chill, warmth is required. Warmth from a fire, whilst they sleep, and warm broth once they awake, and are able to feed themselves.¡± ¡°Speaking of food,¡± I interrupted, as that brought another question to mind. ¡°What happened there, at the end of the battle? My System said something about a Last Stand.¡± I didn¡¯t elaborate, because I didn¡¯t need to; not with so many of the convoy affected at the same time. ¡°Last Stand is an active ability, belonging to Classes suited to commanding. It lets the affected break their limits, fighting beyond what they¡¯re capable of, at a great cost in stamina once it runs out. It¡¯s a dangerous ability to use, since the aftermath can leave you unable to fight, hence the name. Used correctly though, it can turn the tide of battle, it¡¯s all in the timing.¡± Harvey left after that, going to speak to the Archers by the fireside. I, for my part, headed back to my carriage to catch up on some sleep; with so many people out and about, it wasn¡¯t as if I was still needed on duty. Chapter 50: Shades of Grey Chapter 50: Shades of Grey Somewhat predictably, I ended up slumped in my chair inside the carriage, completely failing to fall asleep. I wasn¡¯t that tired, as whilst the night time skirmish had been intense, it had also been very brief. Even the backlash from Last Stand had faded after digging into some emergency rations, so as it stood, my body simply wasn¡¯t feeling all that sleepy, which left me awake enough to do some thinking. Pumpkin wasn¡¯t making it any easier, having followed me back to the carriage and curled himself up around my neck, as per usual. He wasn¡¯t falling asleep either, and clearly wanted to stay outside, given how he was actively resisting my attempts to store him away. That was another quirk of my inventory: whilst it allowed me to classify living beings as belongings and store them, autonomy was still a factor when making the attempt. Ordinary objects never resisted, probably on account of lacking a mind of their own, so the only limit I¡¯d found was size. Living beings, on the other hand, only went in when they wanted to, unless they were asleep, in which case it was guaranteed. Granted, I¡¯d only had the chance to test this on Pumpkin so far, so it might not be the whole picture, but it made sense based on my observations to date. The cat wasn¡¯t what occupied my thoughts however, not when I¡¯d just experienced such an intriguing ability, with a front row ticket at that. ¡°Last Stand,¡± I murmured, doing my best to recall exactly how it had felt. Everything slowed nearly to the point of stopping, and in that brief instant, I felt like I was at the top of the world. The aftershock hadn¡¯t been nearly as pleasant, but even so, having had a taste of that power, I couldn¡¯t help but want more of it. It was at this point that I realised Harvey had never mentioned who used the ability. I¡¯d simply presumed it was him: as he was both the obvious leader of our caravan, and the one who best fit the description of a commander. The fact that it had activated right after I heard him speak also lent credence to this theory, but it still wasn¡¯t conclusive. None of the Archers seemed like viable candidates for having it, for all that I knew they likely had some surprises in store, like the earthen spikes one of them had deployed. I couldn¡¯t exactly describe why I was so sure on this point, except to say that none of them had the right presence to me; they were asocial wallflowers, one and all, and not what I would describe as a command material. No, I decided, if Harvey wasn¡¯t the one to cast it, then the most likely candidate would be one of the drivers. They were all non-combatants, but that didn¡¯t mean they couldn¡¯t command: generals back on Earth didn¡¯t take to the front lines, either, not in the modern era of warfare. Moreover, the express purpose of bringing the drivers along was to command the horses, and when someone had abilities meant to command animals, it wasn¡¯t that big a leap to extend those same abilities to humans.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°I should¡¯ve asked for specifics earlier,¡± I chastised myself, though it was half hearted at best. Harvey was happy to entertain my questions, when nothing pressing was going on, so I could always ask him later. Putting that matter aside for after daybreak, I turned my attention to the last bit of information leftover from my Level Up. [You have earned one item upgrade, to be applied to an item of your choice. Thematic considerations apply here, so choose carefully.] On the face of it, this was a simple choice. A free upgrade to be applied to anything in my possession, so clearly, I should put it on whatever was seeing the most use, right? By this logic, I¡¯d be best served applying it to my knife, seeing as it was my primary weapon. I¡¯d have done it already, were it not for the second sentence in the description, which was causing me to doubt. Thematic considerations could mean many different things, but its presence as a warning strongly suggested that I¡¯d get a better outcome if I followed a certain theme. What that theme was, I had no idea, hence the hesitation as I brought up my items page. [Equipped Inventory I was wearing a rather haphazard assortment of items, none of which followed any theme I could think of. The same was true for my Inventory, which contained such common things as hard currency, a padlock, various provisions, and a block of dirt. Not the most inspiring of choices, I thought ruefully. Pumpkin picked that moment to whack me in the face with his tail, which would have been cute, if he didn¡¯t have the power to leave craters behind with it. ¡°Pumpkin!¡± I scolded, because even though he¡¯d held back considerably, my nose still stung from the blow. At the same time, his jostling had led my eyes to drift, until they landed close to the top of my inventory screen, on an item that I¡¯d glanced over but dismissed almost automatically the first time around. Now, however, I had an idea. The cat Mask hadn¡¯t seen any use thus far, as there hadn¡¯t been any threat that required me to hide my face. But now, looking from it to Pumpkin? It was either a coincidence that both were cat themed, or the makings of a theme. I could have held onto the upgrade for later, but I was never the type to hold onto goods for the promise of an ephemeral tomorrow, so I did the smart thing and cashed it in.. [Mask (Cat) upgraded. Processing. Please wait.] Chapter 51: Popcat Chapter 51: Popcat [Mask (Cat) upgraded. Processing. Please wait.] Nobody ever enjoyed being told to wait, and I was no exception to the rule; I could be patient, certainly, but I didn¡¯t particularly like it. That being said, I was still rather happy to see this particular notification pop up, if only because of what it represented. You see, until now, everything the System did had been resolved near instantly, whether it was identifying another individual, bringing up my status or inventory screens, activating my abilities and so on. It had reached the point where I was seriously considering the question of free will, whether it existed or was merely a useful delusion.. Seeing the System stutter, however briefly, was therefore an encouraging sign, as this suggested that it was not omniscient, and merely very powerful. Not that I could do anything with this information as a measly Level 3, but it was still worth noting for sake of the distant future. In the meantime, there were more salient matters to consider, namely the attacks on my person. I was still pretty certain they weren¡¯t directed towards me: I¡¯d never left Allensward before this trip, and my only crimes were committed against the townspeople. Even assuming my crimes had been uncovered since my departure, the response should have come from the town guard, or the local garrison, not the local wildlife and poltergeists. Putting that aside, only a very few people knew where I was headed, all of them members of the Dead Hand, and whilst I didn¡¯t trust their members as far as I could throw them, the entire situation seemed far too convoluted for this to be a deniable assassination. After all, I was a mere Level 2 during my first meeting with Harvey: if he wanted me dead, he had the advantage in both numbers and Levels. In such a situation, he would have been comfortable with either attacking me directly, or simply betraying me to the guards over Damien¡¯s murder. Instead, he covered for me, and offered me generous terms of employment. No, I didn¡¯t think anyone in the caravan was involved, especially since all the losses thus far had in fact been sustained by the caravan. While I had an understandably high opinion of myself, I could recognise that by any objective measure, I wasn¡¯t worth nearly enough to require such a degree of planning to deal with, so with that in mind, what exactly was going on here? [Upgrade complete!] A soft ping snapped me out of my thoughts, informing me that the wait was over. It didn¡¯t inform me what I¡¯d actually gotten, nor did the inventory sheet show anything different at first glance. [Mask withdrawn.]Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Once I had the mask in my hands, however, it was an entirely different story. [Mask of Felis: Grants Language (Cat) when worn.] ¡°Now that¡¯s what I¡¯m talking about,¡± I grinned, carefully raising the mask to my face, so as to not dislodge my furry scarf currently wrapped around my neck. As with the Blackened Bracelet, I didn¡¯t feel any different after putting the mask on, besides the obvious discomfort of having a piece of cloth against my face, which would fade as I grew used to it. The true test, then, required the participation of my companion. Reaching up behind Pumpkin¡¯s head, I began to stroke him behind the ears, slowly at first, before gradually picking up the pace as he began to stir. Being a light sleeper, as was common with cats, Pumpkin was up and about in less than ten seconds, sitting on my chest and staring me in the face. ¡°Can you understand me?¡± I asked, starting with the obvious question. ¡°Of course I do, human.¡± Pumpkin huffed, his voice sounding simultaneously like a soft meow and a mildly offended baritone. ¡°My Omniglot trait isn¡¯t just for show, you know.¡± ¡°Omniglot?¡± I furrowed my brow. ¡°Have you had that all this time?¡± ¡°Since I became a Level 1 Cat,¡± Pumpkin confirmed, before pausing. ¡°Hold on a moment, since when did you understand me?¡± ¡°Since just now,¡± I replied, my grin only widening as I tapped the side of my mask, Pumpkin¡¯s eye¡¯s following my every movement. ¡°Got an item upgrade to help us work together, one that fits the theme.¡± ¡°Interesting,¡± Pumpkin purred. ¡°This has potential, yes, if only because I can tell you what you should stock for my meals going forward. Hmph, I need to think about this. Return me to my castle, human!¡± It wasn¡¯t hard to work out that he meant my Inventory, though why he called it a castle I wasn¡¯t sure. A soft touch and a small exertion of will later, Pumpkin was back in storage, and I was left with a brand new magical item, born out of what had been a few scraps of cloth, not long ago. In retrospect, this was probably the best outcome I could have hoped for, in terms of an upgrade. Pumpkin had been with me since nearly the beginning, and his presence and keen senses had proven very beneficial on many occasions. Now that we had two-way communication, things were only looking up, was my thought as I made myself comfortable in my chair. Even though I wasn¡¯t that tired, I still wanted to get at least some rest before dawn, as tomorrow promised to be a very long day. This time, with all of my outstanding concerns dealt with, I finally drifted off to sleep. ¡ª I woke up the way I often did as of late, to a long brown tail smacking me in the forehead. That was another thing to remember; living beings could be put into storage, but they could also force their way out at any point. It made sense, as much as common sense could be applied to magic: if this wasn''t the case, there would be no need for prisons, and those still existed. ¡°Get up,¡± Pumpkin¡¯s voice ordered. ¡°The others are starting to gather outside, preparing to go find the horses. If we don¡¯t eat now, there¡¯ll be no time for breakfast.¡± [Salt Pork withdrawn. 2x Orange withdrawn.] Missing a meal didn¡¯t appeal to me, so I swiftly doled out a chunk of Salt Pork to split between us, along with an orange for each of us, to keep hydrated. Only once that was all gone, and I¡¯d vanished the crumbs left behind, did we emerge from our carriage to greet the new day. Chapter 52: Dawntrail Chapter 52: Dawntrail Harvey had gathered all of the drivers together, huddled shoulder to shoulder like a football team in the moments before the game started. As I approached, the two nearest to me parted slightly, allowing me to see the star of the show: a crude map one of the drivers had scratched into the dirt with a stick. At the centre, six boxes surrounded by stick figures, representing our encampment, with six horses scattered around it at various odd points. Two of them were close to each other, directly northeast of our position. The third was due east, the fourth south east, the fifth directly south, and the sixth and final horse seemed determined to play the contrarian, having separated from the herd to stand northwest of us. Simple enough, for even a toddler to read, which begged the question: how was this map drawn, when nobody had gone out last night? ¡°Nice mask,¡± Harvey said by way of greeting, his eyes barely drifting from the map on the floor. ¡°Thanks. So, how are we doing this?¡± ¡°Three of the archers will stay behind, to maintain a minimum perimeter and protect our belongings. The rest of us will travel in a single group, with the drivers using their Find Animal ability to guide us towards each group of horses.¡± Well, that explained how the map worked. ¡°There¡¯s eighteen in total to look for, although we don¡¯t know how many are at each point, only that they¡¯ve gathered in six places, since Find Animal can only guide us in a general direction, rather than providing fine detail. Each time we find a group, one pair, an archer and a driver, will split off to guide them back here, while the rest of us continue the search. Simple enough.¡± The numbers lined up, so there was little for me to do except nod in assent, and then we were off. We advanced at a cautious pace, with all eyes on the distance, searching for the first hint of yet another ambush. It was morning, and thankfully cool as we advanced, the sun overhead not putting out too much heat just yet. Even so, it was slow going, as there were no roads to speak of, only uneven grassland beneath our feet. The drivers were gathered together, while the archers fanned out in every direction, with Harvey and I somewhere in the middle at any given moment. Pumpkin, on the other hand, had decided he wasn¡¯t in the mood to walk, and sat on my shoulder the whole way, his eyes scanning the horizon for danger. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Every so often, the drivers collectively paused and closed their eyes, whereupon we would wait for them to resume moving, sometimes in the same direction as before, and other times with minute adjustments in direction. There were no visible signs of activation, but they were clearly using Find Animal to fine tune our search. We were all on edge, after the events of the last twenty four hours, but to my mild surprise, no attack proved forthcoming as we advanced. Admittedly, whichever driver had drawn the map wasn¡¯t great at depicting scale, so what I¡¯d expected to take minutes was closer to half an hour, but we still reached the first two groups without issue. No less than half a dozen horses meandered about, grazing from the tall grass that grew abundant off of the beaten trail. I stood back, briefly wondering how the drivers were going to corral these errant steeds, but in the end it proved much simpler than I¡¯d expected. One of the drivers stuck two fingers in his mouth, blowing a sharp whistle that made me wince, and the fur on Pumpkin¡¯s back to rise. Almost immediately, the horses turned to him, and began to canter towards him. As this first find represented a full third of our horses, two drivers and two archers were assigned to escort them home, the drivers mounting two of them to take the lead, while the guards walked on either side of them, bows ready for trouble. So far, so good. The ten of us that remained pivoted, going what I thought was South, thought I couldn¡¯t be sure, as I¡¯d never quite learned to navigate by the Sun; there had never been any need, in the age of Google Maps. Still, it was an undeniable good start, which only made me more paranoid as we searched for the remaining twelve horses. The next bunch were thankfully a bit closer than the first, relatively speaking, and after what I pegged at less than ten minutes of walking, we found the next group. The good news? Our search method thus far had proven completely reliable. The bad news? The horses were dead. ¡°More wolves,¡± Harvey remarked, kneeling down to examine the pile of bloody bones that was all that remained of one horse. ¡°A decent sized pack at least, to bring down a horse and then clean it out like this.¡± He didn¡¯t bother examining the other two piles, having seen enough; I couldn¡¯t blame him, as I found the smell to be rather unpleasant, even standing further away from them than Harvey. I took a second look around, but saw no sign of any predators; which didn¡¯t mean much, as they¡¯d had a whole night to eat their fill, so they could be anywhere by now. The atmosphere was slightly more subdued as our search continued, though not overly much; the possibility of losses had been on everyone¡¯s minds, after all, it was precisely due to the potential danger that we¡¯d deferred our search until the daylight hours. If anything, this latest outcome only validated our caution, because I certainly didn¡¯t fancy the idea of facing a pack of wolves at night; I wasn¡¯t Pumpkin, my eyes didn¡¯t work so well in the dark. Shaking my head at the mere thought of it, I raised a hand to Pumpkin¡¯s ears to give him a scratch, as we continued ever onward. Chapter 53: A Horse is a Horse, Of Course, Of Course Chapter 53: A Horse is a Horse, Of Course, Of Course Six horses had been recovered, and three confirmed dead; with nine left to go, the search continued. As we continued due East, signs of life began to make an appearance. Far from the emptiness from before, field mice, rabbits, voles and more scurried by, paying little heed to the threat we posed as they scurried through the grass, close enough that I had to watch my step so as to not accidentally squash them. Pumpkin eyed them from my shoulder, tilting his head as he considered the potential pros and cons of an impromptu hunt ¡°Don¡¯t do it,¡± I whispered. ¡°We have plenty of food on hand, and even more back at the caravan. Don¡¯t risk it all for a bit of bush meat.¡± ¡°Eh, alright then.¡± Seeing the wisdom of my words, or perhaps just not feeling very hungry, Pumpkin pressed his head against the crook of my neck, laid his head down, and began to snore. I must admit to being rather envious of him, as sleep never came so easily to me, whereas he was able to knock himself out in seconds. [Pumpkin the Cat stored.] It was probably for the best, as I¡¯d rather not get into a fight with Pumpkin hitching a ride on my shoulder; I was fairly good with a knife, especially after getting my Proficiency, but it was still unwise to tempt fate like that. Granted, I wasn¡¯t expecting one at the moment, since the return of the wildlife was most likely a sign of safety; they¡¯d been absent before, which made a lot more sense now that we knew there was a pack of wolves still on the prowl. The archer in front of me stopped abruptly, pulling me out of my thoughts as well as bringing me to an equally sudden halt, lest I bump into him from behind. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Harvey asked, coming to a stop beside me as well. The Archer didn¡¯t answer, merely continuing to stare straight ahead, a vacant, gormless look in his eyes. Following his gaze, my own eyes narrowed as I saw three horses come into the picture. They were much like the six we recovered earlier, brown, large and busy eating grass. A good sign, certainly, since they were what we came for, but also a strange sign, because the Archer should have been familiar with horses, and certainly wouldn¡¯t freeze up upon seeing a few. The hairs on the back of my neck rose; there was something wrong here, I realised. That realisation, and my heightened caution likely saved my life, as the Archer spun around, his bow tossed to the side as he pulled a hidden knife from his sleeve and took a swing at me. I threw myself back, falling to the floor with a painful thump, as my lower back protested. It was for a good cause though, as it caused the aforementioned swing to pass over my head rather than open up my neck, so I had no regrets, even as it left me out of position for a counter strike.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. [Padlock withdrawn.] For a counter strike with my knife, at least, as my arms simply weren¡¯t long enough to make it count. The palm sized padlock I stole during my night of theft, on the other hand, had no such restrictions, as I duly made full use of my newfound Proficiency with throwing weapons to nail him in the family jewels. I wasn¡¯t sure what was wrong with the Archer, but despite whatever had possessed him, a nut shot from solid steel couldn¡¯t be ignored. He doubled over, clutching at his gonads and giving me precious seconds to get off the floor. [Knife withdrawn.] Now upright, it was simplicity itself to pull my own weapon, and unlike his earlier attempt, my swing of the knife didn¡¯t miss the neck. A severed head flew past me; notably not belonging to my own opponent, who was very much dead with his neck sliced open, but not all the way through to produce such an effect. Turning around, I found Harvey with his own weapon drawn, and two more dead Archers next to him, one missing his head and the other cut in half at the waistline. They¡¯d both gotten rather close for people allegedly watching the perimeter, which only deepened my confusion at what just happened. ¡°More charms,¡± Harvey spat, fixing the last Archer standing with a gimlet stare. Said Archer seemed to have possession of his faculties however, as he stowed his bow over his shoulder and put both hands up in the air, in the universal gesture of surrender. Seeing as Harvey had the situation under control, I chanced a look back ahead, and now, I saw no horses. Three piles of powder, only vaguely recognisable as bone dust littered the ground up ahead, while a shimmering butterfly hovered overhead, a wing pressed over its face as it appeared to giggle at our misfortune. [Mirage Butterfly - Level 3] Slightly annoyed by the attempt on my life, I picked up the padlock and chucked it at the creature. I wasn¡¯t sure if it would do anything, but cold iron was often considered a weapon against the fae back on Earth, and it wasn¡¯t as though I had any better idea. It might even have worked, if the butterfly didn¡¯t know how to dodge. As it was, I could only watch as it fluttered away, still giggling all the while as it vanished over the horizon. ¡°Leave it be,¡± Harvey sighed, kneeling down beside one of the two men he¡¯d slain. ¡°Illusionist monsters are opportunists by nature; now that it¡¯s fed, and we¡¯re wise to its tricks, it won¡¯t be back any time soon.¡± I nodded, happy enough to hear that, given the mounting losses our caravan had suffered. I was about to offer my help with the funeral rites, however reluctant, when Harvey touched a hand to each of the men, just once, and made an unfamiliar, clenched hand sign. All three bodies burst into flames, eating everything down to the bone in seconds, until nothing remained. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re a Thief?¡± I asked, raising an eyebrow.¡± ¡°I¡¯m a part-timer,¡± Harvey joked in reply, without elaborating any further. Oddly enough, I had the distinct feeling that he was telling the truth. Chapter 54: Something鈥檚 Not Quite Right Chapter 54: Something¡¯s Not Quite Right ¡°I¡¯m happy to talk specifics, once we¡¯re back on the road,¡± Harvey promised, returning to his feet. ¡°For now though, let¡¯s get the rest of the horses back, before anything else makes a meal out of them.¡± I wasn¡¯t about to argue with that, as the more I saw of the wilderness, away from the main road, the less I liked it. Our numbers had been whittled away, both due to sending a few men back to camp as well as the more recent casualties, to the point where the drivers outnumbered the combatants. ¡°Should we send the drivers ahead of us?¡± I decided to broach the topic. ¡°Some of them, at least. We don¡¯t need four drivers for six horses, and they¡¯d be safer back at camp.¡± My logic proved sound, prompting Harvey to issue orders to that effect Two of four drivers scurried away, heading back to home base as fast as they could manage, along with the last of our archers. Normally, I wouldn¡¯t have made such a suggestion, as I preferred to keep as many warm bodies as possible between myself and danger, but the presence of enemies capable of Illusions changed the calculus. Whereas Harvey and I had both proven able to resist, those with weaker wills posed a risk, as they were only one spell away from becoming the danger. As such, I was far happier to proceed with just Harvey at my side, and the final two drivers for horse duty. With the logistics sorted, we resumed our search in silence. Harvey took the lead now, with the drivers behind him while I brought up the rear. The walk was tense, and it felt as though every step took longer than before, though I knew that to just be my nerves talking. [Orange withdrawn.] An orange proved a suitable solution, the sweet fruit a bit of a pick me up, giving me a hit of sugar and water, the first of our long march today. To be fair, I was the fittest I¡¯d been in many decades, but even the humans of Frontier still had to watch out for thirst, despite being nearly superhuman by Earth standards. My eyes roamed as I ate on the move, always on the lookout for the next bit of trouble, but to my mild surprise, nothing was forthcoming. The drivers never altered their course for this latest stretch, which I¡¯d previously seen as a good sign, but now regarded a bit more warily: dead horses didn¡¯t move, after all. Alas, my pessimism was proven right, as it often was, and we arrived at yet another slaughter, albeit one with a key difference: the enemy had yet to depart.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. [Dire Wolf - Level 2] I wasn¡¯t sure what the difference was, as the wolves I saw snacking on our steeds looked no different to those the night before, except perhaps a tiny bit bigger. Half a dozen of them, forming up around the largest of the pack, discarding bloodied bones as they rose to their feet, some slower than others. ¡°Protect the drivers,¡± Harvey ordered, rushing ahead before I could get a word in edgewise. [Knife withdrawn.] That said, I didn¡¯t mind the order in the slightest, given that I didn¡¯t gain experience from killing monsters. I still hadn¡¯t worked out the exact criteria for my advancement, but thus far I¡¯d benefited from committing crimes, doing things for the first time, and fending off unusual phenomena. The wolves weren¡¯t likely to facilitate any of those, so I was happy to play rearguard, especially as it let me watch Harvey at work. I¡¯d seen snippets here and there, in previous skirmishes, but this was the first instance where I had a clear view of him from start to finish. The first thing of note was that Harvey was fast. I may have mentioned this before, but he was a blur in motion, crossing what looked to be a hundred metres in the seconds, all while wielding a greatsword. His headlong charge didn¡¯t go unanswered, as the nearest wolf leapt at him, jaw distended like something out of a nightmare, but Harvey refused to even dignify it with death by the blade. His pommel strike caught the wolf on the side of the head, and I got to see its skull cave in at the force of the blow. The second wolf to try, he did use the sharp end, splitting the beast from nose to tail, both halves flying apart in a spray of gore that somehow didn¡¯t touch a hair on Harvey¡¯s head. That still left four wolves unaccounted for, or so I thought. ¡°Recorded,¡± Harvey announced, seemingly talking to himself as the remaining pack circled, each of the four wary of being the first to approach. ¡°Mirrored.¡± Harvey swung his sword at the empty air, and four wolves split apart, in the exact same manner as his previous kill: some kind of sympathetic magic, I could only guess. Harvey¡¯s sword went back in storage, as bloodied gibbets rained down on the floor, shaking his head. ¡°One driver, back to the caravan,¡± he ordered, not looking at anybody in particular. Both drivers glanced at one another, engaging in a short stare down that ended with one of them doing an about face, and quite literally heading for the hills. Admittedly, Harvey sounded rather annoyed to me, which I could hardly blame him for; I had no idea how much a horse cost in this world, but given the comments from the old blacksmith back in Allensward, I doubted they were cheap. Losing nine of them this early into our journey was a gut punch, and I was already wondering what that meant for our logistics going forward. ¡°Let¡¯s keep moving,¡± Harvey declared, drawing my attention back to the present. ¡°We¡¯ve got one more group to check, before we can get out of here. The wildlife shouldn¡¯t be this aggressive, not during the day; something¡¯s not quite right in this place.¡± Chapter 55: Blood Money Chapter 55: Blood Money I wasn¡¯t sure if the lone driver would make it back at all, given the lack of an escort, but there wasn¡¯t anyone we could spare, so he¡¯d simply have to hope for the best. We¡¯d thinned the herd in terms of predators, at least, though who knew if our efforts would be enough to keep him safe? Either way, he was on his own, because we still had a job to do. Harvey up front, the driver in the middle, and me bringing up the rear, all of this was familiar territory by now. Given the recent trend, I was expecting trouble with every step we took, but remarkably, nothing barred our way as we approached the final group of horses. Moreover, they were still alive, and looked to be in good health as they frolicked by the edge of a pond, occasionally stopping to drink their fill from the clear blue water. Even seeing that brought my own thirst back, and I resolved to store some water for the way back; really, I should have taken some from the caravan, after emptying my stores against the Wispers, but had neglected it in the hurry to set out. I resolved to be more meticulous in future, as was my true nature; this singular, momentary lapse, I chalked up to the lingering excitement of the former Will, embarking on an adventure for the first time. Was this true? I had no idea, but it was as good an explanation as any, where reincarnation was concerned. The driver took the initiative, heading towards the horses without a care in the world. That was an immediate red flag, because the drivers never took initiative, having relied upon Harvey for directions up until now. ¡°Stop!¡± Harvey ordered, mere moments after my realisation, only to be entirely ignored. When he himself advanced, intending to make his objection in a more physical manner, black limbs formed of shadow emerged from the ground, holding him in place and preventing Harvey from making use of his ludicrous speed. The hair on the back of my neck was standing ramrod straight, and my palms tingled as tiny bolts of lightning ran through my limbs. Up ahead, this effect was even more pronounced, as a vast quantity of mana gathered around the three horses, and a magic circle made itself known around them. A trap. I took a single step forward, and immediately another limb emerged, grabbing my ankle and holding it in place. I stopped, preempting the emergence of any more obstacles, and instead reared my arm back. [Gild withdrawn.] I couldn¡¯t get up close, as any attempt would see me caught by a dozen dark limbs, much as Harvey endured even now. Accordingly, the only option available was to take the driver down from afar. A coin wasn¡¯t my first choice of projectile, but I wasn¡¯t willing to risk anything better: if I threw my knife and failed, then I would be leaving myself unarmed. Briefly, I did consider throwing Pumpkin as something of a hail mary, but he was a chunky cat, weighing nearly ten pounds. Even if I managed to throw him far enough, which was by no means guaranteed, his travel speed would be low, and potentially prone to interception by the same limbs that restricted my options. The coin was my only option, I reflected, as I held it in a three fingered grip, between thumb and index and middle finger, drawing upon every scrap of skill and muscle memory from my Proficiency (Throwing Weapons) to carry the day.Stolen novel; please report. This would have been an impossible shot back on Earth; humans simply didn¡¯t have the strength to throw a fifteen gram coin fast enough, hard enough, to do any real damage. This wasn¡¯t Earth though, and my System granted expertise assured me it was possible, and that Assassins the world over used this trick, albeit usually to show off to the newbies, as it was far from reliable even in expert hands. I was no expert, but on that day, lady luck blessed me and my arm. Drawing my hand back over my shoulder, I threw from a reverse grip, demanding that my coin fly true, at an angle and crucially with a spin. It hit the rogue driver in the back of the throat, tearing clean on through to the other side, robbing him of the ability to breath as severed arteries choked his lungs with blood. He pitched over, just at the edge of the ritual circle, coming to a dead stop on the floor in more ways than one. [50 Experience gained for coining a new finishing move.] It was a fine shot, truly, one that even had the System impressed, and for a brief moment I wondered if I¡¯d managed to save the day. Then, a final, shadowy hand emerged next to the dead driver, and bodily dragged him those last few feet into the ritual circle. It faded away after that exertion, as did the limb on my ankle and all of those restraining Harvey, but that was no help, because its job was already done. Before my gobsmacked gaze, the three final horses melted and congealed, five successively stronger waves of magic rippling from the pool that their conjoined carcasses now formed. It was horridly, terribly bright, such that my eyes could barely keep the mass in my sights, by the end of it, but eventually, whatever malign will forced this transformation restored their cohesion, and a singular being stood to greet us. [Horsedra - Level 7 Demon] It¡¯s form was as ridiculous as its name, being a massive horse of truly ridiculous proportions, standing a head taller than myself and boasting a musculature that would win acclaim at a Mr. Universe bodybuilding contest. Three heads crowned its expansive neck, each gleaming with malign intelligence across six beady red eyes, a thin layer of scales obscuring most of its faces. Truth be told, I wasn¡¯t sure whether to laugh or cry, because as bizarre as all of this was, it was still a high level monster, and one I doubted would go in peace. ¡°Oh no,¡± Harvey groaned, which was as much as he got to say before the Horsedra charged right at him. Chapter 56: Horsing Around Chapter 56: Horsing Around [Horsedra - Level 7 Demon] It would have been amusing if it weren¡¯t mildly terrifying. To reiterate, I grew up in the suburbs before moving to the big city at a young age: before this, the largest animal I¡¯d ever had charging in my general direction was someone¡¯s angry dachshund. Even Harvey didn¡¯t try to take the charge head on, and I was pretty sure he had a substantial head start on me in terms of physicality. Instead, he waited just long enough for the demonic thoroughbred to commit to the charge, before vanishing. The Horsedra struck a humanoid shaped shadow, one that did very little to slow it down, while Harvey reappeared behind it, sword raised for a deadly downward stroke. Against an ordinary horse, that would have been the end of matters, as even if Harvey didn¡¯t kill it outright, the subsequent mobility kill would have still sealed the deal. But, because good people didn¡¯t get nice things in Frontier, the Horsedra dug its front legs deep into the ground, shedding the entirety of its momentum in an instant and snapping a kick back to meet his sword. Harvey turned to shadow again, this time reappearing by my side. He was breathing heavily now, a faint sheen of sweat covering his brow; clearly, whatever he was using to cheat death carried a heavy cost in stamina, because he¡¯d barely taken six steps from my perspective. It was still the right choice, I reflected with a wince, as I watched the broken fragments of what was once Harvey¡¯s sword sail off into the distance: there was no surviving that much force. ¡°Ideas?¡± I asked, as the enemy pulled its front hooves out of the ground, one at a time, turning to face us once more. ¡°Wear it down from a distance,¡° Harvey ordered at once, crossing his arms with his hands in his sleeves. They came back out with a pair of heavy throwing knives, making his weapon of choice crystal clear. [2 Gilt withdrawn.] I didn¡¯t have anything quite as nice, but that was fine too, because I didn¡¯t need to inflict large wounds; any would would do, so long as it triggered the effect of Death and Taxes. When the Horsedra charged again, it maintained focus on Harvey, and for once I was happy not to be the centre of attention. His knives flew, one after the other, aimed low at the legs. One missed, sliding just below an upraised fetlock, while the other buried itself in the Horsedra¡¯s thigh, drawing a whinny of pain from one head, a roar of anger from another, and grim focus on the middle head, one that kept the whole disciplined, even if its charge faltered thanks to the wound on its flank.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. My coins didn¡¯t have that same degree of penetrative power, so I was forced to be more precise, targeting the eyes, which were thankfully quite large: some of the biggest of any land mammal, a small part of my brain reminded me, drawing from ancient memories of days spent browsing Wikipedia. That said, largest was a relative term, and they were only two inches across, so I had to time it carefully. I was staring at the enemy¡¯s eyes of course, to perfect my aim, which gave me an extra second of warning as they burned bright crimson, and three mouths opened. Normally, I¡¯d have been happy to hear facts straight from the horse¡¯s mouth, but the delivery this time was far less desirable, because apparently the name wasn¡¯t for sure, and the Horsedra had breath weapons in reserve. I still threw my coins, because in that instant when flames ignited in three enemy maws, it was also locked on a firing trajectory and thus couldn¡¯t dodge in turn. With an immobile enemy before me, my aim was true, and my twofold coins put out two of its eyes, both on the middle head. [30 XP gained, because we all love a bit of eye scream.] Sadly, it still had four in reserve, making it far less crippling than it would be on a normal opponent, even as Death and Taxes activated, spreading necrotic rot down the middle head. Then, the enemy exhaled, and fiery death was upon me. Three heads, three fireballs, travelling fast enough to close the distance in an instant. One went for Harvey, one flew completely wide after I blinded the shooter, and one final ball of white hot flame was coming for my life. There was no time left to dodge, not after I sacrificed that to take my own shot, so I was forced to improvise. [Cheese Wheel Withdrawn. Bag of Oatmeal Withdrawn. Dirt Withdrawn.] The cheese wheel went first, taking the direct hit and turning to ash, but earthing the majority of the momentum behind the fireball. The rest went into the oatmeal, which was a bag in the old sense; not the hundred gram bags found in modern supermarkets, but an entire sack the size of my abdomen that would take two grown men to comfortably carry. Finally, a thin wall made up of dirt in front of me, to catch any stray embers before they landed on my clothing. All told, it was definitely a spur of the moment formation, one that was only missing the kitchen sink, but it worked, and it¡¯s not stupid if it works. I turned to my left, to see how Harvey was doing, to find him on fire. Only, he wasn¡¯t rolling around on the floor, screaming in agony, so I suspected that not all was as it seemed. That belief was validated a moment later, when the Horsedra also caught on fire, and proved quite vulnerable to its own weapon of choice. Most of the middle head was already gone, thanks to my necrotic talents, and now it was suffering from burns all along its surface. Surely, I thought to myself, the Horsedra was on its last legs, and it was. Too bad that meant one final surprise for the two of us as well. Chapter 57: The Wild Hunt Chapter 57: The Wild Hunt A wounded animal is the most dangerous of all. That old saying was a popular one in the corporate world, typically rearing its head in discussion around mergers and acquisitions, but just as applicable in a hundred different settings. That said, I doubted my old managers ever envisioned a scenario quite this literal, as the Horsedra turned a dark shade of crimson, wholly distinct from the flames eating away at skin and bone. What remained of its three heads faded away, while the torso inflated violently, putting me on edge, as I half-expected another fireball to come my way. Even the flames enveloping faded away, while a quick glance to the side confirmed the same for Harvey, who now joined me in staring anxiously at the enemy. Idly, I noted that Harvey was surrounded by a thin dusting of straw, strewn around his feet. Ahead of me, the Horsedra continued to grow, resembling nothing more than a big red ball by this point, until finally it reached critical mass, and burst. [The Wild Hunt - Level 1] From its scattered remains, a veritable horde of spectral steeds emerged, pale ghosts wreathed in red mist, charging towards us as if their unlives depended on it. Harvey landed two more knives, popping his targets like soap bubbles. [6 Gilt withdrawn.] I quickly followed suit, throwing my remaining coins as quickly as I could summon them, inflicting a toll of thirteen spectres slain, two targets per coin plus a lucky thirteenth angled just right in the path of one of my throws. Harvey wasn¡¯t letting up either, with another knife thrown every second, such that between us we carved out two dozen in the space of five seconds, yet onward they came. [2x Orange withdrawn. Lemon withdrawn. 1/2 Loaf of Bread withdrawn.] Banking on the horde¡¯s apparent fragility, I dug deep into my inventory for anything even vaguely throwable, all of which found their market, while Harvey continued to conjure an endless stream of knives. Finally, after what my brain quickly counted as a full fifty apparitions, the flow stemmed, whatever final force powered that suicidal attack tapering out. In the end, only three lonely ghosts managed to come within arms length, and they were never going to be a threat, not when the only thing going for them was strength in numbers. [Knife withdrawn.] I hopped over one, slitting its throat mid-flight and landing amidst a faint cloud of dispersing ectoplasm. Harvey didn¡¯t even bother using a knife for his final kill of the battle, merely punching it in the side of the head, hard enough for the ghost to feel it and disappear.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. [Pumpkin the Cat withdrawn.] Being a most generous soul, I even let Pumpkin get in on the action, figuring that he would be displeased if he missed a chance to kill. As it turned out, Proficiency (Throwing Weapons) worked just as well with a ball of fur as it did with coins and food, allowing me to land Pumpkin on the final ghost¡¯s back with an expert underarm throw. Being the ornery cat he was, Pumpkin responded to this impromptu reappearance in the only way he knew how: violence. A solid smack with his tail was all it took, and the last of The Wild Hunt vanished back to whence it came. I waited in place for a bit, half-expecting another System notification, but nothing happened; not that I could blame it, since culling mooks was never going to be too impressive, and that seemed to be how all our deeds were graded. It made sense, in a way, that only the exceptional could guarantee a steady stream of experience. That would certainly explain how the people of Allensward lived their entire lives at Level 3 or below, whilst I had reached that same threshold in little over a week of activity: here, as on Earth and likely every other world that existed, opportunities for growth had to be seized with both hands in order to be truly beneficial. Although, by the same token, I didn¡¯t believe for a single second that Level 3 was actually the cap; given I¡¯d met several people in town capable of altering what showed on their name tag. I wouldn¡¯t go as far as to call it common, but certainly, anybody worth their salt would have a way to obscure the truth: that was simply logical, in a world where the System would otherwise deny them any semblance of privacy. ¡°You alright?¡± Harvey asked, drawing me out of my reverie. His hands were shaking slightly, I noticed, as were my own; not out of any sense of fear, but as a natural consequence of the adrenaline in our bodies dissipating, now that the battle was won. ¡°Physically, sure,¡± I agreed, answering truthfully enough, whilst not betraying what I¡¯d actually been thinking about. ¡°Though I must say I¡¯m a bit concerned about the direction this trip has taken. When I set out from Allensward, fighting bandits or wild animals was within expectations. Even the ghosts were something feasible, something I¡¯d come across in passing during my time in the library. What just happened here, on the other hand¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s an ill omen,¡± Harvey agreed, making a sign over his heart I didn¡¯t recognise. ¡°Ritual circles such as the one that caused this, they aren¡¯t a natural occurrence. Someone must have planted it here, as a trap, the only question is if it was meant for us, or merely an opportunistic placement targeting any traveller nearby. Quite frankly, I¡¯m not sure which possibility I like less; demons haven¡¯t been sighted in these parts for many years now.¡± ¡°Do you think there¡¯s a breach in the Wall?¡± I pressed him, now very concerned for my continued well-being. ¡°Nothing that bad,¡± Harvey shook his head, to my relief. ¡°If that were the case, there¡¯d be a lot more of them, and they wouldn¡¯t need to be summoned. No, there¡¯s something rotten afoot, but we¡¯re not staring down the apocalypse.¡± I decided not to give voice to the unspoken yet, in favour of following Harvey as we headed back towards the caravan, because neither of us were in the mood for bleak hypotheticals. Oh, how innocent we were, back then. Chapter 58: Dead to Rights Chapter 58: Dead to Rights Nothing else bothered us on the way back, granting a rare moment of reprieve to mark the end of our search. We¡¯d been going in a large circle, rounding up one group at a time, so we weren¡¯t actually that far from camp, and arrived back where we began in less than ten minutes. The mission tally wasn¡¯t great, from an objective point of view: we¡¯d recovered six horses while losing twelve, lost another three archers to leave only six of the initial dozen alive, and were down a driver to boot. I counted heads several times over on arrival, wary of further illusions, but it seemed nothing had bothered the caravan in our absence. The six surviving horses had already been reassigned to the carriages, leaving none behind for the archers to ride. Five of six drivers staffed the carriages, leaving one empty, while the archers milled about, performing some semblance of a patrol following a pattern I couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of. As for Harvey, he only took a perfunctory look around, and upon seeing that nothing was on fire, he slumped down by the open campfire, finally allowing his exhaustion to show. [Loaf of Bread withdrawn. Salt Pork withdrawn.] I joined him by the fire, pulling from my dwindling stock of provisions to offer him half a loaf of bread, and a chunk of salt pork. The rest of the loaf I claimed for myself, while passing my share of the meat to Pumpkin, as my stomach was rather unsettled and in poor condition for a heavy meal. My supplies were getting quite low, but that was of no concern, as the carriages had plenty of food and we were already running low on mouths to feed. For his own contribution, Harvey conjured up three pints of beer, setting one down for each of us. Pumpkin was the most eager to partake of us all, and whilst part of me wanted to intervene, the rest of me simply didn¡¯t care enough. The cat helped kill a demon not long ago, if he wanted a drink, he could have one. We ate in silence, both of us harbouring many questions yet neither in the mood to talk. Only once the last of the meal was gone did Harvey turn to me with a questioning look on his face. ¡°Tell me, do you think the archers are useful?¡± I stared back at him, wondering what his angle was: Harvey had an excellent poker face, and he used it now to deny me any insights. ¡°Do you want a kind answer or an honest one?¡± Harvey laughed at that, a short, sharp guffaw that devolved into a hacking cough; the kind that left droplets of beer on the roadside.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. ¡°An honest answer is best, in principle,¡± he eventually replied. ¡°There¡¯s no kindness in false hope, not in the long run.¡± ¡°In that case, my answer is that they provide only marginal benefit. They¡¯re useful, in the sense that they can perform menial tasks, and perhaps could serve to intimidate sentient enemies, by strength in numbers. The problem is, most of what we¡¯ve faced has been mindless, and if it comes to strength?¡± My fingers twitched, seeking a coin to summon, only for me to remember that I¡¯d run out. I¡¯d spared a few moments to look for them, after the Horsedra died, but I¡¯d not seen any hint of any that remained intact. Sadly, the velocity needed to inflict serious harm using a coin also tended to leave them unrecognisable. ¡°The two of us outclass them significantly. Anything that the archers could deal with, so could we, whilst they¡¯re unlikely to offer any use against something we¡¯d struggle against.¡± At the end of the day, none of them had shown anything of value beyond their equipment and some basic cantrips. Useful against common wildlife, but doomed against any serious opposition. ¡°Yeah, that sounds about right,¡± Harvey sighed, turning his head to consider the remaining archers on patrol. ¡°Eh, fine. This is a bit sooner that I¡¯d originally planned, but it was never going to be hidden forever.¡± Harvey snapped his fingers, and six men fell dead on the floor. Rapid decay set in within seconds, faster than even the rot left by my blows, within no more than fifteen seconds, there was nothing left of the archers except a small pile of ashes a piece. I looked at the drivers, who¡¯d taken note of the spectacle: a couple appeared disquieted, one was visibly green with nausea, but none of them looked particularly surprised by what just happened. A faint click drew my attention back to Harvey, who had just removed the Blackened Bracelet from his wrist. [Harvey Miller - Level 9 Thief of Souls] ¡°Dead Hand,¡± I groaned, recalling the name he¡¯d claimed to represent at our first meeting. ¡°Is the name of the entire organisation a necromancy pun?¡± ¡°What can I say?¡± Harvey grinned mirthlessly. ¡°Anybody who lives long enough will turn a bit weird, and looking at the heads of the organisation, there¡¯s not a single one younger than a hundred. I don¡¯t know for certain the origins of the name, but I wouldn¡¯t put your theory past any of them.¡± ¡°The drivers are real though,¡± I deduced, given their far greater command of facial expressions and general behaviour; summoned creatures wouldn¡¯t panic and open up with a fireball, or at least I hoped not. ¡°The drivers are real,¡± Harvey agreed. ¡°It¡¯s easy to hire people from civilian backgrounds, freelance animal handlers or merchants can be found in every town and city. Soldiers, though? They get snapped up right after their Class Day: by national armies, to man the Wall, or into the private militia and households of the nobility. Trying to poach them for an illegal organisation draws far too much heat, so we diversified.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± I hummed, removing my own bracelet in a gesture of solidarity, because it wasn¡¯t like he didn¡¯t already know I was a merchant. ¡°I¡¯m not going to throw a fit over a bit of graverobbing. My only question is why?¡± Chapter 59: Saintess Summons Skeletons Chapter 59: Saintess Summons Skeletons ¡°Why? That¡¯s a question with many answers,¡± Harvey grimaced, cupping his chin in thought. ¡°In return, let me ask you a question in return. Can monsters think?¡± My first reaction was to reply in the negative: of the admittedly limited selection I¡¯d encountered so far, almost all of them had been mindless creatures, their heads filled only with mindless aggression and a thirst for blood. The keyword there was almost, because the Horsedra had shown worrying signs of intelligence, catching Harvey off guard and very nearly killing him with a surprise kick, were it not for his own life saving techniques. Even at only Level 7, it was noticeably more intelligent than the rest of the rabble, and if I extrapolated that to higher levels¡­ ¡°Most of them can¡¯t, but the ones that can are the most dangerous.¡± I grimaced at the realisation, because it wasn¡¯t the conclusion that I wanted to reach, but the truth rarely cared about one¡¯s feelings on such matters. Pumpkin meowed loudly, having finished his own meal, and the sound made me wince. That was concerning, because he was never a particularly vocal cat, so why was that so loud just then? Straining my ears, I realised belatedly that there was no other sound at all, not even the crackling of the fire or the hiss of the wind could be heard, despite being in immediate proximity to me. Indeed, not even the ever presenting ringing of my ears remained to keep me company: something that I¡¯d believed for many years to be part of the normal human condition, until an old doctor informed me that it was tinnitus. Something was suppressing all sound in the region. ¡°Exactly,¡± Harvey grunted in assent, and his voice remained, much as Pumpkin¡¯s did, and my own. ¡°Not all monsters are mindless, some of them are just as smart as you and me, others still can put both of us to shame. These monsters don¡¯t throw themselves mindlessly at the Wall in the North, they look for other ways to infiltrate, and all of them are bent towards humanity¡¯s destruction, working from hidden cults and cabals the world over. Now, consider the founder, the greatest Necromancer to ever live, who also frequented those same places, away from polite society, in pursuit of her craft. In the process, she had the misfortune to encounter such specimens many times over, far more than she¡¯d ever wanted to, and out of such encounters was born the Dead Hand, to stand guard in the darkness against the eternal enemy.¡± ¡°...So we¡¯re not actually smugglers?¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. ¡°We most definitely are,¡± Harvey retorted. ¡°Our entire organisation consists of criminals, outcasts from society for one reason or another. We band together, beyond any authority but our own, breaking a hundred laws just by existing as we earn our coin in blood across the length and breadth of the continent. Everything I told you back in Allensward was true, I simply didn¡¯t share the full picture at the time.¡± ¡°I can understand the need for such an organisation,¡± I admitted. In truth, it would be more surprising to me if such a group didn¡¯t exist, as the idea of a security and espionage apparatus was as old as mankind itself. ¡°Why us, though? This sounds like something Frontier should be leading the effort on.¡± ¡°The Kingdoms run their own efforts, of course, but in certain areas, the legitimacy behind them is actually a detriment. While the common citizen will happily run to a town guard with proof of monster activity, most aren¡¯t likely to stumble upon it in the first place. It¡¯s the outcasts and criminals of society who are most likely to find it, and they¡¯re the ones least trustful of authority figures. What they wouldn¡¯t tell a sheriff with their dying breath, they¡¯ll happily confide to their fellow criminals. Now, and always, we police our own.¡± ¡°Huh.¡± That made sense, in retrospect, and I could see the benefits of such an arrangement. ¡°I assume there are back channels as well, between us and the local governments? In case we find anything too big to deal with by ourselves.¡± ¡°Of course. Corruption is a fact of life, such that it¡¯s entirely expected of us to maintain ties with local officials, guards and so on. Usually, we use those channels to pay bribes, so that our shipments can pass through customs unnoticed, but once in a while, we give them an unsigned note with more important information. As much as it pains me to say this, as a Thief, there are more important things in the world than money. Survival, for one, because the monsters are united in seeking our end, so humanity has to unite in turn. If I¡¯m fighting a lawman to the death in a dark alley, and we stumble upon a monster? You bet we¡¯re both turning on the spot to face it together.¡± ¡°That¡¯s. Well. What am I even meant to say to this?¡± I¡¯d known from day one that the situation in this new world was suspicious. It just seemed a bit too neat to me, that all the monsters were far to the North, hidden from sight behind ivory walls, because from my modern knowledge, wars were far messier affairs. Even with that in mind though, I hadn¡¯t expected to stumble headfirst into the shadow war, not this early into my career at least. ¡°I felt the same, back when I had the truth explained to me,¡± Harvey chuckled. ¡°Granted, I didn¡¯t learn about any of this until it was time for my Class Upgrade: I had a good idea at the time, what I¡¯d get after Thief ran its course, but when something like Thief of Souls shows up? I had plenty of questions, and eventually I got my answer, much to my regret.¡± ¡°Right, you said you¡¯d explain how your Class worked,¡± I latched onto the change of subject, happy to return to familiar ground. ¡°Also, how does a Class Upgrade work, for that matter?¡± Chapter 60: Dawned On Me Chapter 60: Dawned On Me Truthfully, I didn¡¯t entirely believe what Harvey was telling me. Oh, the broad strokes of the history was likely rooted in fact, and even the motivations were believable, but the entire explanation felt like a very high level overview, the kind of thing printed on training pamphlets handed to interns and new joiners on their first day at the company. The point that led to the most doubt on my part, by a considerable margin, was the emphasis on unity between the factions. Self-interest was an inherent part of the human condition, irrespective of the greater needs of society. This held true on Earth across all nations, irrespective of the specifics of governance at the local level, to such a degree that I simply could not believe that it could be set aside in any meaningful way. Sure, humanity could sometimes unite in the face of a truly existential threat, and I had no doubt the soldiers who manned the Wall gave it their all against the monsters trying to climb over them, but that was only the mindless specimens. If intelligent monsters truly existed, and were truly possessed of sentience and sapience alike, capable of self-actualisation and reasoning in the manner of humans, then how could they possibly be fully united in purpose? It was too much for me to believe or buy into, not without some primary research in the matter. Still, that wasn¡¯t likely to happen any time soon, and I needed to level up in the meantime so that when I finally encountered an intelligent monster, I could actually engage them in a meaningful way. For that, information on Class Upgrades was precious. ¡°Every being is born under the System¡¯s observation. On the first full day of their existence, those of sufficient will to earn the System¡¯s recognition are marked as a Level 0 Child. Those who do not receive this designation are either a species too trivial for be marked for further development, such as the lesser insects or molluscs, or simply those too sickly to survive the night. For everyone else, with every full year lived, their Level increases by one, until they reach adulthood by the standard of their species. At this point, advancement is purely in terms of physical growth, as earning experience is not possible. This lasts until adulthood, which varies by species but always culminates in Class Day, where proper Class is assigned, taking into account all aspects of individual development, experience, talent and potential.¡± All of this I knew already, it being somewhat common knowledge in this world, but I made no move to interrupt Harvey, as I recognised it as a simple preamble, a bit of verbal warm-up to ease him into his tale. ¡°Once a Class is assigned, advancement is no longer automatic. To grow any further, worldly experience is needed. The System is fair, and does not impose challenges upon those who do not want them. If your primary concern is to live a safe, stable life, you can find it in villages across the human continent, where people can live their entire lives without ever wielding a blade in anger. In Frontier, a census is undertaken every twenty years, in an attempt to document the demographics of each generation. In the previous census conducted sixteen years ago, it was estimated that over four fifths of the population live their entire adult lives with a non-combatant Class, most commonly either as a Farmer or Civilian, and will die before reaching Level 5. The System is fair, without challenge, there is little room for growth.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Don¡¯t think I¡¯m disparaging such folk, however, because they fulfil a vital role in society, performing all of the menial yet necessary work that keeps humanity alive. Of all the classes in existence, only a vanishing few can create substance from nothing, and never in any noticeable bulk. The unnamed masses are the gears in the great machine, what keeps us fed, watered and warm. Without them, every hero of humanity would be lucky not to starve, never mind performing any great deeds of valour.¡± Frankly, even one fifth of individuals following a martial pursuit seemed staggeringly high to me; back on Earth, that number would be much closer to one percent. ¡°For those who crave adversity, rapid growth is possible, as they meet the requirements of their Class. With a steady diet of hard work and a little bit of luck, an average man with a traditional Class can expect to maintain their childhood rate of advancement, and gain one Level per year. Of course, by merely meeting the expectations of the Class, they will never earn a Class Upgrade. To earn such an honour, you must exceed all expectations, and earn renown in the eyes of the System. There is no fixed criteria for this, at least none that I know of, though it remains a heated subject of debate the world over. The only certainty is that your deeds must impress the System, they must be unusual, or brilliant, or insane, just somehow different from the masses, enough to make you stand out as an individual. If you can achieve this, then maybe, just maybe, you¡¯ll one day be presented with an upgrade.¡± [Harvey Miller wants to Connect. Yes/No?] ¡°My Class, Thief of Souls, is a bit sensitive by nature, as the tale of how I earned it cannot be separated from the secrets of the Dead Hand. If you want to know, we¡¯ll have to stay in Contact, as whilst not airtight, this ensures a minimum amount of security. You don¡¯t have to accept, feel free to reject my System request, and we¡¯ll not speak of this again.¡± [Harvey Miller - Level 9 Thief of Souls added to Contacts.] I had to stifle a laugh at that as I immediately accepted, because quite frankly, I was already too deeply involved to do otherwise. I¡¯d committed to travel with Harvey for three months while engaging in illegal enterprise; adding him as a Contact didn¡¯t risk much, compared to my existing commitment and the benefits on offer. As expected, his name appeared on my Contacts list immediately, though what happened next was a surprise to me. [Mutual Contact detected. Updating information. Amelia Dawn - Level 30 Necromancer now available in Contacts.] Chapter 61: Thief of Souls Chapter 61: Thief of Souls [Contacts Amelia Dawn - Level 30 Necromancer Harvey Miller - Level 9 Thief of Souls] Amelia being more than a simple healer came as no shock to me, as I¡¯d suspected something was up ever since she added me as a Contact, seemingly on a whim. The Matron said she did it quite often, as a prelude to hiring her newfound Contacts as assistants, but that never quite added up to me. Sure, the Matron may have genuinely believed that, but in a town of just a few thousand people, it hardly seemed worth the hassle, when her prospective recruits lived a few streets down at most. It only made sense if her network tended to be a bit more widespread, as my suspicions - now vindicated - showed. Also, now that I saw both names side to side¡­ ¡°Am I going to need to grab a Class related to the undead? There¡¯s a bit of a trend here.¡± ¡°You might get offered one eventually,¡± Harvey shrugged noncommittally. ¡° The Dead Hand have a lot of necromancers, and like any other Class, if you spend a lot of time working around them, the odds of becoming one yourself goes up. It¡¯s not a hard and fast requirement or anything, in fact, the organisation could probably do with a bit more diversity in our hiring. Now, where was I? Right, Thief of Souls. I left Class Day as a common Thief, which is why I can still pretend to be one on my name tag. That¡¯s a common trait with advanced classes, by the way. I grew up in a big city, with a heavy security presence, so I never did any big heists during that time, instead advancing via the time-honoured traditions of pickpocketing, lockpicking and burglary. That¡¯s not to say it was an entirely peaceful existence, as sometimes I got caught, at which point I had to defend myself. I earned my first three levels that way, dealing with unruly victims.¡± ¡°Which is why you showed up as a Level 3 Thief at our first meeting,¡± I surmised. ¡°Your ability to implement a fraudulent name tag is based on historical data.¡± ¡°Exactly. That¡¯s one of the most common methods of deception, using the past to conceal the present. Your method is another example, where a less threatening Class is substituted for your actual one. Merchant is a pretty popular choice, since they¡¯re expected to travel around a lot, whilst not being that threatening.¡± ¡°Walking around as a Soldier would attract the wrong kind of attention. I value myself too much to be press ganged by some random noble in need of disposable bodies.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. It wasn¡¯t surprising that Harvey had noticed the discrepancies in my backstory; most Merchants probably couldn¡¯t punch up to defeat a monster four levels higher. That wasn¡¯t a bad thing at all, because that facet of my capabilities barely touched on my actual Class; the best way to keep a secret is to hide it behind other, more disposable secrets, as people rarely kept looking after they found the first layer of the onion. ¡°You and me both,¡± Harvey chuckled at that. ¡°In any event, one day I decided to try my luck with an old, run-down house. I¡¯d scouted out the place over a few weeks, and it was hardly ever occupied, with only the occasional visitor, who brought boxes of meat inside and left empty handed. I went in one quiet night, expecting to find someone¡¯s elderly relative who was too infirm to visit the market by themselves. Let me tell you, I really wasn¡¯t prepared to see human limbs all over the floor, spread out in a ritual summoning, with half of a demon already crawling out of a portal. I did the only decent thing I could think of at the time, and stuck a knife into the summoner while he was distracted, kneeling in front of the ritual circle. Luckily, the entire summoning collapsed with her death, and the demon got itself chopped in half, otherwise I wouldn¡¯t be here today, but that still left the question of what to do with her reagents. I didn¡¯t know it at the time, but summoning demons requires freshly harvested souls belonging to sentient beings, so a barrel of salt pork won¡¯t cut it. The souls of the victims were still part of the formation, waiting to be sacrificed, and now that I¡¯d collapsed the whole thing, they were begging me to let them live. Of course, there was nothing I could do for them as a mere Thief, but apparently, accidentally stumbling upon and stopping a demonic incursion is worth some points with the System, because it offered me a Class Upgrade then and there.¡± Harvey snapped his fingers, and a piece of vellum appeared, rendered from the skin of an animal I couldn¡¯t identify, which was probably for the best given the subject matter. ¡°Thief of Souls still predominantly follows the Thief path of advancement, but adds relevant options from the Necromancer Class as a bonus. When I accepted the upgrade, I immediately received an innate ability, Soul Contract, which allows me to make deals with disembodied souls. They get to stick around in my book, and I can give them a degree of life by shoving them into artificial bodies, while I get a significant degree of control over their actions.¡± ¡°I see, so the Archers aren¡¯t truly dead. Or, well, they are, but you¡¯ve still got them stored and can bring them back later?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got a few dozen souls in my book,¡± Harvey nodded. ¡°They¡¯re no longer registered in the System like we are, so no more growth or levels, but they kept what they had when they died, and it lets them stick around. To be clear, my Class only lets me deal with willing subjects, but that¡¯s hardly a problem; most people are willing to put up with quite a lot, for a second lease on life.¡± I had to try really hard not to burst out laughing, given my own experience in that area. Chapter 62: Peace In Our Time Chapter 62: Peace In Our Time Given the circumstances, I wasn¡¯t entirely successful at controlling myself, and eventually burst into a fit of nervous laughter that lasted for the better part of five minutes. By the time I managed to recover myself, I was left with a mildly sore throat, and Harvey¡¯s bemused expression. ¡°Apologies for my unsightly display, this has been quite a day of revelations, you must understand.¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Harvey replied mildly, as I hurriedly took a sip of beer to soothe my throat. ¡°If that¡¯s the extent of your reaction, you¡¯re already taking this much better than I did. Anyway, that¡¯s the entirety of the truth behind Thief of Souls. Eighty percent Thief, with the focus on agility and subterfuge that it entails, and twenty percent Necromancer who specialises in ritual magic.¡± ¡°Makes sense to me,¡± I concluded, satisfied with his promised explanation on all counts. ¡°As you¡¯ve been so forthcoming, I only have one question left for today: why a longsword, for your main weapon?¡± ¡°I was wondering when you¡¯d ask that,¡± Harvey laughed. ¡°Everyone does, sooner or later. When I reached Level 5, I obtained a Trait called Alpha Strike. It grants me enhanced strength and speed in a fight until I land my first hit, so I figured, why not make that first hit as deadly as possible? It took some arduous and expensive training to learn how to wield a longsword without tripping over myself, but it¡¯s more than paid itself back in the years since.¡± ¡°It¡¯s really something like that¡­¡± Harvey¡¯s answer was surprisingly mundane in that respect; given everything else he¡¯d told me, I was half expecting the blade to be some holy relic descended from the realm of the divine above. That thought reminded me of the time a colleague¡¯s son tried to make me watch anime, and so was quickly banished to oblivion. Harvey wasn¡¯t eager to continue the conversation either, so it simply died out as we finished our drinks. ¡°So, now what?¡± I eventually asked, once our mugs were empty and the fire died out. ¡°Now, we keep on moving,¡± Harvey shrugged. ¡°Our itinerary hasn¡¯t changed, we¡¯ve still got towns to visit and goods to sell. We¡¯re still smugglers first and foremost, we¡¯re just a bit more civic minded than most, and willing to step up in times of trouble. Gods willing, everything will be peaceful from here until Light¡¯s End, and nothing like today will happen again.¡± ¡°How likely is that?¡± I asked sceptically, thinking back on all the encounters I¡¯d over a mere three days of travel time. Harvey pointedly refused to answer, busying himself with dousing the campfire instead. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I thought.¡± ¡ª In the end, despite Harvey¡¯s declaration, we didn¡¯t actually set off immediately from the campsite. Daylight was already a scarce commodity, this deep into autumn, and we¡¯d already spent a good chunk of it chasing after our horses. It wasn¡¯t worth setting off only to have to find another place to stop, so we decided to continue the next day. I found myself back in the carriage for another night¡¯s sleep, though not before I refilled my inventory a bit. Strictly speaking, I should have informed Harvey of any expenditure before digging through the crates, but after the information Harvey had shared, I simply didn¡¯t believe he¡¯d care about some missing food. The fact he hadn¡¯t followed up our conversation with an oath of secrecy was already somewhat surprising, though I could also understand why he didn¡¯t bother.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. As an orphan with no prior connections to the wider world, who was I going to rat him out to, and why would I expose my own misdeeds in the process? He most likely recognised me as a rational man, who would not perform good deeds at my own detriment. I¡¯d already thrown my lot in with the Dead Hand, and that was unlikely to change in the near term, so he was right not to be overly concerned. I also made sure to put my Blackened Bracelet back on, because while I was willing to show Harvey my two public classes, I wasn¡¯t going to let any random passersby in on the secret. I was also tempted to dig a bit further down the crates, to take a look at the drugs that were our actual profit maker, but I managed to resist the impulse. I¡¯d get to see it sooner or later, once we reached our destined markets, so it wasn¡¯t worth the risk of Harvey noticing any disturbances. I¡¯d kept a reputation for being clean, back on Earth, and I didn¡¯t intend to break the streak. Satisfied with my loot for the night, I brought up my full status page for the first time in a while, in admiration of my rapid growth up to this point. [Will Swindell Class (True): Level 3 Soldier of Fortune Class (Public): Level 3 Soldier Title: [Empty] Experience: 391/500 Traits Titles Covenants Advancement Contacts Equipped Inventory Most of it was as I¡¯d expected, but as I reached the bottom and looked through the inventory, I finally noticed a conspicuous absence. ¡°Where¡¯d the Rainbow Fruit go?¡± Chapter 63: Sweet and Sour Chapter 63: Sweet and Sour A fruit boasting multiple hues, shifting across its surface in the manner of a rainbow was naturally something quite hard to forget. I¡¯d kept it at the back of my mind, and would have dealt with it earlier if not for two things. Initially, there was the matter of a mild compulsion effect the fruit exerted, one that made me want to eat it immediately without any further thought. Once I¡¯d recovered my wits, this all but screamed ¡®trap¡¯, and I refused to be done in by a piece of fruit. But even with this in mind, I might have been tempted to investigate further, if not for the fact that I had no idea where to begin. In the absence of clues or favourable circumstances, the fruit had remained in my storage, safe and sound until I had time to deal with it. At least, that had been the idea. ¡°I definitely did not remove it earlier,¡± I muttered, drawing upon a rarely used feature of the System, the Log. As the name suggests, the Log allowed me to view all the messages received up to the present, which was very helpful in cases like this. Less helpful was the lack of category filters or any search functionality, meaning the only method available was to slowly scroll up through every prompt I¡¯d received. Even if the System wasn¡¯t too verbose, there was still quite a bit to trawl through. I persisted nonetheless, and eventually I found the initial entry. [Rainbow Fruit stored.] From there, I scrolled back down, all the way to the present, reading every line along the way to double check my work. Sure enough, while the Rainbow Fruit had entered my inventory, it never left, merely vanishing at some undetermined point that wasn¡¯t found in the log. I couldn¡¯t even pinpoint the exact time, not any better than an eight hour timeframe,, because there wasn¡¯t any form of version control for the storage, so it only recorded the conditions when I manually viewed it. Needless to say, this only happened a few times a day at most, so that was a dead end. Without any further clues to follow, I was about ready to give up the search; it was only a strange looking fruit, at the end of the day, and it wasn¡¯t as if I could go inside to take a look myself. Unless? Suddenly inspired, I decided to give it a try, attempting to absorb myself into the hidden space that served as my inventory. [Storing yourself is not allowed. Too many people got themselves killed in the early days, trying to fold space into a pretzel.] It didn¡¯t work, but at least the System was kind enough to explain why. Onward to Plan B then. My mask was hanging down around my neck, which I preferred when it wasn¡¯t needed, as wearing it for long periods of time tended to chafe. After putting it back on my face and tying it in place, I headed to the corner of the carriage, where the other resident was sleeping inside an empty wooden crate: yet more proof that cats across every world shared the same brain cell. Peering over the edge of the crate, I found Pumpkin sprawled out on his back with his belly up, somehow demonstrating the height of comfort while sleeping on a hard wooden surface. Truly, there were benefits to having a thick coat of fur!This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Pumpkin, are you awake?¡± Pumpkin didn¡¯t reply, doing his best to play dead. Or maybe it wasn¡¯t his best, and he just wanted to annoy me, because the slight twitching of his ears looked far too intentional to me. [Salt Pork withdrawn.] I tossed a small piece of meat into the crate, landing close to Pumpkin¡¯s head. Almost immediately, he rolled back upright and began to dig in with gusto, making me roll my eyes at his shameless behaviour. I didn¡¯t interrupt him however, as that would only make the gluttonous cat ornery, and less likely to cooperate. I wasn¡¯t hungry either, so all that was left to do was stare at him in the meanwhile. ¡°What did you want?¡± Pumpkin eventually deigned to address me, after finishing his second dinner for the night. ¡°When you¡¯re stored inside my inventory, are you aware of your surroundings?¡± I asked directly. ¡°Sure,¡± Pumpkin replied, accentuating his answer with a loud burp. ¡°It looks like the inside of a stone house, kinda like the one back in town where the guards put the drunks.¡± ¡°The guardhouse?¡° I blinked. ¡°Why were you in the guardhouse?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t go there very often, but once or twice, they forgot to let the prisoners out before they croaked. I wasn¡¯t going to pass up a free meal, life¡¯s hard on the streets.¡± ¡°Lovely,¡± I muttered. ¡°Let¡¯s pretend I never heard that. Anyway, back on topic, could you head inside and take a look for me? I¡¯m pretty sure there used to be a Rainbow Fruit inside, but it¡¯s not showing up on my status page any more.¡± ¡°Oh, is that all?¡± Pumpkin yawned, before flopping over again, until he was once more resting on his back. ¡°There¡¯s no need to go looking, I already ate it.¡± ¡°Right,¡± I sighed, pinching my nose. I wasn¡¯t truly angry, just frustrated with myself for wasting time. I should have checked with Pumpkin first, given his food-oriented way of life, but that was easy to say after the fact, hindsight being 20/20 and all that. ¡°Did you experience any strange effects from it? Any problems with the stomach or similar?¡± ¡°Nah, I¡¯m all good, though I¡¯d rather never eat one again, if that¡¯s alright with you.¡± Pumpkin shuddered, his fur standing up straight as he seemingly recalled an unpleasant memory. ¡°As soon as I saw the fruit, I had this strange feeling, like I had to eat it right now. It was sweet going down, like a melon, but the aftertaste? Try eating a lemon, peel included, that¡¯s probably the best comparison.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± I briefly considered the ramifications of Pumpkin, the cat who regularly ate dead bodies, refusing to eat something, before crossing the Rainbow Fruit off my palate for good. Chapter 64: Stray Cat Strut Chapter 64: Stray Cat Strut Ultimately, I gave no further thought to the matter of the Rainbow Fruit, beyond making a mental note to tell Pumpkin not to eat certain valuables, if they ever entered my storage. Whether he would listen was an open question, but I wouldn¡¯t know without trying. As for tasting it myself, whilst I was a strong believer in the power of empiricism, I was not so conceited as to ignore the experiences of others. One did not need to eat dirt to know it was foul, so I was willing to give Pumpkin the benefit of the doubt on this matter. In any event, despite the unexpected delay to our journey, the caravan¡¯s path and objectives remained unchanged, so I would need my rest for the days ahead. Thus resolved, I settled down in my chair as the sun disappeared over the horizon, doing my best to fall asleep. ¡ª Pumpkin woke up suddenly, his entire body shuddering with a mighty sneeze, sending a wave of pain through his sinuses and across his body as his muscles clenched suddenly. ¡°Ugh,¡± the cat shuddered, shaking in place as the aftershocks faded, his eyes cracking open in displeasure. ¡°Maybe I should¡¯ve cleaned the crate before climbing inside.¡± Given that he was already awake, Pumpkin didn¡¯t hesitate to jump out of the crate, landing on the floor of the carriage that he¡¯d claimed as his own. Will was the only other occupant, slumped over sideways with his upper body hanging over an armrest. He was deep asleep, his breathing smooth and untroubled after several deaths during the day, in the manner of those unburdened by conscience. Unfortunately, this also meant that Pumpkin had no way back into storage, since Will was the only one who could open the door. ¡°Poor guy, he¡¯s going to wake up sore,¡± Pumpkin laughed, noting down yet another weakness of the human form: it was far too big for its own good. Pumpkin sympathised, though not enough to actually adjust the posture of his primary source of food and shelter, instead of leaving him to languish. ¡°Too much effort,¡± the lazy cat sighed. ¡°Also, I¡¯d rather not get hit in the face with another plum.¡± Knowing that Will tended to react poorly to being woken up at night, Pumpkin elected to find his own source of entertainment. Slipping out of their shared abode, he found his way out to the edge of the caravan, looking up at the sleeping masses. Harvey slept at the head of the convoy, having replaced the fallen driver of the first carriage; when Pumpkin squinted, he could just about see the faint green lines of enchantment that had been added to his seat. [Arcadian Soul Snare: An automatic defence capable of discerning intentions. Those who come in peace are welcomed, whilst those attempting harm are consumed.]If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. None of the regular drivers had anything like this, though Pumpkin did note that their horses were far more alert, their coats shivering with barely concealed energy, even though they slept with blinders over their eyes. ¡°Is this the difference that Animal Handling makes?¡± As far as Pumpkin knew, Harvey had nothing from the System in that area, though he could of course still perform basic tasks such as driving a carriage, in the same way that a Chef Class wasn¡¯t needed to cook. He simply wouldn¡¯t be as effective as a specialist in the area, which was a qualitative difference that effort alone could not overcome. In any event, none of them looked eager to play with him either. ¡°Why can¡¯t humans be more nocturnal?¡± Pumpkin complained, resigned to another night of finding his own entertainment. [Field Mouse - Level 0] Unfortunately, the best he could find were a handful of common rodents, too meek to earn even a Level 1 designation, which in the eyes of the System marked them as mere infants, unfit for growth and sentience. Catching them was simple, too simple to be any fun, and Pumpkin wasn¡¯t hungry either, so he let the poor mouse go after a few experimental licks. ¡°Bored now,¡± Pumpkin groaned, returning his attention to the convoy after just a few minutes of catch and release. After a moment of consideration, he decided not to return to Will¡¯s carriage, instead heading to the one at the very back of the caravan, craning his head up to gauge the distance he needed to jump. ¡°Actually,¡± he changed his mind. ¡°Let¡¯s try my new skill!¡± Pumpkin had received decent gains during the recent battles, even managing to level up in the process, and so proudly brought up his status page that reflected this. [Pumpkin Class: Level 3 Cat Title: [Empty] Experience: 315/400 Traits Titles Advancement ¡°Chesire¡¯s Glory, go!¡± Pumpkin declared, staring intently at the top step of the carriage, right below the tent flap that would grant her entry. Now, it should be noted that while the System greatly enhanced the denizens of this world, elevating them beyond common specimens, their starting point was still bound by biology. Being a cat, Pumpkin¡¯s visual acuity was 20/150, which by human standards would be mild to moderately near-sighted, and he¡¯d yet to receive any traits to counteract this. As a result, his aim at a distance left a lot to be desired. ¡°Oof,¡± Pumpkin gasped, the wind knocked out of him by the sudden transfer, as he landed hard on the roof of the carriage. ¡°At least it worked? Sort of.¡± There wasn¡¯t a hole at the top, so Pumpkin had to slide down the tent to the entry flap, and only then did he manage to make his way inside, with the sleeper driver at the front no wiser to his arrival. Only then did he finally achieve his goal; a room all to himself. Chapter 65: My Chemical Romance Chapter 65: My Chemical Romance The inside of carriage six looked little different to the one Pumpkin was more familiar with, the only difference being the lack of any chairs. Instead, stacked crates lined the inside from floor to ceiling, maximising the available space to pack as much merchandise as possible for the long road ahead. ¡°Let¡¯s try this again.¡± Pumpkin¡¯s teleportation proved much more accurate at close distance, instantly bringing him near the ceiling, leaving only a small hurdle to climb to reach the top, an easy feat with his claws extended. Dropping down into the crate, Pumpkin landed on a pile of apples, packed haphazardly into the box. ¡°Ugh, that takes a lot of me out of me,¡± Pumpkin panted, feeling like he¡¯d just run a marathon after two consecutive activations of Chesire¡¯s Glory. ¡°Are you sure this skill isn¡¯t broken?¡± [Traits consume a fixed amount of energy per activation. Fatigue will diminish as your body, mind and soul develop.] ¡°So you¡¯re saying I suck,¡± Pumpkin deadpanned, having mostly regained his breath after a few moments. [Your words, not mine.] Pumpkin couldn¡¯t be bothered to reply, instead picking himself up and devouring the nearest apple. The consumption from Cheshire¡¯s Glory was considerable, taking him from full to famished in just two activations, to the degree that he all but inhaled his first apple, barely bothering to chew before it went down to his stomach. The next apple was much the same, and the next, and so on until he¡¯d eaten his way through a baker¡¯s dozen, leaving a noticeable dent in the crate¡¯s contents. Even then, Pumpkin wasn¡¯t satisfied, and continued to eat (albeit at a slower pace) until he¡¯d eaten a cat sized hole in apples, and had made enough room to sink down further into the crate. This wasn¡¯t solely out of hunger, as whilst teleportation carried a cost, the toll wasn¡¯t that extreme. Pumpkin had eaten until he felt uncomfortably bloated, and this had to do with his original reason for coming here. After nearly two dozen apples, there was enough space to relocate the remainder, and so Pumpkin batted fruit around with his paws, until the bottom layer of the crate was revealed to him. Here, hidden beneath common goods and stuffed into individual glass containers was the true driving force behind the caravan. [Valkyrie Dust: An alchemical powder most potente, a single inhalation bestows immense confidence, a surge of energy, and immense resistance to pain, alongside a persistent feeling of euphoria. Effects last anywhere between six to twenty four hours. Side effects include addiction, lowered inhibitions, hallucinations, and immense stress on the heart leading to injury and death.]If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Ooh, that sounds fun!¡± Pumpkin purred happily. ¡°Gimme!¡± Perhaps before, Pumpkin wouldn¡¯t have been so eager to give this a go, but after acquiring a literal Nine Lives to his credit, he¡¯d become a lot more bold in his pursuit of joy. Biting down on the nearest container, his jaws easily shattered glass tip. Now unobstructed, Pumpkin held the tube close to his mouth and took a deep breath. ¡ª Rest came easily to me as always, knocking me out barely a few minutes after reclining my head. My colleagues had been most envious of this ability to fall asleep on a dime, even in fraught circumstances, as it meant I always arrived at meetings and conferences well rested, even on those occasions where I was forced to slum it in economy class. Often, I¡¯d been badgered for tips and tricks, only to leave my audience unsatisfied when I told them that this was merely natural selection at work, and not the effect of drugs, drink or meditation. Blinking away those errant thoughts, I pulled myself upright in my chair and stretched, working the stiffness out of my neck and body. The sun was already up, as evidenced by the faint light peeking through the edge of the tarp, so I wasted no time in making myself presentable. While storing myself was functionally impossible, pulling the accumulated dirt and grime off of my body and consigning it to oblivion was a mere moment¡¯s work, the convenience never ceasing to astound me. After all, time was the most precious resource, and even as a CEO, I¡¯d had to spend far too much of it on self-care, so such a method could only be described as miraculous. With that done, I headed outside, ready to enjoy a leisurely breakfast before the journey resumed. Instead, I was immediately met at the door by one of the drivers, who wore an expression of profound consternation. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I asked immediately, because such a face could mean nothing but trouble. ¡°Um,¡± The way the driver hemmed and hawed only confirmed my hypothesis. ¡°You see¡­¡± ¡°Spit it out already.¡± ¡°Your pet got into the merchandise!¡± ¡°So?¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°All of us are eating from the crates, the whole point of having a caravan was to maintain sufficient food and drink for the entire journey.¡± ¡°Not that merchandise. The merchandise.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± I sighed, finally understanding what the driver was getting at. ¡°Alright then, show me the damage.¡± One short walk later, and we were at the scene of the crime, the rearmost carriage in the convoy. Pulling aside the tarp, I was immediately assaulted by a facefull of white dust, the mere residue being enough to make my heart race. I stored it away without hesitation, the lack of notification letting me know that it was trash and nothing more. Of the many crates in the carriage, only one of them was shaking in place, and so it was this one I pulled from the stack, the crate weighing surprisingly light in my two-handed grip. ¡°Will? Is that you Will? Close the curtain, the light, it burns! Hiss Oh, my head, can you give me a rub? Daddy needs a pick me up.¡± Pumpkin was flat on his back, resembling a wriggling puddle more than a cat, his eyes wide and dilated to the extreme, while his tongue oscillated wildly when it wasn¡¯t busy with speech. I¡¯d never been a big advocate for drugs, but even I recognised the signs of someone high as heaven. ¡°Goddamnit Pumpkin.¡± Happy Thanksgiving! So I''m British (as the MC and story probably gave away), and ordinarily we don''t do Thanksgiving, though similar traditions of Harvest festivals exist. That being said, some of my friends are from the States and happen to be in the area this year, and are looking to arrange a get together later today.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Rather last minute, and it means I''m scrambling around to get ready & travel, so no time to write today. Chapters will resume tomorrow, when we should be back to business as usual. Sorry for the unexpected delay, and happy Thanksgiving everyone! Chapter 66: The Devil鈥檚 Lettuce Chapter 66: The Devil¡¯s Lettuce Have you ever tried to pick up a squirming, nearly insensate cat? Let me tell you, it¡¯s a lot harder than it looks, and it looks pretty hard to begin with. Somehow, Pumpkin was both too out of it to recognise me, while remaining coherent enough to do his level best to scratch up my arms, all the while refusing to go into my inventory either. In the end, I had to resort to taking off my gambeson and using it to corral the recalcitrant feline, wrapping him up in a thick padded jacket like an involuntary patient at the mental health ward. Only then did Pumpkin¡¯s calmer instincts start to kick in, as the warmth of his newfound blanket began to work its magic, calming him down and gradually lulling him to sleep. [Pumpkin the Cat stored.] I shoved him into storage as soon as he stopped resisting, nearly half an hour later, because while I have always been a man of many talents, I was not not trained to deal with this nonsense. With Pumpkin out of the way, I was able to get a look at the bottom of the crate, and discover what had put him into such a state of distress. [Valkyrie Dust: An alchemical powder most potente, a single inhalation bestows immense confidence, a surge of energy, and immense resistance to pain, alongside a persistent feeling of euphoria. Effects last anywhere between six to twenty four hours. Side effects include addiction, lowered inhibitions, hallucinations, and immense stress on the heart leading to injury and death.] Rows of white powder, each individually sealed within a small glass vial reminiscent of test tubes back on Earth, all bar one vial, which had been shattered and emptied. I wasn¡¯t sure what a single dose was capable of and had no desire to experiment, but if I had to guess, it was probably calibrated for the weight of a human adult, which explained Pumpkin¡¯s rather unfortunate state. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ve got an antidote on hand?¡± The driver shook his head mutely in reply, because of course they wouldn¡¯t stock anything to deal with exposure to the volatile drugs they were smuggling. This was a serious lapse in terms of workplace safety, though probably par for the course where the black market was involved. After all, one of the explicit reasons for their existence was to skirt around regulations, so it would be hypocritical of me to expect anything else. ¡°He¡¯ll have to sleep it off then,¡± I concluded, clambering back out of the carriage without another thought. ¡°I¡¯ll have a talk with Pumpkin once he¡¯s sober, and try to keep this from happening again. Any idea how long before he wakes?¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. ¡°He only took the one vial, by the looks of it,¡± the driver replied after a minute or two of counting, informing me of what I already knew. ¡°A man would be fine after a night¡¯s rest, but I¡¯ve never sold any to a cat before, so your guess is as good as mine.¡± I watched the driver rearrange the goods, moving a few apples each from nearby crates to make up the deficit before covering the lot back up. He then looked at me expectantly, a look that was easy to decipher given his previous comment. ¡°Take the cost of that single dose out of my earnings at the first stop,¡± I shrugged, already heading back towards the front of the convoy, leaving the driver behind to his own devices. The apples weren¡¯t even mentioned, since their cost was negligible and they were always intended as a decoy of sorts, meant to be sacrificed to protect the true cargo below. On the way back, a quick glance at where the campfire had been revealed not even a hint of our presence, a sensible precaution given the recent attacks. Evidently, he¡¯d decided against a hot meal to start the day, so I clambered back into my assigned quarters, eager to keep on going. Grabbing a pear for my own morning meal, I began to dig in as I felt the carriage start to move. I was sitting alone now, as Harvey took over the duties of the fallen driver, but it was otherwise much like before. Not the best way to start the morning, by any measure, but I¡¯d seen worse before in London, and on the balance of things, Valkyrie Dust was probably less harmful in the long term than cigarettes. ¡ª In stark contrast to the previous day of excitement, our journey proceeded smoothly from there on out, returning to a steady schedule of six hours movement, a break in between, and then another six hours followed by making camp for the night. Without Harvey in the carriage with me, the conversation was rather lacking, particularly as Pumpkin still hadn¡¯t woken up by the end of the first day, remaining out like a light every time I pulled him from storage to check up on him. At the very least, he was still breathing and warm, so I figured it was best to leave him to it. In hindsight, I hadn¡¯t quite appreciated what long distance travel meant in a mediaeval society; as the Will of before had no experience with such things, and I was more used to trains and aeroplanes. Had I known that boredom would become so pervasive, I would definitely have stolen some books from the library on the way out. Nothing too important, as I¡¯d gotten what I needed from my week of reading, but most definitely some of the fiction that I¡¯d neglected during that time in favour of learning about the new world. It wasn¡¯t until the third day running that Pumpkin finally woke up, looking as miserable as I¡¯d ever seen him. "How do you feel?" I asked, trying and failing not to laugh at his bedraggled state. There was no point giving him a lecture, given the obvious regret in his eyes, all too reminiscent of my own youthful forays in alcohol. "Like a horse kicked me in the head," Pumpkin shuddered, swallowing heavily at the end. "No more drugs, alright?" "No more drugs." Chapter 67: Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow Chapter 67: Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow ¡°It¡¯s hard to believe we¡¯re almost there.¡± Pumpkin didn¡¯t respond, preferring to keep snoozing away in my lap, wrapped up snug in his blanket, such that only the tips of his ears remained outside, the very image of a burrito. Since his little misadventure with Valkyrie Dust, Pumpkin refused to stay in my inventory, popping back out the moment whenever he was awake. I had no issue with it, as there was plenty of room in the carriage, and a little company never hurt. He¡¯d also taken a liking to being wrapped up, even after he¡¯d stopped shaking, so I promptly appropriated a blanket to keep him comfortable, hence the present situation. All the while, the caravan kept up a punishing pace, forgoing even the midday break after the first three days. The midday break was no more, with the convoy using every scrap of daylight to progress, stopping only at nightfall before setting off again at dawn. Even then, Harvey was pressing to save every minute; I¡¯d barely exchanged two words with him between bites, as he was always the last to arrive for meals and the first to leave, hopping back into the driver¡¯s seat at the first opportunity. ¡°I wonder why we¡¯re in such a rush. The incident a week ago cost us a day, but surely our schedule isn¡¯t so tight for that to matter, this is a three month trip for god¡¯s sake.¡± Pumpkin purred and wiggled in place, ordering me to rub his back through the blanket. I obliged, having nothing better to do with my hands in the meantime. My mind remained occupied, but no matter how I turned the matter in my head, our current pace didn¡¯t make sense in light of what I knew. Our caravan worked as wholesalers, bringing illicit products to local distributors who would then go on to sell it in the streets. We were solidly part of the midstream, as far as the supply chain was concerned, purely business to business operators, so there should be built-in flexibility in our schedule to account for the possibility of trouble on the road. We sold in bulk at irregular intervals, so this wasn¡¯t a case of just in time logistics, where a few hours of delay could break the bank, so what was I missing? Apparently, I was missing turbulence, because the carriage chose that moment to come to a violent halt, throwing me bodily from my seat. I could only be thankful that the ceiling was quite high, otherwise I¡¯d have slammed head first into it before I could recover. As it was, I landed on my feet, and even kept hold of Pumpkin throughout, though the blanket was a loss, having hit the floor during the excitement. We stared at each other, unsure what to make of the situation at first. Bumps in the road were a fact in life, even if few produced such a violent outcome, but as the moment dragged on and the carriage showed no signs of resuming its course, I knew that something had gone wrong. Pumpkin climbed around my neck, his previous lethargy forgotten as he settled into his role as a scarf, and I brought us outside to investigate.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°Snow?¡± I was hardly unfamiliar with the concept, despite spending my entire life in the South of England. Even in London, where the city heat kept temperatures two degrees higher on average than the surrounding countryside, we still got several days of snow every winter, with more occasional bouts landing in autumn and spring. A few decades back, there was even a White Christmas, although this was rare enough that I could only remember two such instances across a good sixty years of memories. So no, I wasn¡¯t shocked by the presence of snow, but what did disturb me was the sheer quantity thereof. My feet were buried in it, the snow rising to my ankle, and to my consternation it only continued to build in real time, such that I could see it rising by the minute. Snow buffeted us from above, and long distance visibility was non-existent, all of our surroundings swallowed up in endless white, to the point where I could barely see the end of the convoy, a mere four carriages down. To be clear, the weather in England rarely went below zero, so whilst snow was common enough, actual blizzards were rare, and one of such intensity all but unheard of. Perhaps, I realised belatedly, this was what Harvey had been trying to outrun, assuming his Contacts list included a meteorologist on call. ¡°Looks like we¡¯re too late,¡± I sighed, trudging through the snow towards the front of the convoy. ¡°Just a few days away from the northern border, too.¡± I found Harvey quickly enough; he¡¯d abandoned the driver¡¯s seat and was kneeling in the snow, a massive black tome open before him. Curiously, whilst snowflakes landed and settled on him unimpeded, any which alighted on the book melted away in seconds, leaving not even vapour behind. ¡°By the oath that binds us together, by the authority of the Gravekeeper. By the will of ?????, arise!¡± I staggered, a sudden wave of fatigue seeping into my bones. Pumpkin mewed plaintively, tightening up around my neck and shivering. [10 XP gained for resisting the GraveSong.] That notification provided some consolation, though I had little time to think about it, as a dozen human silhouettes appeared around Harvey. Like the archers before them, they didn¡¯t have name tags; something I¡¯d initially attributed to Blackened Bracelets, but now knew to be an indicator that they weren¡¯t real people in the System¡¯s eyes. Each wore thick fur coats and boots, masks that obscured everything save their eyes, and carried thin blue wands in their hands made of crystal. ¡°Prepare fortifications,¡± Harvey instructed, as two of his summons headed to each carriage, waving their wands in keeping with each step they took. For his part, the book went away, and two daggers came out, which was my signal to get ready as well. [Knife withdrawn.] Chapter 68: A Frosty Reception Chapter 68: A Frosty Reception Blizzard conditions presented some unique challenges for combatants, even more so than the dead of the night. Even back on Earth, arctic warfare was the bane of generals and a death sentence for troops in their millions, as every aspect of battle fell under the aegis of General Winter, and I sincerely doubt they¡¯d ever faced a storm such as this. My knife waved in the air, its blade beginning to ice over, even as my shaking fingers fought to keep a grip on the handle that was suddenly slick with moisture. [Gambeson withdrawn.] Most of my time in the carriage had been spent in just my shirt and pants, with even the gambeson being too much during the daytime, but now all of a sudden, my garments felt woefully inadequate as the temperature plunged with every passing moment. I was immediately envious of Harvey¡¯s summons and their attire, but to make matters worse, the cold wasn¡¯t even my biggest concern. Under the intensifying snow, my vision degraded in real-time, despite my best efforts to shield my eyes with my off-hand, blinking as fast as I could. Pumpkin placed his paws over my eyes, which only made matters worse as my sight vanished entirely. ¡°Stop squirming,¡± he ordered, as I began to reach up to try and dislodge him. Two of his fingers parted, creating a narrow window of visibility between each claw, and despite my initial reservations it actually helped, the narrower corridor of vision helping my pupils retain just a little coherence amidst the endless white. It wouldn¡¯t last forever, I knew for a fact, but hopefully it would be enough to keep me alive, because my enemies certainly weren¡¯t going to offer a reprieve. [Ice Sprite - Level 2] Hundreds of tiny elementals assailed us from every direction, the North being the most numerous by far. Each individual resembled little more than glowing blue orbs, surrounded by ephemeral limbs that erupted in every direction with neither rhyme nor reason. Harvey met the tide head on, his twin daggers flickering faster than I could follow, culling half a dozen in the blink of an eye. I saw enough of the aftermath to realise he only targeted the core, ignoring the appendages entirely to shatter them with singular, precise strikes. Despite Harvey¡¯s best efforts, there were far too many for him to catch them all, and they began to slip past him, and close to me, and it was only me left to hold the line, because the others all had duties of their own to deal with.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. The five drivers sat with heads bowed, chanting in unison in language I couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of, the overall layered effect a loose reminder of Gregorian chanting. A faint brown aura surrounded them as they worked, and the ground trembled, slowly sinking at a rate of perhaps an inch every few seconds, like a magical elevator. I wasn¡¯t opposed to going underground, given the alternative, but this meant they were out of the battle, as they couldn¡¯t spare any attention to it. Harvey¡¯s summons covered the remaining angles of attack, their wands launching gouts of flame that carved large swathes through the incoming swarm. I had a single moment to spare, in which I felt sincere admiration for Harvey¡¯s Class, one that granted him both formidable personal strength and an immensely versatile coterie of hired help for any situation he could anticipate. Then, the swarm was upon me, and there was no time left to think. Being wary of the cold continually sapping my strength, I prioritised economy of movement in my defence. Quick jabs back and forth, aping the style of the fencer as best as I could with my shorter blade, puncturing each Sprite¡¯s core on the attack, before stepping back to evade their comrades, then lunging again to repeat the cycle. It certainly wasn¡¯t flawless, as whilst my greater bulk and momentum worked in my favour, I took no shortage of glancing blows from their limbs, each icy touch sending shivers through my body. The Sprites left no external signs of injury, but much like the Wispers of a previous encounter, I was pretty sure that being hit too many times would lead to a very bad end. With my lesser speed and only one blade on hand, I couldn¡¯t quite maintain the pace Harvey set up ahead, but fortunately I also had fewer Sprites to deal with, and managed to keep up with their advance by only killing two or three of them every second. Even that demanded a punishing pace from me, aided only occasionally by Pumpkin batting one of them out of the air with his tail, as he struggled to get involved while still keeping my eyes clear. I couldn¡¯t tell you exactly how long this desperate defence lasted, as concepts like linear time tended to disappear amidst the cut and thrust of battle, but I felt I was doing quite well up until the point where my knees vanished below ground. That was when Harvey missed one, the Sprite in question ducking below his guard to strike at a very sensitive area, giving a whole new meaning to the term ¡®blue balls¡¯. That alone wasn¡¯t enough to down him, because he was a veteran fighter well familiar with pain, but it did stagger, forcing him to leap back until we were shoulder to shoulder. The ground lurched below me again, descending faster now as the drivers gave up the ground Harvey had previously occupied, reducing the overall burden just a touch. It wasn¡¯t a worthwhile trade, because now the full brunt of the swarm came up against the two of us, both within touching distance of the first carriage. Neither of us were as fast as before, Harvey being injured and my stamina flagging, so it was inevitable that a few Sprites began to slip through the cracks, adding to the burden of Harvey¡¯s summons behind us. ¡°Leave the first car,¡± Harvey ordered, seeing the situation to be untenable. Thus, I gave ground for the first time in the battle, one that continued to rage without pause. Chapter 69: Ice Chapter 69: Ice The front horse whinnied pitifully, the forced calm of its blinders and whatever coated its feed (because no horse could be so calm in battle without supplements) failing as Sprites broke off to torment it, an act that served no purpose in the order of battle except perhaps to showcase their cruelty. They didn¡¯t get to horse around for too long though, because Harvey already called the retreat, and I wasn¡¯t the only one listening. Two mages stepped forward past Harvey and I, pressing their hands against the back of the abandoned carriage. They were immediately swarmed by Sprites but paid no attention to the ice coalescing across their bodies, their focus entirely on a final pair of spells. A beam of fire cut through wood and tarpaulin with ease, and although I couldn¡¯t see the target, simple probability dictated that they struck one of the many crates stacked therein. The second mage buffeted the carriage with a continuous gust of wind, something that puzzled me even as I kept fighting for my life, because such a weak wind spell had no effect at all. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harvey turn right around, exposing his back to the enemy without a second thought. His fingers covered both eyes, with thumbs stuck in his ears and his mouth opened wide in a silent scream. I didn¡¯t know, at that moment, what was about to happen, but I have always believed strongly in the example of experts, so when Harvey did this, I immediately followed his example, strange as it was. A massive force threw me to the frozen ground, leaving bruises along my face and knees, but I knew without a doubt in my heart that I¡¯d gotten off lightly. By the time I pulled myself up and turned back to the front, the condemned carriage was no more, replaced with a pile of smouldering black ash, while the bulk of the Ice Sprites had vanished entirely. Of the vanguard that assaulted us from the North, only a few scattered forms could be seen on the very periphery, and even they had not escaped unscathed, with limbs blown off and even those cores that remained intact wobbling in place, as though the victim of a sudden, profound shock. A shock-wave, I realised belatedly, old YouTube videos of armed struggle returning to my mind with the benefit of hindsight. Apparently, Valkyrie Dust was rather volatile when exposed to an open flame, something to keep in mind for future transactions. ¡°Good, your insides are still inside,¡± Harvey chuckled weakly, picking himself up next to me, looking rather worse for wear. That was indeed something to celebrate, because even if we¡¯d both taken a few stings while our backs were turned, that was greatly preferable to internal ruptures across all of my organs, a probable outcome without the precautions we¡¯d taken. Pumpkin also returned to my side during that time, having been thrown nearly half the convoy away, due to being far lighter than a grown man. Still, he seemed no worse for wear, unlike Harvey¡¯s remaining summons, which were barely hanging onto the corporeal world, and vanished in soft puffs of smoke before my eyes.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°No mana left to sustain them,¡± Harvey explained softly, before turning his attention to the true survivors of the convoy. ¡°I don¡¯t have much to begin with, since I¡¯m still primarily a Thief, not a caster.¡± That wasn¡¯t a problem, as their jobs were done, and Harvey could always bring them back later on if needed. Far more important were the four drivers that made it. It might have been a clean sweep, if not for the fifth¡¯s close proximity to the shockwave and his evident lack of preparation; he now lay on the ground in a pool of his own blood, emitted from every orifice. Despite the grisly scene, there was evidently no time to mourn or even deal with the body, as the remaining four drivers resumed their chanting at once, and our descent continued. If anything, it was even faster now, with the area to cover reduced yet again. ¡°Why are we still hiding?¡± I felt compelled to ask as we sank up to our chests, where even my double checking found no more than a handful of Sprites remaining, none of them looking to be in any shape to fight. ¡°The enemy is gone.¡± ¡°The mindless scavengers are gone,¡± Harvey corrected me. ¡°They were never the reason for us to go underground. If you want to know the truth, keep looking up. It will hurt, but it¡¯s a good pain, one the System endorses.¡± I wasn¡¯t much a fan of pain in principle, so I might have been tempted to duck and hide, were it not for the burning curiosity that now compelled me to act against my explicit short-term interest. So, I kept my head up high as the remnants of our convoy sank below the earth, persisting even as the white sky burned my eyes, now that Pumpkin was no longer on my head to act as an impromptu pair of shades. The storm continued to intensify, yet at the same time began to turn curiously translucent, as if it both was and was not there. In the end, I received three seconds of clear vision, before our descent concluded and the earth closed up above our head. Just three, simple, seconds. [The Living Storm - Level ???] Pain, such as I¡¯d never felt before, across a combined eight decades of life, more sporting injuries and bouts of illness than could be counted. My blood was ice, bloodied shades raking across my flesh, my mind and my very soul. My knees gave way before I even realised what was happening, and I collapsed into Harvey¡¯s waiting grasp; without him, I¡¯d surely have landed head first on frozen ground, and for all that suffering, what did I get? A bare glimpse at a cloudy face that spanned the entire horizon. [100 XP gained for surviving your first sight of a being of law. Level up!] ¡°Wonderful,¡± I managed to gasp, before sweet unconsciousness claimed me. Chapter 70: Frozen Chapter 70: Frozen [Level Up!] I opened my eyes to an empty white void, not a single discernible feature to be found. Turning my head made no difference and my sight stayed the same; were it not for the faint pressure on my neck and shoulders as I moved, I wouldn¡¯t have been able to tell a difference at all. I didn¡¯t think snow-blind was a literal term, I thought to myself, nor that it could impair speech as well, given my ineffectual attempts at it. What would I have said, were my vocal cords willing to cooperate? Disbelief, resignation, and perhaps a pinch of profanity, these were all possibilities, but what¡¯s the point in longing for what could not be? All of my senses bore evidence of significant degradation. Nothing to see, to hear, to smell or to taste in the vast emptiness. Only touch remained relatively unscathed, allowing me to perform basic self-examination. It was enough to know that my skin remained intact and warm, freed from the intense cold that I had been sure left a layer of ice on me. Enough to tell that I hadn¡¯t been maimed; though anything more specific required expertise than my blind self could not provide. [Will Swindell Class (True): Level 4 Soldier of Fortune Class (Public): Level 4 Soldier Title: [Empty] Experience: 501/750] Not entirely blind, I amended, as the flow of System notifications continued apace. None of my previous level ups had been like this, but then I¡¯d never lost consciousness during any of them either, so who could say whether this was normal or not? The messages seemed to lag a bit too, compared to the previous smooth delivery, which gave me more time to flail around, searching for any hint of familiarity. Nothing, no hint of Harvey or Pumpkin or any of the drivers, nor even my clothes or a bed. Even my ever reliable inventory failed me in that moment, bringing a hint of panic to the surface. [Due to your brief exposure to The Living Storm, the parameters of your Level Up have been adjusted in accordance with the Law.] The System helped anchor me, helped remind me that this was real and not some hallucination or lucid dream. That being said, the actual content of the message left a lot to be desired. [You¡¯re a very lucky young man, you realise? Even if only for a few seconds, many so exposed breathe their last shortly after. A minority, yes, but a substantial one.]You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Funny, I thought to myself, Harvey had made it sound so safe. A bit of pain, yes, but one with a good outcome? I¡¯d envisioned it as something unpleasant but safe, akin to an injection or a trip to the dentist, not whatever this was. [Turning Point: Will you accept a fragment of the Law of Winter?] They were definitely slower than normal, and truncated too. There wasn¡¯t even a Yes/No prompt. Had I seen one of those before? I thought so, but why then this inexplicable feeling of de javu? [Choose one of the three following options. I waited again, in case there was yet more to come, but the System seemed to be done for the time being, as it waited for my decision. Similarly, whilst I didn¡¯t have it in writing or anything, I had the distinct feeling that my present circumstances would not change until a choice was made, which wasn¡¯t necessarily great, but it did give me time to think. At the crux of the matter, this was a choice between embracing what had brought me to this state, and defying it. The third option was never in consideration, being at best a joke choice and at worst exactly what it said on the tin, fit only for hardcore masochists. With that in mind, what would be the best in my given circumstances? Out of the two choices, Frozen was clearly the stronger at first glance. Immunity to Cold and Ice would go a long way towards letting me to travel the North with impunity, unworried by circumstances such as the storm raging above. Likewise, I wasn¡¯t completely clear what the Winter Court represented, besides a few old myths back on Earth, but I had my suspicions, and if their numbers included The Living Storm, then they were a significant power bloc. These benefits, in addition to outright being granted magic? It was a great sales pitch, and I know my way around a shopfront. The counteroffer of fire resistance, the recognition of an unknown party, and a spin of the roulette wheel seemed far less attractive, making the choice almost a no-brainer. I say almost, because there was one significant sticking point to the first choice: the Race change. There was comfort to be found in familiarity; and though humans were by no means perfect, I had plenty of experience being part of and dealing with humanity. I had a backstory in this new world, an organisation, and a plan for the future, all of them contingent on being accepted in human society. Turning into a Frostborn, whatever that was, could mean significant constraints on my ability to move around; at the end of the day, it was relatively easy to conceal criminality, but far harder to deal with differences in appearance. Even worse, I had no idea if such a transformation would come with changes to my psyche, or other more dangerous obligations as part of my new existence. Accordingly, as tempting as it was (and I¡¯d have gone for it as little as a month ago), I ultimately decided to stick with what I knew. [Let it Go selected. Gained Resistance (Fire), Recognition (The Dark Below). Rolling for a magical item, please wait calmly.] Chapter 71: Let It Go Chapter 71: Let It Go I could only roll my eyes at that; there had been little to do except wait, ever since I woke up in that empty void. [Item template selected. Commencing calibration.] Any minute now, I thought to myself, feeling a sudden shiver of anticipation. That was when some unknown force rammed a jagged spike through my stomach. It didn¡¯t hurt as much as I¡¯d expected, given the force of the blow, but what pain did exist quickly went on an aggressive marketing campaign, spreading from my lower abdomen to cover my entire body in the blink of an eye. The shivering continued, and only then did I realise that it wasn¡¯t from anticipation, I was just really cold, and whatever had kept it at bay before (most likely the Law of Winter I¡¯d rejected) was nowhere to be found. It wasn¡¯t all bad however, as with the return of true sensation came my other four senses as well. Taste returned first, filling my mouth with salt and iron. Blood, I realised immediately, and a lot of it, even more than the time I took a door to the face on the way home from school, courtesy of a spectacularly ill-timed bin round. Naturally, I spat it out, the simple reflex evolving into a lengthy, hacking cough that nevertheless left me feeling a lot better once I¡¯d gotten it all out of the way. Smell was back too, though as always it differed little from taste; given my general state of congestion, I was pretty sure I had a nosebleed as well. ¡°Harvey, he¡¯s waking up!¡± Pumpkin exclaimed, his voice making me relax even as the volume made me wince. He was a remarkably expressive cat, so if he had the time and inclination to make inane comments like that, the situation of the caravan couldn¡¯t be too dire. Finally, my eyes cleared for the first time since the storm descended, and I finally returned fully to the land of the living. I was neck deep in a bathtub, albeit not one built of ceramic but rather carved out of the earth itself, its walls demarcated by smooth round stones. The size was honestly pretty good, beating out my en-suite bathroom back in London, though it paled in comparison to the hot tubs and jacuzzis common at the high-end conference hotels and member¡¯s clubs I liked to frequent. Still, it got the job done. I was in rough shape too, my skin more purple than any tone typical of human flesh, and more than a couple lacerations on the small of my back that I was only now able to feel. We were still underground by the look of it, a circular dome being visible overhead through the light of a floating red fireball, the product of one of Harvey¡¯s remaining summons. Another was tending to me, a white robed man kneeling by the bath with both hands glowing, the familiar green of healing magic rippling out into the water and charging it with restorative power. There must have been an anaesthetic element to the spell, as I was pretty sure that frostbite to this degree was meant to be agonising, to say nothing of my back that was mending in real-time. As it was, the previous pain had dulled down to a full body throb, hardly comfortable, but bearable when the end of it was clearly in sight.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°You¡¯re finally back with us?¡± Pumpkin laughed, floating upside down as he did a decent imitation of a human backstroke. ¡°How bad was it?¡± I asked immediately, because Pumpkin hated water with all the stereotypical fervour of his species, so if he was willingly keeping me company in the tub, then that said a lot. ¡°Most of the damage is gone now,¡± the healer replied. ¡°You were in terrible shape earlier, without a doubt. Harvey had to cut you out of your clothes, the swelling was that bad at first. Your gambeson and underclothes were damaged beyond recovery, I¡¯m sorry to say.¡± ¡°Clothes can be replaced,¡± I shook my head. ¡°Lives are a bit more difficult, so I can¡¯t hold it against you.¡± That said, I¡¯d have been far less sanguine if I didn¡¯t see a replacement set by the side of the tub; it was one thing, not being picky about my clothing, but I certainly had no desire to wander around stark naked. [Calibration complete.] As if waiting for my thoughts to drift in that direction, the System finally finished procrastinating and delivered the last part of my reward for nearly dying. A crystalline necklace appeared around my neck, ending in an elaborate, oversized blue snowflake. On its own, it represented a rather gaudy ornament, albeit one with a potentially significant market value. I wouldn¡¯t ever sell it, of course, not with the extra line of text that accompanied it. [Silent Night: The wearer¡¯s actions are silent when they are not under observation.] Dubious Christmas theming aside, a stealth item was undeniably a welcome addition to my growing arsenal; whilst I was confident in holding my own during battle, I was now part of a criminal organisation, so there would almost certainly come times where discretion was the better part of valour. ¡°Can I get out now?¡± Pumpkin whined, not sparing my new reward a second glance as he turned plaintively towards the healer. ¡°Not for another hour at least,¡± he replied sternly. ¡°While you weren¡¯t injured as badly as Will, you still took your share of internal damage from the shockwave. I¡¯m actively monitoring your vital state, so rest assured, I will tell you when it¡¯s safe to leave, and not one moment before.¡± Ah, I realised belatedly, Pumpkin wasn¡¯t just sitting in the pool to keep me company. Go figure. ¡ª Amelia Dawn blinked once, dismissing the call with a hand on her chin. She stayed like that for a good long time, deep in thought. ¡°First the changelings, and now an ascended elemental? It¡¯s been nearly fifty years since one ventured so close to civilisation, are we going to have to evacuate again? It took a lot of work, setting up a nursery for heroes like this, but it might not be helped: a century is a pretty good run, all things considered..¡± Chapter 72: Snow Day Chapter 72: Snow Day In the end, it was almost two hours before the healer finally let me out of the tub, by which point the pain and swelling was gone, at the cost of looking and feeling like a prune. Pumpkin got to leave before me, the lucky sod, and took great pleasure in curling up under the magical ball of light to soak up the rays, staring smugly at me the entire time. I¡¯d tried my best to splash him for it, but my attempts regrettably fell short, as not even my proficiency with throwing weapons could hold a handful of water together for the distance required. [Water (1 oz) stored.] At least drying off was easy, taking just a second to store the droplets clinging to my body; the little extra added to my reserves was just the cherry on top. ¡°What now?¡± I asked the healer as I got dressed, already feeling more like a human again, rather than a living popsicle. The healer promptly vanished, confirming his identity as one of Harvey¡¯s summons with a stunning display of rudeness. ¡°Was it something you said?¡± Pumpkin joked, his smug grin growing even wider in defiance of the laws of physics. [Apple withdrawn.] I threw an apple at his head, which didn¡¯t make him less smug, but at least he couldn¡¯t mock me with his mouth full. With the gluttonous feline now occupied, I was free to step past him to take in the state of the caravan. It was feeding time for the horses, but there was nowhere for them to graze nor even any room to let them off the harness. The drivers made do, placing thick bales of hay in front of each horse; I wasn¡¯t sure from where, since I was pretty sure none of it had been stored in the carriages, but I could only chalk it off to more System shenanigans, in the absence of any evidence to the contrary. Harvey, meanwhile, was at the very back of the caravan, only his lower body visible half the time as he pulled crates out of the hindmost carriage, setting them down haphazardly on the floor next to him. As I approached, the reason for his actions became obvious; whilst the body of the carriage was still largely intact, unlike the one sacrificed during the battle, it had still taken its fair share of damage. The back wheels were almost entirely gone, frozen through and shattered such that I could spot a dozen pieces of each on the floor. Unless the convoy happened to carry spares, which I thought unlikely due to their size and bulk, the entire carriage was just dead weight.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Need some help?¡± I offered, because I never did like sitting around without nothing to do, which seemed to be the order of the day. ¡°Eh?¡± Harvey turned to me, a faint flicker of surprise on his face that was quickly suppressed. ¡°You¡¯re already awake? I felt the healer dismiss himself, but I¡¯d thought he was content to let you sleep.¡± ¡°Is that a bad thing?¡± I retorted, raising an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic concern. ¡°I feel like I¡¯ve been out for a while already.¡± ¡°Just a few hours, barely anything in the grand scheme of things. You must have a really sturdy soul, either that, or the devil¡¯s own luck. The first time seeing the Storm is always the hardest, when I was in your shoes, I slept for almost three days afterwards!¡± ¡°Could be worse,¡± I demurred. ¡°At one point, I wasn¡¯t sure if I¡¯d ever wake up again.¡± I had a few theories as to why I got off lightly, but I had no intentions of sharing the story of my reincarnation with Harvey or anyone else for that matter. He¡¯d proven relatively trustworthy thus far, but some secrets needed to stay secret. ¡°That was a possibility. Not a very likely one, not for The Living Storm, which has been one of the most active and therefore well-studied of his kind. One in five who see him will sleep forever, according to the records of the sentinels who track his movements. A worthwhile risk, considering the boons a glimpse of him can grant.¡± ¡°It turned out well enough,¡± I agreed, tapping the magical necklace I¡¯d gotten out of the ordeal. ¡°But what if it hadn¡¯t? You¡¯ve put in a fair bit of investment, getting me here, weren¡¯t you worried it might have all gone to waste?¡± I wasn¡¯t truly angry at him, since I¡¯d vowed to pursue a high risk, high reward strategy in this life, but the question still had to be asked, for appearance¡¯s sake if nothing else. ¡°I¡¯m a Thief of Souls,¡± Harvey laughed, his tome reappearing in his hands. ¡°It would have been a slight setback, in terms of our long-term goals, but I¡¯d still have gotten my money¡¯s worth out of you.¡± How comforting, I thought, rolling my eyes. ¡°Moving on,¡± I declared, because the alternative was a prolonged awkward silence that nobody would enjoy. ¡°Looks like the carriage is dead; is it normal to lose a third of the convoy in the first leg of the journey?¡± ¡°Not at all,¡± Harvey shrugged, exasperated. ¡°There¡¯s always an element of danger on these trips, that¡¯s part and parcel of the smuggler¡¯s lifestyle, but usually the trouble comes further North. Attempted breaches of the Wall, unrest in the garrisons or deserters turned to banditry, that sort of thing. What we¡¯ve had to deal with these past two weeks makes me wonder if I¡¯ve offended the Gods lately, more than usual anyway.¡± ¡°Lovely,¡± I grunted, pinching my nose and letting out a deep breath, an old calming exercise taught to me by an old chiropractor who looked like he predated World War One. ¡°As for the merchandise, we¡¯ll load what we can into the other cars and personal storage, but anything extra will have to be left behind, so don¡¯t hold back on my account.¡± Chapter 73: No Smoke Without Fire Chapter 73: No Smoke Without Fire I was more motivated than ever to help with the reloading, now that I¡¯d been promised an all you can eat buffet of loot at the end. The crates were incredibly heavy, but the benefits of my new physique shone through yet again, letting me carry them with only a faint twinge on my back, where it would have left the old me bedridden. Harvey did go slightly easy on me, letting me move crates to the nearest two carriages, whilst he took them down to the far end up front, but it was still pretty hard going as we began to clear the pile. I thought I did a good job, shuffling the piles inside each carriage here and there to fit just a little bit more, but true to Harvey¡¯s words, we didn¡¯t get close to fitting everything in. ¡°That¡¯s the best we¡¯re going to do,¡± Harvey concluded, after a short inspection of all four carriages. He hadn¡¯t held back in the least, even tossing away his own chair in favour of sleeping elsewhere going forward, but even with our best efforts, there were still six crates that we were unable to find any room for. ¡°Take what you can,¡± Harvey ordered, as the drivers coalesced to play what little part they could. Each of them waved their arms over the crates, swallowing up fruit by the bucketload. Between the four of them, they managed to empty the top halves of the crates, though to my bemusement they left the actual expensive contraband untouched. ¡°Most inventories are limited in size or category,¡± Harvey reminded me, having spotted my confusion. ¡°Drivers can easily access a storage area oriented towards the care and nutrition of their animals, but anything more generalised is very hard to come by.¡± After his explanation, Harvey put his own storage to use, hoovering up three crates worth of drugs with ease. ¡°My storage on the other hand is a Thief¡¯s special; very good for size, but I can only store certain predefined items. Fortunately, both weapons and stimulants are permitted, otherwise we¡¯d be facing a major loss today.¡± After storing half of the contraband himself, Harvey brought his book back out, pressing its cover against the fourth crate of six. Instead of spitting out another summon, the book opened its mouth, complete with razor sharp teeth, and began to quite literally inhale vials of white powder. It managed an entire two crates as well, not quite as good as Harvey himself, but more than made up by the fact that he could subsequently store the book as well, making it an example of a nested storage.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°I¡¯m feeling a bit inadequate here,¡± I remarked, as I dutifully absorbed the final crate¡¯s worth of gear. [Crate of Valkyrie Dust (200) stored.] ¡°Every storage has its own strengths and weaknesses, " Harvey replied, clapping me on the back as he moved to collect the empty crates, piling them up together in the corner for disposal. ¡°For instance, you were able to store the crate itself, not just the dust. I¡¯ve never been able to store empty containers like that; I¡¯m a bit jealous really, it always takes me ages to unload when I do it like this.¡± I didn''t say anything as I watched him pour a silvery liquid over the crates, before lighting a match and putting them all to the torch, completely unbothered by the act of starting a fire while we were all underground. After a moment, I realised why, as the smoke I¡¯d been expecting failed to materialise, allowing the lot to burn with unnatural grace while leaving nothing behind. ¡°Smokeless Solution, a tunnel rat¡¯s best friend,¡± Harvey proclaimed proudly. ¡°There¡¯s even better versions which hide all traces of light and heat as well; Soldiers love it, since it lets them cook a proper meal on the front lines without giving their position away. Expensive stuff though, which is why I make do with half the benefits for a tenth of the price.¡± ¡°Ooh, can I have some?¡± Pumpkin chimed in, having crept up beside me without me noticing, a level of stealth I hoped to imitate with Silent Night in the future. ¡°I can burn everything!¡± ¡°Do you have anywhere to store it?¡± I asked rhetorically, not particularly keen to indulge the budding pyromaniac. ¡°That¡¯s what you¡¯re for!¡± Pumpkin replied shamelessly, curling up around my legs and showing me his big, round eyes in a clear attempt at persuasion. [Water (1 oz) withdrawn.] ¡°No,¡± I replied mercilessly, finally getting revenge for my suffering in the bathtub by unloading the spare water on his head. Pumpkin scratched my legs to ribbons in retaliation, but I¡¯d say it was still worth it. ¡°Alright, that¡¯s the redistribution taken care of,¡± Harvey declared. ¡°We¡¯ll burn the remaining carriage once we¡¯re ready to resume the journey, it¡¯s a bit too big to do while still underground.¡± ¡°When will that be?¡± Pumpkin demanded, still wrapped around my left leg in anger. Harvey just stared at him blankly, reminding me that for all of the veteran Thief¡¯s talents, he didn¡¯t have a way to talk to cats. ¡°At least two days from now, I¡¯m not risking bringing us back up until I¡¯m certain the Storm is long gone.¡± Harvey sighed heavily. ¡°This is what I¡¯d hoped to avoid by pushing our pace so much, but as always, the plans of heaven make a mockery of men.¡± Truly, it seemed that no matter which world I was in, I could never escape the phenomenon known as hurry up and wait. With nothing left to occupy me, I headed back to the isolation of my carriage, Pumpkin following behind by virtue of refusing to let go of me. I was far from my best shape, I realised, if a little shelf stacking was enough to tire me out, so clearly my near death experience had left more damage than I¡¯d realised. An early return to bed sounded like just what I needed, given the circumstances. Chapter 74: Heavensward Chapter 74: Heavensward Three weeks ago, the caravan set off from Allensward with high hopes and expectations. Six carriages, a mounted escort of a dozen archers, with Harvey and I along for the ride. Now, as we crested the final hill on the long road North, only four carriages remained, one destroyed as a gambit to turn a battle, and the other having lost its wheels, forcing us to burn it and leave only ashes behind. Two drivers died in battle, whilst a third was sent off with a spare horse to bring an urgent report to higher ups in the Dead Hand, as well as open up a seat for Harvey to take; he insisted on driving the first carriage, keeping an eye on the front after all that had happened to waylay us so far. The horses did worst of all, with only five of the initial eighteen having lived to tell the tale; the archers didn¡¯t count, since they were summoned beings and not truly dead, assuming my understanding of Thief of Souls was correct. All in all, our convoy was quite a sorry sight as we arrived, at long last, at the first major milestone of our supposedly three month journey. I stuck my head out from the side of the carriage as our path levelled off, not wanting to miss a single moment of our final approach. The name wasn¡¯t an exaggeration, I realised, as I looked to the West and craned my neck as far as it would go, only to still fail to reach the top of a vast mountain range. It ran as far as the eye could see and vanished into the clouds above, forming the de facto border of the human continent. Whether there was anything beyond it was a matter of speculation, but nothing I¡¯d read indicated any certainty on the topic, because its sheer height made exploration impossible without flight capabilities. That was easier said than done in an era where the horse carriage was the cutting edge of transport, and if any of those rare individuals capable of magical flight or teleportation had done so, then their escapades had been kept entirely hidden from the public eye. It was truly a wonder of the natural world, comparable to the Himalayas back on Earth. The man-made wonder next to it didn¡¯t fail to impress either, despite being overshadowed (both literally and metaphorically) by its taller neighbour. Officially known as The Triumph of Humanity Against the Ravening Hordes, but which everyone simply called The Wall, it didn¡¯t quite stretch up to the cloud bank. Even so, whilst the exact dimensions were lost to me, a bit of basic trigonometry told me that it was at least fifty feet tall for the regular sections, whilst the guard towers that appeared periodically along it were nearly twice that height, putting the Great Wall of China to shame. Then again, perhaps that was simply a matter of necessity, as the Emperors, when ordering that to be built, only had to worry about armies on horseback, whereas Frontier saw semi-regular assaults from monsters, dragons, and even stranger skybound entities such as The Living Storm. At the Northwest corner of the continent, nature and artifice met, forming the city of Heaven¡¯s Reach.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. At the base of it all, in those sections still situated on flat land and therefore closest to our present location, the city didn¡¯t look out of the ordinary. There was an outer wall that barely rose above head height, suitable for keeping out vagrants and wild animals, patrolled by bored looking guardsmen who often stopped on their routes to take a sip of rotgut or to hit the tobacco pipe. The districts immediately inside the walls were likewise thoroughly mediaeval, featuring red bricked houses packed together into long terraces, low ceilings, and the teeming throngs of humanity that packed every street, visible even from a distance as they went about the daily business of survival. As the city crept steadily North, all of this changed. What had been flatland steady steepened, the gradient of roads rising steadily until, in the final stretch to reach the top of the Wall, climbing handles were affixed into place for hardy travellers to haul themselves up on, while buckets and makeshift elevators rose and fell to facilitate the transport of goods. ¡°I want to push people off of the edge,¡± Pumpkin declared, pointing a paw majestically towards the slope as he rose to stand nearly upright on my head. ¡°Settle down there, Scar,¡± I chuckled, scratching the devious feline behind the ears. Admittedly, I could see the joy in such a thing, akin to letting the intrusive thoughts win when standing next to the train tracks. I thought it unlikely he¡¯d get the opportunity, barring a strange twist of events, but I couldn¡¯t entirely rule it out after the absurdity we¡¯d already faced getting to this point. That was a consideration for the future, in any event; our immediate concern was something I was very much familiar with and had hoped never to deal with again: traffic. Heaven¡¯s Reach was the terminus, after all, the final frontier for humanity as a whole, and for trade in particular. As we descended to join the main road into the city, our caravan merged with dozens, no, hundreds of others, carrying everything from fresh recruits to foodstuffs, uniforms and more. We¡¯d never gone particularly fast to begin with, as the main points of excitement along the trip had happened while we were stationary, but now we slowed down to a crawl, barely faster than walking speed. There was only one main gate leading into the city, and everyone needed to wait their turn to enter. It didn¡¯t matter if you were the poorest peasant or a scion of the noble houses, everyone (theoretically) went through the same process and inspection. Idly, I wondered how Harvey was going to get us through, because I¡¯d put too much time into this journey now to be stopped by something as mundane as customs and immigration. Chapter 75: Papers, Please Chapter 75: Papers, Please Gridlocked traffic was something I was all too familiar with, London having had the dubious title of the most congested city in the west. The average commuter lost close to an hour a day sitting still on the road, equating to a massive loss of man hours a month, a problem that several government commissions had considered at length but never quite managed to solve in all the decades I lived there. Compared to that, at least our caravan was moving, albeit in fits and starts over the course of the morning that quickly turned into the afternoon. We ate onboard, and there was no opportunity to take a break lest we lose our spot in the queue, but it wasn¡¯t too bad as a one-off, and I whiled the time away by rearranging my inventory in fits and starts. [Inventory I pilfered a bit more food, taking care to leave each individual crate showing the signs of my involvement, because in my experience inspectors liked to find something wrong to justify their own jobs, so it was better to let him catch the obvious sign of petty theft than to go digging any deeper and finding the contraband below. Along with this, I¡¯d stored most of my equipment, leaving only my regular clothes and my mask on, as whilst the latter might raise some curiosity, the ability to speak to cats would probably be taken as a whimsical concession to Pumpkin¡¯s presence akin to a luxury pet toy. Items dedicated to concealing my Class or stealth, on the other hand, would be an obvious sign of ill intent, so all of that went into storage. [Class (Public): Level 4 Merchant] I double checked my Class, before making a slight adjustment down, because I planned to keep to my known backstory and didn¡¯t need people wondering how I was already at Level 4 before making a single sale.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. [Class (Public): Level 1 Merchant] With all of that sorted, I headed back to my chair, pulled Pumpkin down from my head to curl up on my lap, and returned to the waiting game. Given how quickly we were advancing, there was no way the guards were inspecting every carriage to any significant degree, some form of detection magic notwithstanding. More likely than not, they were merely conducting spot checks on random or ¡°random¡± vehicles, based on whatever criteria were deemed important to the overseers. If this was the case, then the best thing I could do for the cause was to stay relaxed, because unusual nervousness would be one of the biggest hints they¡¯d be looking for. Conversely, if you put a big smile on your face and walk with confidence, few would be willing to get in your way; I¡¯d done exactly this at every major airport in England, and only once did I get caught at customs with hundreds of euros worth of foie gras in my suitcase. ¡°What happens if we get caught?¡± Pumpkin asked. ¡°That powder made me feel really good for a while, then it was morning and I wanted to die.¡± I opened my mouth to respond, before thinking better of it, as I wasn¡¯t sure where in the line we were and didn¡¯t want to be overheard discussing the ins and outs of customs seizures. Pumpkin could only be understood through the use of my mask, but I had no such excuse. [Pumpkin - Level 3 Cat] ¡°Well? What¡¯s the answer?¡± Looking down at the persistent name tag hovering over Pumpkin, I was about to tell him to leave it for later when I had a sudden idea. I¡¯d never done this before now, since it had always been others making the request for me to answer, but I knew it to be a standard feature of the System, so it was all just a matter of finding the right mental prompt for it. [Send Friend request?] I got it after half a minute of focus, interrupting Pumpkin who had begun to scratch at my legs, as he often did when demanding my attention. He froze up, his eyes unfocusing and staring off into the distance in the way characteristic of someone immersed in his System. I was somewhat surprised to see it work, but it only made sense; why wouldn¡¯t Pumpkin have access to the System when he was clearly an intelligent being, on par if not better than many humans I¡¯d had the misfortune to come across back in the day. [Pumpkin - Level 3 Cat added to Contacts.] With that done, all that was left was for me to begin communication; the System had to be capable of that much, right? I focused on Pumpkin¡¯s name on my Contact list, and sent a mental nudge down the line. [Begin voice call?] I shook my head, dismissing the prompt; that wouldn¡¯t help anything, since my voice would still be audible outside of the System, though I noted the option down for the future in case Pumpkin and I ever got split up. [Permissions insufficient for text messages. Please visit a System Priest to purchase an upgrade.] ¡°Ugh.¡± My annoyance was great in that moment, reminded acutely of the microtransactions that had dominated the mobile market since its inception. ¡°Any chance you could give me permission without that?¡± I asked, knowing that we didn¡¯t have much flex in our schedule to go visit the local clergy, not to mention that it was best to keep a low profile. [Advancement: More, always more! Criteria met. You will Receive the following. Accept/Reject? Chapter 76: Internationale Chapter 76: Internationale [You will Receive the following. Accept/Reject? ¡°I feel like this isn¡¯t the most equitable of trade offers,¡± I grumbled. To be clear, I was a steadfast atheist in my past life, brushing off any hint of belief in anything except the value of my bank account, but those were the values I¡¯d adopted to fit my life at the time. Secular, data driven and profoundly capitalistic, there hadn¡¯t been any room for faith in the scant free time available to me between the demands of the home and the boardroom, but that was on Earth. Now, one reincarnation later, I had no choice except to believe that the soul existed. In a world where the System granted supernatural powers on a whim, demonic horses could be born from a ritual circle, and godlike elementals ruled the skies above, who was I to dare proclaim the absence of divinity? Moreover, it didn¡¯t really matter where I believed or not, because in a society where the Churches held power, there could be real tangible benefits to be found in worship. With that in mind, was the immediate utility worth potentially closing important doors in the future? ¡°Define God in this instance,¡± I demanded, looking for more information to sway my decision one way or the other. [Define deez nuts.] ¡°No help at all then?¡± I sighed. [You will receive the following. Accept/Reject? When the System only repeated the same offer as before, I could only conclude that this was a decision I¡¯d have to make with very limited information, a leap of faith if you will. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Will?¡± Pumpkin had crawled onto my shoulders while I pondered my options, and was now swatting my ears with his paws. I turned to look at him, an accidental companion who became a partner in crime. Someone who could walk and talk like me, in a voice I could understand despite the fact his vocal cords should have made that impossible. [Offer rejected.] Alas, I¡¯d seen far too much by now to dismiss the benefits of divinity, so I was forced to discard my hopes for a better chat experience; who knows, maybe I could find time to slip out and go donate to the Church of the System? I¡¯d even be happy to do so, given that they promised immediate benefits rather than a vague suggestion of an afterlife that I whole hopefully not have to visit for a good long time, if ever. ¡°Sorry, I was just lost in thought,¡± I replied vaguely. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to worry about anyway, because we¡¯re just the newly hired help. If there¡¯s anything wrong with the goods on inspection, Harvey takes the fall as master of the caravan. Our culpability would be very limited, all things considered, being a junior party that joined less than a month ago.¡± Indeed, whilst I was far from an expert in Frontier law, I doubted that I¡¯d face more than a fine and possibly being blacklisted from Heaven¡¯s Reach at the more extreme end of things, which would be far from ideal but not life-threatening. Not that I was too worried anyway; if a mere border checkpoint could catch Harvey out, he¡¯d have died long ago in such a risky trade. My course set, I spent the rest of the ride playing with Pumpkin, stoically ignoring the goings on outside my carriage. Eventually, an indeterminate period of time later, the tent flap opened and a guard peered in, a pair of green eyes the only thing visible through his helmet. [Level 7 Soldier] The relative prowess of the North was immediately put on display, as even this guard in the rear lines was at a higher level than any of Allensward¡¯s protectors; the public ones anyway, I amended, remembering that Alice lived there too. ¡°How can I help?¡± I asked languidly, raising an open palm in greeting in a gesture that Pumpkin copied. He stared at me blankly, any trace of expression hidden by his choice of headwear. I guess I was supposed to be intimidated, but it was hard to be when he was leaning so close that I could summon my knife with the tip already in his visor. Just a single twist, and he¡¯d give a new meaning to the term ¡®justice is blind¡¯. Naturally, I didn¡¯t betray my thoughts, merely returning his stare with cool confidence until he relented, handing me a clipboard and a long piece of graphite, staring at me expectantly all the while. The entry form wasn¡¯t anything difficult, merely asking for my name and place of birth, my Class, and reason for entering the town. I filled this in honestly, listing myself as a Level 1 Merchant, my public Class at the time and therefore the technical truth, which was the best kind of truth. As for my purpose, I was naturally following the caravan to engage in commerce and learn the tricks of the trade from a veteran, I simply omitted the details of said trade. When I handed the clipboard back to the guard, he glanced at it for all of half a second before going on his way, mumbling something in his helmet that I couldn¡¯t quite parse, and that was that. I caught a glance of the walls before the tarp closed around me, confirming that we were indeed at the walls, and then we started moving again. That was the final hurdle, as far as I was concerned, though not the end of the journey, as we had to get to the right part of the city, but that wasn¡¯t any of my concern. Lying back, I pulled an apple from the nearest cart and broke it in half, offering Pumpkin his share of the spoils too. Onwards and upwards, quite literally in this case. Chapter 77: Flogging a Dead Horse Chapter 77: Flogging a Dead Horse ¡°The Dead Horse,¡± I raised an eyebrow at the graphic sign overhead, featuring the eponymous horse being disembowelled in rather gruesome fashion. ¡°This is where we¡¯re staying?¡± The inn wasn¡¯t bad, if anything it was larger, cleaner and better lit than the one in Allensward; it even had magical lamps installed inside, removing the need for candles at the tables and countertop to counteract the dark outside. Accordingly, I was less complaining than merely expressing my surprise, as the clandestine nature of our work had me expecting some hidden base in the sewers, or perhaps a magically concealed crypt on the edge of the city. ¡°This is the Merchant¡¯s District, where all of the wholesalers and shopkeepers congregate to haggle over prices. It would be strange if we didn¡¯t make this our home.¡± Ah, so it was about fitting in. I nodded in understanding and made no more mention of it, stepping off of the carriage and relishing the opportunity to stretch myself properly, after spending nearly the entire day waiting in line. ¡°How did you know all that anyway?¡± I asked Pumpkin, who looked to be dozing in my arms, if not for the slight twitch of his ears that showed I had his attention. ¡°I grabbed a brochure off of a tour guide on the way here.¡± As far as I could tell, Pumpkin hadn¡¯t left the carriage the entire day, but there was no point calling him out on it; not when the information was useful, no matter where it came from. Putting that curiosity aside, I strained my eyes to take in every inch of our temporary abode, marking down entrances and exits, both conventional and improvisable in a pinch (i.e. windows). Perhaps it might prove useful in the event of an ambush, or failing that if there was a fire, probably the more likely of two possibilities. It was already night, but the aforementioned lamps helped me out, as did the fact that I was still awake and alert, having had little to do during the day besides sleep. Speaking of haggling, Harvey was presently out front, engaged in a vigorous back and forth with the innkeeper for the price of our room and board. The numbers quoted were mostly meaningless, the kind of money that even a few vials of dust could recoup, but as he¡¯d said, it was all about making the right impression with the local gossips, and a spendthrift merchant would immediately stick out in a crowd of misers, one and all. Harvey didn¡¯t look to be trying too hard, protesting just enough to be believable before letting the innkeeper browbeat him into an upcharge or two, and shaking on it.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Interestingly, the drivers had pulled the remaining horses from the carriages, and were mounting up to leave for parts unknown. It wasn¡¯t that surprising, as Harvey was the only core member of the Dead Hand present, and they were simply hired hands with varying degrees of criminality in their backgrounds. There was no point having them hang around while we did our business, and presumably they or their replacements would be back later for the trip across the Wall. ¡°Right, this is our first stop,¡± Harvey reiterated, coming over with his coin pouch somewhat lighter. ¡°We¡¯ve got two rooms for the week, meals included. Why don¡¯t you get familiar with the inn while I go meet the first of our customers nearby?¡± ¡°Is it alright, leaving the carriages untended?¡± I asked, because while the thought of sleeping in them was unappealing, it still beat the possibility of losing all our merchandise. ¡°There are few safer places than this. A lot of money changes hands in this street, enough for permanent spells of observation to keep watch over it. Professionals won¡¯t touch a thing here, whilst anyone else won¡¯t get more than a few pieces of fruit before the guards are upon them.¡± ¡°Well, in that case, I¡¯ve got a proper room to get acquainted with,¡± I agreed, happy to get a taste of the home life again after weeks on the road. Harvey nodded at that and slinked off down the street, presumably to meet his fellow in the Dead Hand. Despite my words, I didn¡¯t head inside straight away, instead taking a final moment to admire the cityscape. Allensward had been undeniably rural in its makeup, but this? This was a proper city, one that, if I squinted just right and pretended the lamps were electric, could have been the cousin of a number of smaller cities back in England, those old fiefs where the influence of the Roman Empire was never entirely washed away. There might have been as many as a hundred thousand permanent residents, along with any number of itinerant merchants on any given day. Nowhere near the size of London, but comparable to Bath or Warwick, it stirred a brief moment of nostalgia before I squashed it, heading into the inn for a hearty dinner in the house, first thing. ¡ª ¡°Marek? Can you hear me?¡± That was the third time Harvey had tried reaching out to the local branch officer, and three times he¡¯d received the same response: none at all. Once was expected, since everyone had a life of their own to live, such that calls coming out of the blue couldn¡¯t always be taken in the heat of the moment. Twice was annoying, but still acceptable albeit a touch exasperating to deal with. Threefold silence, when the calls were placed five minutes apart? That was enough to make Harvey¡¯s brow crease in worry, and place a knife in his palm as he approached the well kept house at the end of a terrace, here at the border between the nice district and one couched in euphemisms. Three firm knocks, to draw attention, two more softly to signify intent. Not the most complicated of passwords, but then this wasn¡¯t a safehouse, just a meeting point so anything more would be too cumbersome for regular use. When not a hint of movement could be heard from within, Harvey pulled a lockpick and got to work. The door swung moment moments later, and a familiar stench hit his nostrils, of death and decay. Chapter 78: Ratatouille Chapter 78: Ratatouille One of the nice things about a quasi-medieval society was the relaxed attitude towards bringing your pet with you to dine. That had often been an issue back in London, whenever the team went out together and brought the office cats along for the ride. Some restaurants were accommodating, others tried to refuse us entry, and it was never fun having to stand outside while the biggest lad on the team argued with the manager. I like to think that they learned a lesson from the bomb threat phoned in after the fact, but I had no way of verifying that without being implicated, so I never did follow up on the subject, so this remained firmly in the realm of speculation. Thus free to roam the dinner table, Pumpkin was having a grand time, wolfing down the local mystery meat casserole while fending off the odd opportunistic dog with precision warning strikes delivered by his tail. None of the canines had name tags, nor did they display any signs of intelligence greater than those back on Earth. Yet another open question, how the System chose who to acknowledge; the pamphlets in the library claimed that only those of good moral fibre were blessed with access, which was clearly rubbish given present company, so I was leaning towards it being random chance, in the absence of evidence to the contrary. I¡¯d gone for a saltfish and potato soup, the closest thing on the menu to a proper fish and chips. It was good, the dried fish adding a rich and savoury flavour to the herbal soup, thickened with potatoes to the edge of becoming stew. Delicious, but also very hot, forcing me to eat far slower than I usually liked, so I naturally turned that downtime into a bit of people watching. The clientele was diverse, as befit a major city, though there were a few trends visible even at a glance. A predilection towards fine dress, be it the tanned leather and chainmail preferred by the adventurous types that crowded the bar, or silk for those of a more mercantile persuasion, occasionally accompanied by full face masks and hoods for those preferring discretion. Everyone thus far displayed a name tag, though few said anything of substance, with only a handful of Soldiers and Merchants showing their full identity. The rest oscillated between a generic Class title, akin to the old Blacksmith, or else picked from an array of amusing and obviously fake names, waiting for their counterparts to arrive. [Sue Donim] [E.Z. Mark] [Nom D. Plume] Occasionally, one of them would excuse themselves and head outside, talking loudly the whole way while plugging their ears with both hands to drown out the noise, an old frustration that every member of the cell phone generation can sympathise with. Once again, I was reminded of the convenience of texting, and idly wondered if I could find time for some upgrades, preferably after the first round of sales so that I had some coin to my name. True to Harvey¡¯s words, the atmosphere was nice and calm, with even the inevitable disagreements kept at a low whisper. There was no sign of criminality, and the closest thing to a commotion came from one man who had a little too much to drink, and had to be helped outside by his companion; yet another commonality of mankind that seemed to transcend two worlds. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. ¡°Can I go hunt some rats?¡± Pumpkin suggested, turning begging eyes towards me, as if he hadn¡¯t just finished a full course meal. ¡°I can smell some nice plump ones nearby, I wonder why the local cats haven¡¯t beaten me to it?¡± ¡°It might have something to do with the half a dozen Great Danes lounging around,¡± I deadpanned, shoving my mostly empty bowl off to the side and watching as the nearest of them eagerly snapped up what was left of my meal. ¡°You don¡¯t want to see our room first?¡± ¡°Will there be food inside?¡± ¡°Probably not,¡± I admitted, and that was all it took for Pumpkin to go running off into the night, all pretence of asking for permission gone in a flash. ¡°You eat more than Garfield,¡± I scoffed, though I didn¡¯t bother to chase after him. Despite being rather food-motivated, Pumpkin could take care of himself, and I had him in my Contacts lists too, so staying in touch wouldn¡¯t be an issue. I hadn¡¯t anticipated the exact reason, but temporarily splitting up came as no surprise to me, because as smart as Pumpkin was, he¡¯d never shown much of an interest in economics, nor was he keen to get near the Valkyrie Dust after his bad first experience. I brought both our trays back to the counter, where one of the staff was on hand to collect them. [Inne Keeper] ¡°Is there a story behind your name tag?¡± I took the opportunity to ask, because I doubted it was a coincidence that the name was identical to the old man in Allensward. ¡°It¡¯s tradition!¡± he replied proudly, a gap toothed grin on full display as he rolled back his sleeve to show me a wooden tag wrapped around his wrist. [Naeme¡¯s Tag: Applies a custom name when worn. Currently set: Inne Keeper] ¡°When a man completes their apprenticeship and is ready to run their own house, the Guild of Innkeepers gives them a tag, to show that they¡¯ve paid their dues. Wearing it isn¡¯t required, but everyone does it while on duty, since it helps the customers spot us.¡± ¡°I see,¡± I replied blandly, my lip twitching at the name of the item; the System had many strengths, but creativity did not appear among them. My curiosity satisfied, I left the man to his duties and headed upstairs, using the key Harvey handed me to let myself into my room for the night. It was considerably smaller than the one in Allensward despite being thrice the price, little more than a single bed, a bedside table and a glass of water; truly, it was like renting in London again. I¡¯d barely had the chance to sit myself down when I heard a loud beep coming from everywhere and nowhere. [Harvey: Don¡¯t trust your eyes.] The message received was ominous, but at that moment, all I could feel was annoyance that Harvey had text permissions while I did not. Chapter 79: Among Us Chapter 79: Among Us [Harvey: Don¡¯t trust your eyes.] On its own, this was a generic bit of advice, broadly applicable to everything from walking at night to the dangers of mass media. Every message had its own time and place however, and given that I¡¯d last seen Harvey before he set off to meet a shady colleague in some back alley, the implications weren¡¯t pleasant. My first thought was that he¡¯d been caught by the law, my second of a betrayal between thieves. The third was that I had no time for navel-gazing, so I concluded that something strange was afoot and left it at that, before opening up my Contacts list. [Pumpkin - Level 3 Cat Placing a call, please stand by.] I¡¯d yet to go all the way on this, so I wasn¡¯t entirely sure what success sounded like, but success wasn¡¯t necessary to recognise failure, so when the ringback tone cut off in a buzz of static, not even bothering with a System update, I knew that we¡¯d been made. Matron Bayard had mentioned the many weapons a Contact could be subverted, and though she¡¯d only explicitly noted the Find Contact spell, I could connect the dots to the present scenario. That was the first of two realisations that night, the second being the soft footsteps in the distance, growing just a little louder with every step. I glanced towards the window, considering my options; my room was only one floor up, making an emergency descent a trivial matter. I knew well enough how to duck and roll with a fall, and my newfound constitution would handle the rest, but after a moment¡¯s thought I decided to hold off for the time being. Harvey¡¯s message hadn¡¯t mentioned a timeline, and I¡¯d raise all sorts of red flags by taking a running leap out the window, even if the new arrival proved innocuous. That was a last resort, for after I gathered a bit more information. The first knock on the door came right as I made my decision, followed by two more hard thumps. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± I asked, injecting an appropriate amount of suspicion for the stranger approaching me at night. ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± Harvey¡¯s voice replied. ¡°I got word back from the client, are you ready to go?¡± On the one hand, the voice was a dead ringer for my erstwhile companion slash mentor in crime. The footsteps were suspicious though, as Harvey was normally a lot quieter, able to sneak up on me with frustrating ease, a trait he shared with Pumpkin, though the former at least didn¡¯t use it to prank me. That said, this wasn¡¯t anything definitive, as Harvey was fully capable of making noise deliberately, which was good practice around people who carried knives and disliked being startled. Other people, obviously, for I was a man of impeccable composure and would never fall for such silly tricks. Ahem.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°Is it just the two of us, or have you summoned backup?¡± I decided it was a suitable opening question, fishing for information, because this was all a bit too convenient for my liking. ¡°The drivers wouldn¡¯t be of any use, and it wouldn¡¯t be wise to use my book. The masses watched our arrival earlier, and I¡¯d bet my last gild someone¡¯s keeping track of numbers. Strange, unaffiliated men popping up out of nowhere will get people screaming of demons. All of this was true, and implied a familiarity with the Thief of Souls Class, which pointed towards this being Harvey. Unfortunately, it still wasn¡¯t enough to rule out betrayal, because others in the Dead Hand would have known this much too. ¡°I¡¯m good to go,¡± I confirmed, ruffling my shirt audibly to give a show of packing up. ¡°Do we have time to wait for Pumpkin though? Three is typically better than two.¡± ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t say no to another pair of hands, but are you sure? Numbers are good, until they stick a knife in your back over the spoils. Gold as a way of corrupting even honest men, especially what passes for honesty in our trade.¡± A fake then, I realised immediately. The impostor¡¯s answers had been spot on for everything else, indicating a familiarity with our caravan, criminality and our specific goals. Pumpkin on the other hand threw him off, because I hadn¡¯t mentioned the cat¡¯s name since entering Heaven¡¯s Reach. The fake thought it was a codename for another crook, when I knew full well that the glutton would not give a single toss about gold coins, unless they are of the chocolate variety. ¡°We can go now then,¡± I grumbled, affecting the dull, muted tone of a child being scolded by their elder when trying to get their way. It was something Will had a lot of practice with back in the orphanage, though I never needed such base tactics to get my way in either life. [Knife withdrawn.] My inventory still worked, whatever was disrupting communications not affecting the rest of the System, letting me arm myself without giving the game away as I unlocked the door and pulled it open. ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear you saw sense,¡± Harvey exclaimed, stepping inside without a care in the world. ¡°I don¡¯t like sharing,¡± I agreed wholeheartedly, and stuck the knife in his eye. [50 XP gained for killing a Changeling.] In typical fashion, the System only informed me of my achievement once the results were blindingly obvious, pun intended. An ordinary man would fall to the floor bonelessly, after a knife to the brain. A Changeling evidently preferred to burst into purple flames, scorching away all of their flesh and leaving behind a distorted skeleton the size of my palm, one common enough to be drawn on posters used by caretakers to scare naughty children. That was the only depiction Changelings ever got, since portraying their living form was futile for obvious reasons. This was fine, and the experience was great, but the bone-chilling death scream, I could have done without. At least the skeleton provided an ironclad alibi when seconds later, the innkeeper and a pair of adventurers sprinted up the stairs, weapons drawn. Chapter 80: Changing of the Guard
Chapter 80: Changing of the Guard I had plenty of complaints to levy against Frontier¡¯s education system, but even I could admit that they got the job done, at least in areas where the requisite institutional will existed. All it took was me holding up the Changeling¡¯s desiccated remains for inspection, and both adventurers halted in their tracks. The elder among them turned three shades paler but otherwise kept his composure, whilst his younger companion gasped, stumbled and needed the former¡¯s firm hand on his shoulder to avoid toppling over. The innkeeper by contrast was lacking in comprehension, either that or he needed glasses, because he didn¡¯t slow one whit at my display. That said, he clearly wasn¡¯t a combatant, and though I recognised his bravery in charging ahead despite this, bravery alone could only carry a man so far. It would¡¯ve been trivial to take his hand or his head, but he was only doing his job, and made a mean casserole to boot, so I ended up going easy on him. [Knife stored.] No weapon needed, just a swift sidestep to dodge his dagger followed by a solid right hook to the jaw; that was enough to send him flying back into the waiting arms of the adventurers, who were by now composed enough to grab hold of him. The older man whispered something into his ears, and the innkeeper stopped trying to struggle free for a second round. ¡°Take him downstairs,¡± the older man ordered his junior, leaving the latter to deal with the innkeeper while he approached my bedroom door. ¡°Can we talk inside?¡± ¡°Sure, if you¡¯re human,¡± I retorted, not quite drawing my weapon again, because retaining enough caution to check. I didn¡¯t think it likely, because as far as the enemy was concerned I was little more than a promising junior smuggler. They had the advantage of surprise with the first Changeling, and had only sent one; there wasn¡¯t much reason to hold back a second, rather than have him join the initial ambush. ¡°Cautious. Good,¡± the man sounded approving as he sheathed his shortsword, before reaching up to a lone earring on his left ear, giving the ball bearing at the bottom a sharp twist. [Kyle Erwing - Level 11 Sharpshooter] A trinket variant of the Blackened Bracelet, I noted, as his name tag became visible. It wasn¡¯t conclusive proof, necessarily, as I knew better than most that such a thing could be concealed even without equipment, but there was a limit to how much suspicion was warranted. Furthermore, judging by Masquerade¡¯s description, the System didn¡¯t permit people to disguise as a higher level, so the man before me was at least Level 11; if he¡¯d wanted me dead, I would already have been. As it was, I just had to figure out his angle. ¡°Come in,¡± I agreed begrudgingly, letting him into my tiny room for the night.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. I ended up sitting on the bed while he took the sole chair, the two of us nearly meeting shoulder to shoulder as I leaned forward, a victim of the sloped ceilings that Frontier seemed to love. Kyle locked the door behind him, making me reassess slightly; I¡¯d initially paired him and the youngster together, but maybe none of the first responders truly had anything in common except for being the fastest up the stairs. ¡°How much do you know about Changelings?¡± Kyle whispered, an anticipatory glint in his eye as he fixated on the skeleton in my hand. ¡°They like to eat people, and can copy the appearance of the person they eat, but not the details of their System.¡± The library had been clear on that point: that the flesh change was a wholly biological process, and did not grant them the traits of their victims. Thankfully, because otherwise the Changelings would have been an existential threat to humanity rather than a recurring nuisance used to frighten naughty children at bedtime. ¡°You have the right of it, from a personal point of view,¡± Kyle grunted, his gaze unflinching, not even acknowledging me as he kept his eyes on the prize. [Changeling Skeleton stored.] I shoved it in my inventory, because I hated being ignored, and that finally got the man to look me eye to eye. ¡°How about at a wider level? Do you know what finding one of these means?¡± ¡°Not really,¡± I admitted. ¡°All my knowledge is second hand, and I haven¡¯t been on the road for long. I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s a bad thing?¡± ¡°Very. See, reports of Changelings happen every season of every year, but the vast majority of such reports are nonsense. Superstitious parents, usually, attribute changes in their children to replacement when they¡¯re really just trying to hide some moonshine or that they¡¯re sneaking out to meet their friends after curfew. Either that, or farmers finding oddities in their livestock, things they can¡¯t explain. The latter category, the Adventurer¡¯s Guild investigates diligently, because such incidents are how many budding epidemics are found and neutralised. Deal with it early enough, and the Kingdom can avoid having to order a cull, leaving farmers destitute and the population hungry. But it¡¯s always something explainable, see, and never change. Not for as long as I¡¯ve been on the road, and I started out over thirty years ago.¡± ¡°But this time, it is a Changeling.¡± I frowned, my palms tingling and I sensed something afoot, far bigger than another petty crook with a grudge against Harvey. ¡°It is,¡± Kyle took a deep, shuddering breath, visibly steadying himself as he went. ¡°It is, and that means big trouble, the kind my late master lived through and told me tales of around the campfire. Changelings live and die in packs; where there¡¯s one, a hundred will soon follow. This needs to be reported up the chain, so the city authorities can begin a lockdown, a search and a purge. Anything less, and we risk Heaven¡¯s Reach being overrun, and a death toll in the thousands.¡± ¡°I believe you,¡± I replied truthfully. ¡°And that¡¯s going to happen, but that¡¯s not what we¡¯re really here to discuss. If this is as big as you say it is, then there must be a hefty reward for reporting the discovery, right?¡± Kyle winced, and I relaxed, because he was only interrogating me for the sake of greed, and that was far easier to deal with than the other, worst-case scenarios I¡¯d been thinking of.
Chapter 81: Aggressive Negotiations Chapter 81: Aggressive Negotiations ¡°There¡¯s a good reward for a proper specimen,¡± Kyle agreed, his poker face returning rather quickly, albeit too late for it to really matter. ¡°But that comes with strings attached. If you turn it in, expect a lot of scrutiny from higher up for being the one to make the kill, not to mention all the people who¡¯ll come after you for a piece of the reward.¡± ¡°I wonder what that would be like,¡± I deadpanned, drawing a sheepish laugh from Kyle. ¡°Sounds to me like I have a payday coming in the near future. Not sure why you¡¯re still here though.¡± It wasn¡¯t as if I¡¯d be the one publicly turning the Changeling in; I wasn¡¯t stupid. Harvey had hinted at back channel arrangements with the authorities, so let them deal with the rabble; I hadn¡¯t worked a customer-facing position for many decades now, and I had absolutely no desire to return to that kind of scrutiny. ¡°I¡¯m just a poor adventurer, looking to hitch my wagon to some good times,¡± Kyle laughed shamelessly. ¡°I have to say though, you¡¯re handling this well. Most young lads would¡¯ve charged at me by now for daring to interfere, or thrown the corpse at me and ran away, depending on their attitude. Aren¡¯t you afraid I¡¯d force the issue?¡± ¡°For what exactly? A murder charge and the clothes on my back?¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Unless you have a way to access my inventory in death, there are no benefits down that path. In any case, I fear you¡¯re putting the cart before the horse here, because before we can even think about splitting any profits, we¡¯ll first have to survive the night. No easy feat, if I¡¯m understanding the situation correctly¡± ¡°Explain,¡± Kyle demanded, his bluster fading at my grim declaration. ¡°I didn¡¯t just trip over that Changeling by chance,¡± I scoffed. ¡°Nor can I claim full credit for making the discovery. I was warned by a colleague, shortly before the Changeling arrived at my door wearing his appearance. I¡¯d like to think it would¡¯ve worked out regardless, but the warning made it simple to turn the tables.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Kyle straightened up at that moment, suddenly looking like the adventurer he was, rather than the gold diggers he¡¯d been reminding me of until then. ¡°My condolences for your loss.¡± ¡°He¡¯d appreciate that,¡± I replied honestly, because I was pretty sure he was still alive. [Contacts
  • Amelia Dawn - Level 30 Necromancer
  • Harvey Miller - Level 10 Thief of Souls
  • Pumpkin - Level 3 Cat]
The System thought so, after all, and he¡¯d even gained a level in the interim, possibly by fighting some Changelings of his own. I tried to place another call to Pumpkin on a whim, only to find it cutting out like before, which confirmed that whatever was causing the interference couldn¡¯t halt the System as a whole, only the chat functionality.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°More importantly, I still have living companions who might be stuck in the thick of things. Come help me find them, and you¡¯re certain to earn your share of any reward to come. What do you say?¡± While I was loath to share anything on principle, I hadn¡¯t climbed to the top of the corporate ladder without learning how to see the bigger picture. The Dead Hand as a whole was not lacking in money, so I didn¡¯t hesitate to splurge, not if it meant getting some high level backup for whatever was coming. Since this was all to go rescue Harvey, he¡¯d be in no position to complain when the time came to open his coin pouch for Kyle, while I remained in the background in a purely facilitatory role. ¡°Deal,¡± Kyle agreed easily enough, the veteran adventurer seeing the logic in my words. ¡°We¡¯ll keep the details between us for the time being. No point causing a panic and tipping off the enemy. If anyone asks, you dropped a vial of Banshee¡¯s Wail, and that was the source of the scream.¡± ¡°Is that a commonplace incident?¡± I couldn¡¯t help asking, because it seemed like a very specific solution to the current problem. ¡°Common enough,¡± Kyle agreed, reaching into the utility belt at his waist and pulling out a vial of pitch black smoke. [Banshee¡¯s Wail: Emits a loud, feminine wail when shattered.] ¡°Having a distraction on hand can be a matter of life and death in the field. This is one of the more common ones, as the ingredients required are easy to harvest and transport.¡± ¡°Fascinating,¡± I murmured, feeling a familiar hint of avarice that told me to grab that vial and plunder its secrets, before reason reasserted itself; I was no Alchemist, so there was no scope to explore such matters, not before I got more established and began to hire some staff of my own. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go with that. What about the skeleton? I''m pretty sure both the innkeeper and the other adventurer saw it." "Just a harmless prank between friends," Kyle replied, winking at me. "Don''t worry, I''ll make sure Jacob plays along. The innkeep didn''t even recognise it, even before he took one to the head. Nothing to worry about." Personally, I thought the coverup was a bit flimsy, that it would probably be enough. It wasn''t intended to last forever, after all, just long enough to find Harvey and figure out how best to profit from the havoc to come. With the overarching plan now in place, all that was left was to give Kyle a quick overview of Harvey and Pumpkin¡¯s respective appearances, and then we were ready to head on out. I did spot the other adventurer on the ground floor of the inn, but he paid me no heed, only exchanging a few words with Kyle. I couldn¡¯t quite hear their whispers in the din of the bar, but judging by Kyle¡¯s expressive hand gestures and the young man¡¯s laughter, he¡¯d bought the Banshee explanation hook, link and sinker. They didn¡¯t sit together for long before Kyle rejoined me, while the young man stayed at the bar, flashing the cash and showing no intent of doing anything except for drinking the night away. The innkeeper was absent, which was good, because it would ¡®ve been awkward to talk to him after decking him in the face, even if it was clearly in self defence. That was a conversation for later, assuming we survived, and on that lovely thought, I led the two of us out of the inn and into the cold autumn night. Chapter 82: Call Me, Beep Me Chapter 82: Call Me, Beep Me We left the inn via the front door, which was a first for me; our caravan was parked in the empty space behind it, from which we disembarked and headed straight inside through the staff entrance. The main street was still busy despite it being late at night, a marked departure from Allensward and testament to the importance of abundant street lights. The majority wandering about were Civilians, dressed to impress on their night out, while a smattering of Soldiers and Guards were also present. The former patrolled the streets in small teams of two or three, while the latter manned fixed positions, only moving when relieved by the next man on shift, or to respond to a breach of public order (as one unlucky pickpocket found out). [Pumpkin - Level 3 Cat Placing a call, please wait calmly.] I led the way in a random direction, because Harvey never mentioned where he was headed, so the best I could do was wander aimlessly past shops, bars and restaurants looking for signs of trouble, while trying to try and reach my Contacts in the process. [Harvey Miller - Level 10 Thief of Souls Placing a call please wait calmly.] Unfortunately, the result was much the same as before, with the outbound call cutting off after a few seconds on hold, not even giving me any hints as to what was wrong. ¡°Are you able to reach anyone on your Contacts list?¡± I asked, hoping my new bodyguard might have better luck than I did. ¡°Let me check,¡± Kyle grunted, his eyes glazing over as he worked the System on his end, hands over his ears to block out the background noise. ¡°Sam, are you there lad? Great! Wasn¡¯t sure if I was hearing things just then. Why am I calling? Well, do you recall that time we dove down that abandoned mine shaft? You still owe my fifty gilt if I remember correctly¡­ Alright, he hung up on me, but the call worked fine until then.¡± ¡°So it¡¯s not a general block on communications,¡± I muttered, coming to a halt in front of what looked like a steakhouse, a faint metallic odor apparent even through a heavy mask of herbs and spices. The raucous clientele would be enough to drown out my own voice, assuming I managed to get through at all. I¡¯d already guessed that was the case, because there were enough people in The Dead Horse that someone else would have noticed such a thing, if it indeed covered the entire inn.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°In that case, either the block is on me, and I won¡¯t be able to reach anybody, or it¡¯s on the other end of the line.¡± After a moment¡¯s hesitation, I placed one final call to check exactly what was going on. [Amelia Dawn - Level 30 Necromancer Placing a call, please wait calmly.] She was my first Contact, as a matter of fact, added shortly after waking up in this second life. More importantly, she was back in Allensward, far beyond the reach of anybody nearby, nor would they have reason to suspect we were in contact. If this call went through, then the communications jamming was on the other end of the line, and maybe Amelia could even help us out; she surely had a wealth of experience and tricks on her side, to make it to Level 30. On the other hand, if this call still failed, then that was conclusive evidence that I was the one being jammed, and we were all in big trouble. [Connection established.] Thankfully, after the longest few seconds of my life, the call made it through. I swiftly covered my own ears, mimicking Kyle from before to keep the din out. ¡°Will? You¡¯ve made it to Heaven¡¯s Reach already?¡± Compared to our first meeting, the forced cheer was absent from Amelia¡¯s voice, replaced by a low rasp that betrayed either profound fatigue or a long term relationship with tobacco. It seemed she was more comfortable showing her true self, now that I was no longer concussed on a hospital bed, or maybe because I was now a fellow member of the Dead Head, come to think of it. ¡°It is, do you have time for an emergency consultation?¡± I asked without further preamble. ¡°Harvey¡¯s well being might depend on it.¡± ¡°Symptoms?¡± ¡°He¡¯s nowhere to be found, and all my attempts to call him are failing, the same goes for another companion we brought along. He only managed to pass along a written warning, before everything went quiet.¡± ¡°A warning?¡± Amelia sounded baffled. ¡°What did he say?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t trust your eyes.¡± I didn¡¯t hear from Amelia again for a long while, but the connection was still intact, as evidenced by the sounds of shuffling from over the line. I was tempted to clear my throat or do something just as obnoxious and attention-seeking, but managed to refrain until she spoke again. ¡°My Find Contact spell isn¡¯t working on Harvey either, how troublesome. I¡¯m limited in what I can do across such a vast distance, so that has to change. I need a conduit to tie me to Heaven¡¯s Reach. Go kill a man and dedicate his soul to me, alright? I¡¯ll pick things up from there.¡± [Call ended.] ¡°Excuse me?¡± I blinked, but Amelia was already gone, so I had nothing to do except lower my hands in defeat. ¡°Did you get what you needed?¡± Kyle asked, leaning close to speak, now that he knew my call had concluded. ¡°Possibly?¡± I shrugged, unsure what to make of her slightly grisly request. ¡°How well do you know the area?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve lived in Heaven¡¯s Reach all my life,¡± Kyle boasted, hand on heart. ¡°There¡¯s nowhere in this city I can¡¯t find my way around.¡± ¡°Great. In that case, take us to the rough part of town, preferably a neighbourhood where a few people won¡¯t be missed.¡± It was a testament to Kyle¡¯s experience that my request got nothing more than a raised eyebrow as he took over the course, setting off at a quick jog into the distance. Chapter 83: Slumdog Millionaire Chapter 83: Slumdog Millionaire It was never a question whether a rough part of town existed. There was always one, in every decently sized human population, that particular kind of place which ranked at the bottom of every list except the local crime index. In the time before, Brixton had famously held this dubious honour for most of my life, only shedding this image in the 21st century after a prolonged campaign of gentrification that coincided with England hosting the 2012 Summer Olympics, and was still ongoing in some fashion at the time of my death. Granted, it had fallen off the top spots for violent crime by then, supplanted with up and coming hotspots like Stonebridge, Croyden and Dagenham. The point being, no matter what the authorities did or how much money was invested, crime never vanished, it only relocated. This much was evident as I followed Kyle down a winding path, alternating between the main road, back streets and the occasional alleyway. We¡¯d begun our trek in the aforementioned merchant¡¯s district, where people walked the streets freely at night, and carriages laden with goods could be parked behind the local inn without worrying about theft. As we progressed, the crowds of revellers steadily declined, as did the quality of the local establishments. Poshly appointed restaurants and bars boasting a finely dressed clientele steadily gave way to grungy diners and alehouses surrounded by the seedier sorts, circling outside while indulging in wine by the bottle, cigars and lines of chalk white powder. If there was any difference from the bad wards in London, it was that our party of two had yet to be accosted by beggars, muggers or both, because instead of blocking our way to demand their share of coin, the rabble seemed content to stay out of our way, pretending to not even notice our passing. ¡°They won¡¯t bother us none,¡± Kyle boasted, not even sparing the onlookers a single glance. ¡°I grew up in these parts, I know my way around this crowd.¡± It made sense, especially since Kyle had yet to reactivate his earring, meaning that his Level was on display for all to see. None of those we walked past had even made it to Level 5, which made the Level 11 Sharpshooter a daunting prospect to face. I still wasn¡¯t sure what that class entailed, and Kyle for his part had shown nothing save a single short sword, remarkable only for its ubiquity and ease of use. It sounded pretty intimidating though, which was what mattered in the end. After what felt like twenty minutes, the road was entirely deserted except for the two of us, while the buildings had substituted brick for the much cheaper wood. The houses all showed signs of significant wear and tear, ranging from mildly rickety to looking like they¡¯d fall over in a stiff breeze. Windows were either entirely open or covered with strips of wrought iron; the only glass visible lay in broken shards along the floor, interspersed with the wreckage of wine bottles. The street lamps were likewise entirely empty, leaving only the odd candle inside one of the houses to provide a semblance of lighting. Out of this tableau of profound urban decay, only one building had a guard posted outside, which was naturally where Kyle led us towards.Stolen novel; please report. [Seb - Level 5 Guard Jeremy - Level 5 Guard] A pair of stocky men wearing chainmail vests and leggings, one boasted a two-handed tower shield, and the other a greatsword taller than himself, making for an odd pair that were likely trained specifically to work in tandem. Both of them startled as we came within a few feet of them, reflexively reaching for their armaments before relaxing as they saw Kyle¡¯s face. ¡°Kyle, you old prick,¡± Jeremy grumbled. ¡°Why do you insist on using Stealth? Give me a heart attack every time you visit, I swear to the Gods.¡± So it wasn¡¯t that we were being ignored, I realised in hindsight, Kyle had made it so they didn¡¯t see us at all. The fact that he¡¯d done so without my awareness, despite the fact I stood right next to him was unsettling, but did provide a good picture of how his Class worked. Even in this new world, the Stealth Archer was something to be feared, huh? Todd Howard would be proud, I thought. ¡°Back for another round of drinks?¡± Seb offered. ¡°It¡¯s your turn to pay.¡± ¡°Not tonight, I¡¯m afraid,¡± Kyle laughed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. ¡°Tonight, I¡¯m just here to show my young friend around. He asked for an introduction to the seedier part of Heaven¡¯s Reach, so here we are.¡± ¡°What I actually said was that I need someone to go missing,¡± I retorted, seeing Seb and Jeremy¡¯s gobsmacked faces. ¡°Not directly, but the subtext was there, and you definitely knew it.¡± He didn¡¯t give them my name, which was something, in fact he kept the entire matter quite vague. An admirable level of caution, but one which could be taken to extremes, hence my need to interject. ¡°In that case, you¡¯ve come to the right place,¡± Seb exclaimed, his eyes lighting up in understanding. ¡°This here is the old penitentiary; back when Heaven¡¯s Reach first started, it was the only jail for the growing town. Course, the town grew a lot bigger than it could accommodate, so a much larger prison was built further up, closer to the main garrison and the Wall. These days, this jailhouse only covers the local area, it¡¯s where we keep the people who even the slums won¡¯t accept.¡± ¡°I see. Do you have anyone available who¡¯s facing death row? I¡¯d appreciate it if we could take him off your hands, permanently.¡± Seb and Jeremy shared a long look at that, turning into an impromptu staring contest that made me realise they likely had the texting module, causing that longstanding annoyance to return with a vengeance. ¡°We might have someone who fits the bill,¡± Jeremy replied eventually. ¡°But it¡¯s complicated.¡± Par for the course, I thought wryly, hiding my exasperation behind a cold facade. ¡°Explain.¡± Chapter 84: Look Down Chapter 84: Look Down Annoyingly, neither of them said a thing to me, though judging by how Kyle stiffened shortly after, they had simply chosen to send him the details instead. An understandable precaution for sharing sensitive information, since we were still standing out in the street, so I couldn¡¯t fault them for it despite my annoyance at being something of a third wheel. Idly, I wondered if they had access to the group chat feature; the System had offered it to me, so it definitely existed, even if I¡¯d balked at the price. More importantly, I wondered how secure the information was; I¡¯d already become the target of interference in my communications, but was that the extent of what was possible, or could a sufficiently equipped adversary perform a wire tap and actually listen to or read what was said? I was hopeful that the System was secure against such intrusions, but I wasn¡¯t willing to bet the farm on it either. ¡°Acceptable,¡± Kyle eventually declared, pulling me from my thoughts and back to the matter at hand. Seb was quick to open the door after whatever agreement had been reached, but neither of the guards followed us into the prison itself. The inside of the building was as dilapidated as the rest, with mold growing on the walls and damp patches in the corners where the pipes were leaking. Even that was better than my expectations, as an equivalent facility in old England wouldn¡¯t have had interior plumbing at all. Manpower was the only thing not lacking, as pairs of guards stood at attention in teams of two, a dozen of them to guard barely twice that number of cells, of which less than half actually had any residents. The resulting staff to inmate ratio was skewed in favour of the former, something that only really happened in maximum security prisons of the modern day. We passed these guards without interruption, having clearly been informed of our presence in advance. The prisoners were likewise quiet, most of them already asleep, leaving only a handful of shifty-eyed fellows to stare avariciously our way. I could only assume they longed for our freedom of movement, something heavily ingrained in all right-thinking men, but they were smart enough to keep quiet, and I had no intention of indulging them. Kyle didn¡¯t spare any of them a second glance, leading us down the corridor of cells to a stairwell at the very end, where we led us down into the depths. Twice more this ritual repeated, our silent procession of two passing a ridiculous number of guards, far too many to be needed for such a run down facility. I could only guess that this was a front of some sort, either for the provision of sinecures to the otherwise unemployable, or as a way of inflating the payroll with an eye towards pocketing or skimming off the top. Naturally, I didn¡¯t share any of my speculation, because we were still surrounded by law enforcement officers, irrespective of their potential corruption. It was only as we reached the end of the third corridor that the routine changed.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°Anti-scrying runes are active in the floor below. They will alert us if anybody tries to make a recording. You don¡¯t want that to happen.¡± [Level 15 Warden] I believed him. His was the highest level I''d seen in the city thus far, and the full plate armor he wore, complete with an all-concealing helmet certainly added to the aura of menace he exuded. The fact that someone like this was guarding the stairwell made it clear that the next floor was nothing like what came before; given that no guard had exceeded Level 5 the whole way here. Unlike the previous stairwells, which corresponded to a single floor, this one spiralled down into oppressive darkness, even the candles inlaid at steady intervals struggling to pierce the cloud. There were no guards at the bottom when we arrived at last, just a single cell with a single occupant, still awake and far more lively than his brothers in chains. The prisoners above were thin, shrivelled things wearing little more than tattered rags, who slept on straw mats on the floor in cells devoid of furnishings. On the contrary, this particular jailbird was well dressed, having managed to keep a pristine white robe trimmed with gold, the kind of gaudiness I tended to associate with high end spas and saunas. His cell likewise featured a proper bed, a writing desk and even a mirror, making it positively luxurious by comparison. Even his name was hidden, indicating either an unusual Trait or the presence of at least one magical item to boot. ¡°You, you¡¯re no guards. You must be the ones Father sent to free me. Well, what are you waiting for? Unlock this door at once, and I¡¯ll forgive your tardiness just this once!¡± He was young, his voice barely broken and still carrying a hint of youthful vigour. His manner of speech was equally informative, every word laced with condescension and an arrogant certainty that they would be obeyed. That said, it didn¡¯t escape my notice that he made no mention of who his Father was, whereas the spoiled young brats back in London would¡¯ve had the name on their lips within a single sentence; a sign that he was still capable of some subtlety, perhaps, or an indication that it was a name so well known that he didn¡¯t usually need to say it. ¡°Who are you?¡± I asked him bluntly, because he wasn¡¯t a person to me, just a resource I needed to get out of a rather sticky situation, so there was no need to flatter him. The young man, and I was pretty sure he was no more than a teenager, didn¡¯t respond, instead turning an odd purple that made me wonder about his health. Thankfully, in the absence of his reply, Kyle was more than happy to fill me in instead. Chapter 85: Impure World Reincarnation Chapter 85: Impure World Reincarnation ¡°This is John, the young master of a rather influential official who lives near the top of Heaven¡¯s Reach. His kind wouldn¡¯t normally be caught dead in these parts, but John here decided it would be a good time to sneak out for a night of carousing with only a few servants behind him. Most of these trips went fine, the most recent one ended in a double murder. The servants went to the noose weeks ago, but John¡¯s Father has made enough noise to keep him from joining them in death.¡± ¡°Exactly! Release me at once, and see me home; I¡¯ll make sure you¡¯re well rewarded for your deeds!¡± John interjected, having cottoned on to the fact that we weren¡¯t his hired help and thus resorting to bribery. ¡°I wanted someone who wouldn¡¯t be missed,¡± I hissed, ignoring the fop entirely. ¡°The son of some big-wig upstairs is the opposite of that!¡± ¡°Stop ignoring me, and let me hear what you¡¯re saying! I demand to be included!¡± ¡°Shut it,¡± Kyle grunted, and to my disbelief John actually obeyed; or not, as his lips continued to move, while no sound came out. What actually happened was that Kyle had extended his Stealth effect in both directions; John already hadn¡¯t been able to hear us, but now we were spared his whining as well. ¡°It would be problematic for most people,¡± Kyle agreed, grinning at my displeasure. ¡°But if you¡¯re looking for a sacrifice, then you aren¡¯t most people. See, the Warden could easily make John disappear, and even dispose of the body, but the problem he has is that there¡¯s no way to deal with the soul, so it would only take daddy dearest a single consultation with a Priest of the Dead, and everything comes out.¡± ¡°But if the right ritual is used, or the soul is consumed, that invalidates attempts to interrogate the dead,¡± I concluded, connecting the dots. Nothing I¡¯d read about the Priesthood had indicated the ability to commune with the dead, but it was a logical assumption given the inherent link between deities and the afterlife. ¡°Exactly. You get the sacrificial lamb you wanted, the Warden has a headache taken off of his hands, and we get a lead on your lost friends. Everyone wins.¡± ¡°...Let me talk to my Contact.¡± [Amelia Dawn - Level 30 NecromancerIf you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Placing a call, please stand by.] ¡°Have you got the sacrifice?¡± Amelia asked, picking up almost immediately this time. ¡°I do, but there¡¯s a complication. The man selected is a bit sensitive, so we¡¯ll need to get rid of any trace of our involvement; both the body and the soul need to be unreachable afterwards.¡± ¡°Is that all?¡± Amelia scoffed, sounding almost offended. ¡°I¡¯ve been doing this for a long time, Will. Barring literal divine intervention, nothing will remain of him.¡± ¡°In that case, there¡¯s nothing to worry about.¡± At least, nothing for me to worry about, because even if this didn¡¯t go as planned, I¡¯d called Amelia beforehand and gotten her approval. Whether in corporate life or in crime, the importance of ¡®cover your ass¡¯ could not be overstated. Not that I was overly worried; we weren¡¯t even planning to stay in Heaven¡¯s Reach for long, especially in light of recent events. More likely that not, we¡¯d be rushing out of the city to avoid the ensuing crackdown, and would never interact with the Father in the slightest. ¡°Good. Keep the call open while you kill the sacrifice, and make sure to dedicate the kill to me. That should be enough for the ritual to take hold of him.¡± ¡°Dedicate how?¡± I asked, having little experience with ritual murder, surprisingly enough. ¡°Is there a particular invocation I need to follow?¡± ¡°Mention the name of the victim followed by my own, and be sincere. These are the key points, the exact wording is unimportant so long as the criteria are met.¡± ¡°Alright, I have word that the ritual is good to go,¡± I turned to Kyle as I said this, looping him in fully. ¡°How do we get inside the cage?¡± I could¡¯ve stored the padlock, but I preferred not to display that particular ability if I could help it; Kyle should have believed me either a Merchant due to the caravan, or a Soldier from killing the Changeling, and I saw no reason to disabuse him of such notions with an ability more suited for a Thief. That proved the right choice, because Kyle promptly produced a key that I never saw him receive, unlocking the heavy iron door with a single flick of his wrist. John rushed at me the moment the door opened, a surprisingly decisive move likely driven by desperation. He was slow as molasses, so I needed no tricks, just a simple punch to the head dealt with him nicely. I searched his body as he groaned on the floor, quickly finding a Blackened Bracelet similar to my own. [John Joy - Level 1 Civilian] Pulling it off, his full name was revealed to me; I could¡¯ve gone with just his given name, but there was no point taking chances over something so easily resolved. [Knife withdrawn.] ¡°John Joy, I claim your life today, in the name of ______ ____.¡± Somehow, sound refused to carry Amelia¡¯s name, even as I spoke it aloud while dragging my knife across John¡¯ throat; likely a protective measure on the Necromancer¡¯s part. That little surprise aside, the dedication went exactly as planned; I gave it the bare minimum to meet the requirements, as I¡¯d never been the most verbose when it was unneeded. Amelia hadn¡¯t mentioned what would happen next, but I was reasonably sure I¡¯d succeeded when John¡¯s blood turned to black smoke and his body began to crumble into dust. The smoke continued to grow and congeal, turning into an opaque ball the size of my head as the last of the corpse disappeared. Finally, it solidified into a midnight black marble, a glowing red eye visible on its surface and staring right at me. [Adjudicator - Level 25] Chapter 86: Grave Consequences Chapter 86: Grave Consequences [Adjudicator - Level 25] ¡°Well, you were right, there¡¯s nothing left of the guy.¡± I wasn¡¯t typically one to monologue, but I felt the need to break the mood. The alternative was to stand around dead silent, being stared at by a giant floating eyeball, which would never not be creepy. ¡°The stronger the man, the stronger his soul upon death, and the more difficult it is to make their rest final. You needn¡¯t worry about this one, he never did more than the bare minimum for a single day of his life, it took barely a nudge to shatter him beyond repair. Never mind him, my proxy is now active, so let me deal with this pesky interference. Purify.¡± I hissed and clenched my teeth as the eye glowed white hot, seemingly transferring that same burning sensation onto my skin. I kept my cool however, being no stranger to a bit of rough treatment, because as bad as this was, it still had nothing on chemotherapy. Moreover, it was clearly working, as the purple cloud pouring out of my pores could attest to; even through the biting pain, I felt lighter by the second, feeling the lifting of a weight I¡¯d never noticed take hold. One long, agonizing minute later, and I was free of it, free to slump against the wall and wipe the sweat from my brow, consigning it to the oblivion of my inventory. ¡°Holy magic and necromancy?¡± Kyle whistled to himself. ¡°Is that a normal combination where you come from?¡± The Adjudicator side eyed him, displaying an impressive degree of expression despite the lack of a face. I wasn¡¯t quite sure if Kyle turned pale as it focused on him, or if it was simply a trick of the light, but he definitely backed away a step as it floated closer to him. ¡°I did start out as a Healer, a good one too! It was many years after my Class Day when I stumbled upon an impromptu career change, which is the case for pretty much every Necromancer, the System doesn¡¯t assign such a Class to children any more; not because the Class is inherently evil or anything, but due to the typical reaction of superstitious fools who believe it to be so. Having to kill your entire village after they try to burn you at the stake might be good for rapid levelling, but it tends to have grave consequences for the newbie¡¯s sanity, or so my teacher was fond of saying, pun included.¡± [Plum withdrawn.] Kyle groaned at the joke, while I continued an old theatre tradition by throwing ripe fruit at the eyeball. It went right through, splattering against the cell wall to no avail.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Are you sure you should be telling me this?¡± Kyle asked, still sounding a bit dubious but looking altogether more relaxed after the tension broke. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to connect the dots or anything, but sometimes it¡¯s better not to hear it at all.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine. Healers are the most common pre class for a Necromancer, even if you ran straight to the Temples with that tidbit, they¡¯d only lecture you for wasting their time.¡± ¡°Is it possible to swap to any class? I mean, I¡¯ve heard of people becoming Bards for the music feature, but other than that, I wasn¡¯t able to find much information on it.¡± We were getting a bit off topic, admittedly, but this was a chance for genuine advice from a high level veteran, someone who had decades of experience at minimum, and possibly centuries depending on just when she started dabbling in the craft. There was no way I was giving this chance up, so Harvey and Pumpkin would just have to hold on for a little bit longer. ¡°In theory, sure. In practice, good luck finding out how, for any Class worth having at any rate. You can become a Civilian just by telling the System you¡¯re renouncing your current Class, so it acts as a catchall for someone looking to retire. The arts and crafts Classes, like the aforementioned Bard just need instruction; a few weeks of learning the basics from somebody who already has the Class you want is enough, unless you¡¯re particularly dumb and can¡¯t grasp the material. A few of the basic combat Classes, you can get just by grabbing a stick and going to whack monsters in the right way for a few days, as long as it¡¯s real combat and you don¡¯t get eaten in the process. Soldier is probably the most complex of those kinds of Classes; if you don¡¯t get it on Class Day, it¡¯s an entire three to six month boot camp to get you up to shape and learn everything needed to qualify; most of the Kingdoms will run this once a year for people looking to enlist, though of course you¡¯ll need to sign a minimum term service contract in return.¡± Belatedly, I noticed that Kyle had pulled a notebook from somewhere and was writing all this down, making me think that even what Amelia called ¡®basic information¡¯ wasn¡¯t exactly widespread. Or maybe there was something else at play, I decided, seeing the letters he wrote on twisting and turning on the page, before quickly looking away. ¡°The problem with getting a valuable Class tends to stem from at least one of three issues: talent, knowledge or materials. To become a Mage, you need a minimum sensitivity to mana, or else you¡¯ll be unable to cast even the simplest of spells. The requirement of the Class change is to freecast a spell without the aid of the System, so hopefully your body was born correctly, otherwise good luck with that. To become a Necromancer, I had to find a site heavy with death, and immerse myself in a pool of necrotic energy for a full day and night. I needed my Master¡¯s guidance for the former, and my pre-existing magic to accomplish the latter without my organs shutting down, which kills nine tenths of those who try. Want to become an Alchemist? Sure, all you have to do is correctly brew a low-grade potion, after burning through over a thousand Gilt worth of reagents, assuming your talent in the field is average. Unless you have a merchant¡¯s guild or a noble supporting you, that¡¯s unlikely to be viable. Those are just the middle tier to boot, the lowest rung of the truly desired classes. Compare what it takes to earn them on your own merits, versus winning the lottery on Class Day, and you can start to understand why Children are so valuable, yes?¡± Chapter 87: Big in Japan Chapter 87: Big in Japan ¡°Much better to get a full-fledged Class for free than invest in the training or resources to make them after the fact. As long as there¡¯s enough of them appearing naturally, anyway.¡± It was a familiar mindset, one that had come to dominate the western school of capitalist discourse. Cost cuttings and efficiency were forever the order of the day, and good enough was the mantra for every aspect of product design and manufacture. This relentless obsession towards achieving more profit had built the most prosperous society in human history, and yet there was undeniably something lost in the process, that ephemeral quality that I had only just begun to acknowledge as the soul. Once, on a trip to Japan, I had the fortune to partake in fugu: delicate shavings of pufferfish sashimi that were simply to die for. Quite literally, as their organs contained one of the deadliest natural toxins known to man, and a single shoddy cut in their preparation could make the dish a diner¡¯s last meal. It was truly delicious, featuring a firm texture paired with a sweet and savoury taste that I¡¯d yet to find replicated in any other fish, all for a punchy three hundred pounds sterling before drinks and VAT. After the meal, as we were the last table before closing, I had the privilege of chatting to the head chef and manager of the restaurant as he prepared to close the kitchen for the night. He started as a kitchen boy in that very same restaurant, only fifteen years old as he washed the dishes to relieve the burden on his seniors. It was two whole years before he handled his first blowfish, another three years to complete his apprenticeship, and several months more of practice before he finally passed the gruelling licensing exam to become a certified fugu chef, earning the right to serve this most dangerous dish to paying customers. Three decades of diligent service after that, without a single case of poisoning, to inherit that same restaurant upon his teacher¡¯s retirement. It was his shop now, serving anywhere between ten to fifty paying customers a day, with only two tables at a time booked in advance, a profoundly intimate experience beyond even what most Michelin starred establishments could offer. I remember marvelling at this, all the hours and years that had gone into his career, all to serve the very best fish he could. By another London metric, this entire business model was wildly inefficient, decadent, and a clear example of conspicuous consumption writ large. So why did I look back on it so fondly, with a grainy photograph of myself and the head chef taking pride of place on my desk even decades later? What was the joy I felt, taking bite sized pieces of a masterpiece on my plate? I thought I finally understood it a bit better, in that moment of epiphany, so many years and a reincarnation later.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it [50 XP gained from your meditation upon the nature of materialism.] ¡°Are you back with us?¡± Kyle stage-whispered, having seen me rouse myself. Somehow, I¡¯d managed to sink to the floor during my little breakdown, curling up in a ball on the cold stone floor as my mind went on a tour of my distant memories. I made sure to vanish the grime on my clothes as I rose back to my feet; it was important to always put my best foot forward, especially in front of my manager¡¯s manager in a sense. ¡°Sorry, I was having a Class moment. Greed can be dangerous, I think.¡± At least my mind was unmuddled, and my explanations came easily as always; my compulsion to tell the truth barely even registered, for I had spent many decades already talking in technical truths. ¡°Coin is precious, and rightfully valued, but taking it too far has sent many a fool to their grave,¡± Kyle spouted, seeming to buy my explanation. ¡°That you¡¯re even aware of it shows you¡¯ve got a good head on your shoulders; you¡¯ll get far in life as a Merchant, I¡¯m sure.¡± I never did remove my Blackened Bracelet, but Kyle had clearly seen my attire and behaviour and drawn his own conclusions, even if he was surely revisiting them in light of recent events. ¡°What about the most valuable classes? The very top of the line; can those be swapped into at all?¡± I decided to change the topic nonetheless, because there was no benefit in revealing my secrets, not when Amelia¡¯s were available to share. ¡°At that level, information is hard to come by, even for me. It¡¯s rarely ever written down or shared through the System, instead being passed by word of mouth from master to successor. Perhaps the simplest and best known is the King; to hold this Class, one must attain recognition as a ruler in the eyes of the System. The exact criteria are unknown to me, but involve at minimum the obedience of a kingdom¡¯s worth of people, the formal institutions of government, the military and so on. In return, they can lay down Edicts that upend the world across entire regions at a time, something otherwise exclusive to divinity. Of course, they also earn a massive target on their backs, and no King has ever died peacefully of old age in their bed, so it¡¯s a mixed blessing. Anything beyond that, I¡¯d rather not say. It might get you all killed, if the wrong people were to overhear. Enough of that, at any rate; weren¡¯t you eager to find your lost pet? My Adjudicator has removed the curse cast upon you, so why don¡¯t you give him a call?¡± Amelia sounded like she was done with the conversation, so I didn¡¯t hesitate to get back on track myself. [Pumpkin - Level 4 Cat Placing a call, please stand by.] Pumpkin was still alive, and had even gained a level in the meantime, so I was happy enough to make the attempt. [Call connected.] ¡°It worked this time!¡± I exclaimed, happy to see that this wasn¡¯t all for nothing, helpful Class insights aside. ¡°Will? Is that you? I¡¯m a bit busy right now.¡± Pumpkin huffed, panting for breath between every word. Over the line, I could hear the sound of clashing blades, profanity, and gunpowder, which definitely did not set my heart at ease. ¡°Where are you? What¡¯s going on over there?¡± I asked, trying to hone in on the voices but finding none of the familiar to me. ¡°Well, you see¡­¡± Chapter 88: Ratting Them Out Chapter 88: Ratting Them Out ¡°This is really weird,¡± Pumpkin muttered to himself, creeping close to the ground with his nose to the floor, following the distinctive and unmistakable scent of prey. Will hadn¡¯t noticed anything, but that was to be expected; the scientific consensus held that a cat¡¯s nose was anywhere between nine and sixteen times more sensitive than a human¡¯s, capable of picking up a level of granular detail that was simply unimaginable for a man. This wasn¡¯t always pleasant, and Pumpkin had made a name for himself in his younger years for scratching any lady who favoured a particularly pungent perfume, but it was undeniably useful for when he was on the hunt. What was strange in this instance, however, was that all of the scents he could pick up were old; there wasn¡¯t a single fresh rat nearby, which was remarkably odd, given their ubiquity wherever humans gathered in large numbers. Sure, he could smell a handful of other cats wandering around, but there was no way half a dozen moggies could keep this much ground clear; there was no doubt about it, something foul was afoot. Following his nose, Pumpkin quickly found himself wandering further than he¡¯d first intended, scampering along at a sedate twenty miles an hour as he watched the surrounding houses and people¡¯s attire degrade further with every step he took. By the time he saw his first furry companion in mischief, a round old tomcat as black as the void, the streets were already mostly empty; the few commuters that remained going about their business with hunched backs and shoulders stiffened by tension. ¡°You a local?¡± Pumpkin asked, coming to a halt next to the other cat, who was gnawing on the remains of a porkchop he¡¯d pilfered. ¡°Sure am, the locals call me Ralph! Are you new around here?¡± [Ralph - Level 1 Cat] The System confirmed the truth of his words, though the specifics of how names were assigned escaped Pumpkin. It didn¡¯t matter anyway, as the important thing was less the name and more what it implied: the System¡¯s recognition of the individual so named, because there were plenty of animals in this world, some of them more equal than others. The System would not accept users incapable of accessing its core functionality, and actively upgraded their minds until a certain baseline was met; because of this, anybody with a name tag had at least human-adjacent intelligence. ¡°I¡¯m just passing through, I managed to get adopted by a merchant¡¯s caravan. A bit boring at times, but there¡¯s never any shortage of food.¡± If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Neither of them bothered to take the conversation somewhere more private, being content to chat away by the roadside. Why not, when onlookers would only hear two cats meowing at each other? ¡°Sounds nice,¡± Ralph admitted. ¡°There¡¯s plenty of food to go around here, but I have to work for it. Gotta go fast, and can¡¯t stay at the same market for more than a few days at a time, otherwise they get annoyed and start chasing me.¡± Ralph then proceeded to undercut his tale of hardship and woe by belching loudly, spraying bone fragments in a wide arc that forced Pumpkin to backpedal in avoidance. ¡°You must be starving,¡± Pumpkin deadpanned, turning his nose at the display. ¡°Never mind that. What I meant to ask was, why aren¡¯t there any rats around? If you¡¯re eating from human stores, and there¡¯s only a few other cats within scent range, what¡¯s gobbling them all up?¡± ¡°Oh, them,¡± Ralph huffed. ¡°There¡¯s a bunch of impostors running around, if you can believe it. Fake cats, not a single brain cell between them, scarfing up all the small critters and even debasing themselves by eating insects on the side. They¡¯re all dumb as a sack of rocks, can¡¯t even speak our language, but they leave us real cats alone, so we live and let live. You might spot them if you hang around for a bit longer, they don¡¯t tend to come out until the deepest part of the night; antisocial cretins, one and all.¡± ¡°Interesting,¡± Pumpkin purred, feeling the anticipation of an entirely new hunt, not for food but for information. ¡°So they¡¯ve never tried to hunt us cats? We¡¯re not that much bigger than some of the rats, when you think about it.¡± ¡°They wouldn¡¯t dare,¡± Ralph scoffed. ¡°I know I don¡¯t look like much, but that¡¯s just cause I never bothered levelling up; too much effort for my taste, but believe me when I say there are some strong Cats who live higher up near the Wall, strong enough to rain hell down on anyone making a nuisance of themselves.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± Pumpkin¡¯s ears perked up. ¡°How strong are we talking? I¡¯m from a small town, so I¡¯ve no frame of comparison.¡± ¡°Strong enough to be recorded as a special military asset by the Kingdom. We rarely see each other, but there are the occasional gatherings where we catch up on current affairs. If you¡¯re around next time, I¡¯ll bring you along?¡± [Ralph wants to add you as a Contact. Yes/No?] ¡°Sure,¡± Pumpkin agreed, accepting the Contact request easily enough, making it his second after Will himself. ¡°Now then, it was great meeting you, but it¡¯s best I return to the hunt. Those rats aren¡¯t going to eat themselves after all.¡± Cats weren¡¯t the kind to belabour themselves with long goodbyes, so before long, Pumpkin was back on the trot. Truth be told, he didn¡¯t really care about the rats, but more what their absence represented. Whatever was going on here definitely felt unnatural, and Pumpkin was determined to get to the bottom of it. Thus far, Will had been the focus of all the weirdness, so he was determined to bring back a good story of his own. [50 XP gained for stumbling upon a conspiracy. Level up!] Even the System seemed to agree, putting him in a very good mood indeed as he considered his options. Chapter 89: Tetragrammaton Chapter 89: Tetragrammaton [Level up! Pumpkin Class: Level 4 Cat Title: [Empty] Experience: 315/500] ¡°So far so good,¡± Pumpkin mused, seeing nothing out of the ordinary on his status page. The next level would take a bit longer to get, but that was to be expected for Level 5, which was generally the first true milestone on one¡¯s journey, and granted rewards that would be useful for the rest of one¡¯s life. [Advancement
  • Annoy people.
  • Assist your owner.
  • Kill, kill, kill.
Turning Point: Crisis Core If you continue down your present path, all three criteria will be met. Dark times approach, will you stand and fight against the dying of the light? Y/N.] That, on the other paw, required careful consideration. Pumpkin was baffled enough to find a hiding spot, tucking himself beneath the stairs leading up to a raised terrace, which got him nicely out of view as he considered his options. ¡°The System can even tell the future, huh.¡± It had to be said that despite its importance in every strata of society, nobody really knew what the System was, or where it came from. This was an eternal question, debated endlessly in the halls of academy and rowdy taverns alike; most believed it to be the work of one or multiple gods, because who else could achieve such a feat of magic? Pumpkin had his doubts, but even he was cautious in the face of an apparent prophecy. After a while, going back and forth in his mind, he eventually decided to phone a friend for advice. [Will Swindell Placing a call, please stand by.] Pumpkin barely had time to notice the name tag; no level again, as was typical when the Blackened Bracelet was equipped, when the call cut out without a single indication as to why. [Will SwindellA case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Placing a call, please stand by.] A second attempt returned the same result, so Pumpkin didn¡¯t bother to try a third. Whatever was going on, whether this was the System or a third-party intervening, it appeared that this decision would have to be made on his own. ¡°Eh, gut instinct it is then.¡± [Crisis Core accepted.] Pumpkin chose yes, because he had nine lives to play with, so risking one of them wasn¡¯t too much of a sacrifice. [Title gained for making a very dangerous decision! The Reckless: Damage dealt and received greatly increased] Pumpkin equipped it immediately, because who didn¡¯t love a damage buff? The downside didn¡¯t concern her much, because it wouldn¡¯t matter as long as he avoided taking any hits; also, he had nine lives. His eyes didn¡¯t linger too long on the title, however, as he was keen to get to the meat of the matter. [Select one of two choices below. 1) Cat Scratch Fever: Wound you inflict fester, causing damage over time and resisting natural healing. 2) Zoomies: Push past your limits, greatly increasing your speed at the cost of endurance.] Pumpkin grabbed Cat Scratch Fever as soon as the option appeared, barely sparing a glance for the latter option. He was already plenty fast as a cat, even before taking into account the ability to teleport, so Zoomies was only going to suffer from diminishing returns. More damage, on the other hand, could never go amiss. [Bonus granted due to the effect of Crisis Core. Lord of Vermin: Gain Language (Rodent)] ¡°The System has a funny sense of humour,¡± Pumpkin concluded, after gaining the ability to communicate with rats, something that would¡¯ve been very useful for gathering intelligence going forward; except not at present, because some mysterious impostors ate all of the ones nearby. Still, complaining would achieve nothing, so there was little Pumpkin could do except climb out from under the stairs, raise his nose to the wind, and continue the hunt. The streets were entirely devoid of humans now, and in dire need of repair, with potholes and missing pavement being the order of the day. To add insult to injury, the trail up ahead seemed designed to confound him, turning on itself with neither rhyme nor reason, until even his keen senses couldn¡¯t tell him which way to go. Then, Pumpkin froze, having caught an entirely different yet equally familiar smell. ¡°What¡¯s Harvey doing in these parts? Can anybody living in this dump even afford our drugs?¡± Harvey¡¯s path was thankfully much easier to follow, as there were many rats but only one of him, leading past a run down church, rows of dilapidated terraced houses, and culminating in a simple hole dug straight into the dirt, cleverly hidden off to the side at the end of an alley, invisible from the view of passersby. Now even more curious, Pumpkin wasted no time heading down the tunnel, Harvey¡¯s scent intensifying the further down he went; unfortunately, that wasn¡¯t the only thing growing stronger. ¡°Shaper of Flesh, Changer of Ways, bless us with the light of ten thousand eyes, Feast of our offerings, partake of our souls, until the System itself bows beneath you. Shaper of Flesh, Changer of Ways¡­¡± The ominous chant repeated itself, again and again ad infinitum, yet despite Pumpkin¡¯s best efforts, he was unable to identify a single voice from the choir, not even to the point of determining an individual pitch or tone; all of it blended together seamlessly, far too smooth to be natural. When he eventually emerged from the tunnel into an impressively large cavern, Pumpkin was shocked but not surprised to see rows of robed cultists sitting in circles around a large stone altar. Every inch of the altar¡¯s surface was coated red, with the bodies of countless sacrifices tossed to the wayside. Most were rats, their throat roughly torn, dripping red to match the fingers of the innermost circle of cultists, but a few of those present were human. The dead failed to register to the System, as Pumpkin was no Necromancer, but he wasn¡¯t looking at them anyway, his attention fully focused on Harvey, bound and gagged alongside a handful of still living captives. ¡°Oh dear.¡± Chapter 90: Baba Yetu Chapter 90: Baba Yetu Quite frankly, if the choice was between fighting the entire roomful of cultists to save Harvey or running, Pumpkin would already have been a blur in the distance. He didn¡¯t mind Harvey, the man who had provided for his room and board over the last few weeks, but that wasn¡¯t enough of a bond for him to throw his life away in a futile gesture, even if that still left him with eight to go. Fortunately for Harvey, the situation wasn¡¯t quite so dire. Watching from the sidelines, it quickly became evident that the cultists were entirely focused on the sacrificial altar, where handfuls of rats were currently thrashing against the grip of an invisible hand, bleeding their last before the adoring eyes of the flock. There was a set pace to the ritual, such that one human was offered only after ten batches of rats, after which the rotation would begin anew. The offerings were all under guard, of course, such that Pumpkin had no confidence of getting close enough to do anything, but that didn¡¯t mean the situation was hopeless. Backing away back to the tunnel and well out of sight in case anybody chanced a look his way, Pumpkin returned to the System and did what he could to blow this conspiracy wide open. [Will Swindell Placing a call, please stand by.] Calling Will still wasn¡¯t working, meaning that whatever was blocking communications wasn¡¯t limited to his level up experience. [Ralph - Level 1 Cat Placing a call, please stand by. Call connected.] ¡°Jackpot!¡± Pumpkin grinned, because whatever was blocking Will from answering held no power over his newest acquaintance. ¡°Pumpkin?¡± Ralph answered, a note of befuddlement in his voice. ¡°Hey Ralph. You know that incredibly powerful protector of felines you mentioned earlier? Would you happen to have them in your Contacts?¡± Pumpkin asked, wasting no time at all. ¡°Of course. Every Cat who settles in Heaven¡¯s Reach will get it at the annual gathering. We inform him of any threats we notice, and he protects us in turn. We are the hidden eyes and ears in the shadows, protecting the city in accordance with the pact between felinekind and the Guardian of the Walls. Why?¡± ¡°I found the missing rats along with a few human extras. I¡¯m not sure what it is you saw, but I doubt they were being eaten, because they¡¯re all being sacrificed right now, to a Shaper of Flesh, Changer of Ways. Sound familiar?¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°...I¡¯ll be right back.¡± [Call ended.] Pumpkin didn¡¯t have much to do except wait, having already played informant, so he settled down on his haunches to wait for a reply. In that time, two more humans lost their lives, screaming in a mixture of terror and defiance as their vital essence was consumed by the altar. Neither of them sounded like Harvey though, so he wasn¡¯t overly concerned just yet; the rats, understandably, weren¡¯t even a consideration here. Curiosity still compelled him to peek back into the cavern, where the difference in quality became apparent. Even to his limited vision at a distance, both men looked like vagrants, wearing little more than rags and caked in filth, clearly chosen for sacrifice on the basis that few would notice them missing. How exactly Harvey had gotten mixed up in this mess, Pumpkin didn¡¯t know; what few dots he¡¯d been able to connect were painting a picture he didn¡¯t like at all. [Ralph is calling. Pick up? Y/N] ¡°What have you got for me?¡± Pumpkin asked at once, not bothering with the niceties as he picked up. ¡°Besides you, is there anyone on site that you¡¯d prefer to live on?¡± ¡°Harvey Miller, an acquaintance of mine who got grabbed as a sacrifice. I was only able to uncover this mess by tracking his scent.¡± ¡°Harvey Miller, got it. Hunker down and enjoy the show, Schrodinger has agreed to enter the battle.¡± ¡°Great!¡± Pumpkin sighed in relief; the name wasn¡¯t familiar to him, but the confidence in Ralph¡¯s voice was reassuring nonetheless. ¡°Do you need directions? I can remember the route I took after we parted ways.¡± [Call ended.] ¡°I guess not?¡± Pumpkin scratched his head at the abrupt dismissal. ¡°Guess not.¡± Pumpkin came very, very close to yowling, because that echo had come from right next to him, far too close for comfort given his proximity to the enemy. Spinning around, he found himself next to a small white kitten, faint tufts of hair raised on its head to resemble a crown, while a cheeky grin was glued to his face, belayed only by the anger apparent in his milky white eyes. He looked young enough that Pumpkin felt the urge to grab him by the scuff for his insolence, except for the fat that the numbers didn¡¯t lie. [Schrodinger - Level 77 Cat] ¡°That was fast,¡± Pumpkin deadpanned, doing his best to pretend his heart wasn¡¯t racing. ¡°How did you even find me here?¡± ¡°You are a Cat in Heaven¡¯s Reach. I am aware of all my kin within these walls, once alerted of your plight, all it took was a bit of focus to find your exact coordinates. Hm. Your scent lingers on only one of the men, that would be Harvey, yes?¡± ¡°None of the other bums qualify to be my companion,¡± Pumpkin agreed, fully aware that he was condemning them to die; tough luck, but he had no obligation to care for strangers, especially not with the strange turn the night had taken. He¡¯d found Harvey, and uncovered a suspicious plot; he¡¯d done his part, and everything else that was about to happen was simply beyond his control. ¡°Very well,¡± Schrodinger nodded, and slowly paddled into the cavern. Unlike Pumpkin, whose brown coat blended quite nicely into the surrounding walls, the white kitten quickly drew attention from the nearest cultists. They didn¡¯t immediately fly off the handle and try to attack or flee, leading Pumpkin to conclude that they were unable to see name tags, befores why else would they try to pick the Level 77 Cat up like a common stray? Not that this was permitted, because as soon as one of them got within touching distance, Schrodinger sighed softly and spoke. ¡°Secret Art: Wave Collapse.¡± Chapter 91: Wave Collapse Chapter 91: Wave Collapse Pumpkin had expected something impressive from Schrodiner¡¯s appearance; it was hard not to, given how much Ralph had hyped him up, never mind his extraordinary level. Pumpkin thought himself prepared to witness a storm of claws, faster than he could move but hopefully not perceive, tearing the entire assembly of cultists to pieces whilst possibly catching a few unfortunate hostages in the process, hence the prior clarification on who had to stay alive. What actually happened was simply beyond his ability to comprehend. It started with the cultists nearest to Schrodinger: the one reaching down to scoop him up and his two companions. They were close enough for Pumpkin¡¯s vision to take in fully, so there was no mistaking it when they turned translucent, offering him a distorted look through their bodies at the cohorts beyond, before all three of them simply popped, out of sight and out of existence. From there, the phenomenon only spread, enveloping and encompassing ever increasing numbers as a dozen men were deleted with every passing second, and there were only a few dozen to begin with. The corpses weren¡¯t spared either, scoured clean along with their killers with inhuman efficiency. ¡°Even the ground?¡± Pumpkin whispered, awestruck as he noticed that the pools of blood decorating the floor were gradually diminishing, droplets and layers fading alongside every wave of bodies as they were scoured from existing, each part and whole indivisible before Schrodinger¡¯s might. After what felt like hours, tracking increasingly confusing leads, meeting Ralph and reorienting his search, levelling up, and the nerve-wracking wait in the cave, the final battle lasted all of thirteen seconds, and then there were none. None save for Schrodinger, Pumpkin, and Harvey, the latter¡¯s restraints banished to oblivion as he slowly rose to his feet, working some circulation back into his wrists and ankles as he stood. Notably, his blindfold hadn¡¯t been removed, an oversight which puzzled Pumpkin until he turned to Schrodinger to find the kitten sticking his tongue out. ¡°Best he doesn¡¯t see my appearance, it¡¯d be regrettable to have to kill him after your effort to save his life.¡± On that reassuring note, Schrodinger himself disappeared from sight, leaving only a single remnant of his passing. [Schrodinger would like to add you as a Contact. Y/N?] Pumpkin slammed yes faster than he¡¯d ever done before, accepting the request with indecent haste, because as affable as the white cat had been, Schrodinger was simply not the kind of existence he could afford to say ¡®no¡¯ to. [ContactsDid you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Will Swindell - Level None of Your Business Ralph - Level 1 Cat Schrodinger - I do not exist] ¡°Another funny one,¡± Pumpkin sighed, bemoaning the state of his Contacts list, wherein only Ralph appeared normal, and even that was questionable; the old black cat seemed to know too much, and whether that was due to seniority or something more unusual was very much up in the air. ¡°Pumpkin? Is that you?¡± Harvey asked, having disposed of the blindfold and immediately latched on to the only familiar sight in a very unfamiliar place. ¡°How did you find me? Did you see who rescued me?¡± Pumpkin meowed, because while the veteran Thief was a multi-talented man, he did not have the ability to speak Cat. ¡°Never mind,¡± Harvey muttered, raising his hands to his ears as he began to reach for his Contacts. ¡°Still unavailable. How did they manage to cut off contact, I wonder? For it to affect both you and Will, was it applied while we were still together in the caravan, or as a sympathetic effect once they got a hold of me? No survivors to question either, bah.¡± Before Pumpkin could decide how to approach the rather shaken Thief, a sudden surge of energy erupted from him, as did a dark cloud of impurities from every pore. It carried a rather disagreeable smell, one that had him shaking himself with vigour, attempting to banish even the lingering remnants from his coat. Harvey was far luckier in comparison, getting only a tenth of the potency if that, showing the benefits of a relatively lacking sense of smell. Altogether, this was rather good news, which naturally meant that it was immediately counterbalanced by a sudden tremor that nearly brought them both to their knees. Pumpkin darted towards the tunnel, fearing an earthquake, only to stop when that single tremor failed to be replicated. Granted, he could now hear the din of clashing blades, profanity and gunpowder, but armed conflict was still much preferable to being buried alive, so he still counted that as a win. [Will is calling you. Answer? Y/N.] ¡°So that was what kept us from getting in touch,¡± Pumpkin gasped, connecting the dots even as he accepted the call. ¡°Either the cloud or the earthquake, but more likely the cloud.¡± He then took in a lungful of residue, and devolved into gagging. ¡°It worked this time!¡± Will¡¯s excited voice could be heard, suggesting that he¡¯d attempted this quite a few times on his end. ¡°Will? Is that you? I¡¯m a bit busy right now.¡± Pumpkin huffed, panting for breath as he tried to answer while simultaneously taking in as little from his nose as possible. ¡°Where are you? What¡¯s going on over there?¡± Will asked, his concern clear in his tone of voice. Pumpkin didn¡¯t answer immediately, moving further down the tunnel to ditch the lingering odour before he began his tale in full. ¡°Well, you see¡­¡± ¡ª ¡°...and then Harvey took his blindfold off, and asked where we were. I couldn¡¯t really answer him, which was when the ground shook, people started shouting upstairs, and you gave me a call.¡± ¡°What do I even say to that?¡± I groaned, having expected a far more mundane conversation involving a few rats hunted for sport and dinner. Granted, Pumpkin did find some rats, so he hadn¡¯t lied to me; it was everything else he found that was a problem. Still, at least he and Harvey were both safe, which meant the night hadn¡¯t gone entirely to the dogs. One problem solved, a hundred left to go, I thought wryly, as I ended the call and began to explain what had happened to Kyle and the Adjudicator. Chapter 92: Fallout Chapter 92: Fallout I didn¡¯t regret declining the communications upgrade a while back, but at the same time, I¡¯d be lying if I claimed that resulting inefficiencies never got on my nerves. Having to parrot back Pumpkin¡¯s report to the peanut gallery meant it took at least twice as long, and there was always the risk of the resulting message getting distorted along the way. Probably not with a single middle man, admittedly, especially one with a memory as good as mine, but the Telephone game existed for a reason, and was a clear and ever present threat when managing any sizable organisation. Language is tricky like that, all it takes is a single misunderstanding, and suddenly an entire night is wasted cleaning the office and cooking the books, all because some moron texted ¡®Police visiting tomorrow, heads up¡¯ without clarifying that his dog was named Police. Still, I persevered, because this information was important for keeping myself alive, if nothing else. ¡°Gods above.¡± It was admittedly interesting to watch Kyle turn progressively paler as my retelling went on. He was already naturally fair, but he resembled a ghost by the time I reached the cave, and near the end he pulled out a flask from parts unknown, one that reeked of ethanol even with the lid closed tight. It probably wasn¡¯t the best idea, getting drunk with an unknown threat on the horizon, but there were also far worse coping mechanisms, so I begrudgingly let him be. ¡°The Changer of Ways? Where have I heard that name before?¡± Amelia took my ill tidings a lot more calmly, which was to be expected given she was half a kingdom away, and thus very unlikely to be harmed by it, whatever the outcome for the rest of us. Her voice remained level through, though I could hear a faint crackling now, coming through the connection to her summon, one that persisted even after she stopped speaking. ¡°Found it,¡± Amelia declared after a few minutes of silence, precipitated by a loud thud. It wasn¡¯t crackling at all, I belatedly realised, by the sound of hundreds of pages turning in unison. I¡¯d heard small bursts like it before, when attending my final exams, but they were largely one off events: either the entire cohort opening their test papers at the start of the timer, or closing them when time ran out. Such a sustained rhythm, to my ears, suggested that pages had never stopped turning throughout that entire sequence; the fact that Amelia was able to find anything useful from it indicated access to a private library at minimum, alongside a rather terrifying ability to process information.Stolen novel; please report. ¡°It¡¯s no deity I¡¯ve ever heard of,¡± I replied blandly, my total disinterest in such matters showing through. I¡¯d still grab a System upgrade from its church, given the chance, but I was in no hurry to commit any to anything deeper than a transactional relationship with the powers above, much like I had in my previous life. It was more efficient that way, and probably safer to boot, given the substantial power they possessed in this new world. ¡°Don¡¯t mention it, literally. Speaking that name alone is grounds for detention and interrogation if heard by the wrong ears, and that¡¯s just in peacetime. After what you uncovered tonight, that¡¯s probably going to be upgraded to a summary execution.¡± ¡°Is it going to be another war?¡± Kyle interjected, somehow finding the time between gulps of hard spirits. ¡°Just like my master spoke of, when I was barely a man.¡± ¡°How do you figure?¡± I asked, furrowing my brows, because that seemed like a rather extreme tangent to head down. ¡°Granted, a hidden cult of Changelings was never going to be a good thing, but Pumpkin found and disrupted the ritual before it could finish. Shouldn¡¯t that be the end of it, minus a bit of cleaning up by the city guards?¡± ¡°If a plot like this happened almost anywhere else, I¡¯d agree with you,¡± Amelia sighed, dashing my hopes that this was a one and done. ¡°But it didn¡¯t, it just had to happen in Heaven¡¯s Reach, one of the two terminus points of the Wall, one of the two largest, most vital fortifications for maintaining the entire structure. There are forts scattered along the entire length, responsible for their local zone of control, but none are comparable in scale to the endpoints. They can handle themselves, but when a sustained assault pushes the limits of a garrison, those endpoints are where fresh reinforcements come from; whichever one is closer to the point in question. The point I¡¯m emphasizing is that Heaven¡¯s Reach isn¡¯t a military base, it¡¯s the military base responsible for half the Wall. What happens here dictates the policy and posture of the entire region, do you understand what I¡¯m saying?¡± ¡°I think so,¡± I agreed, a familiar sinking feeling making itself known down below. ¡°If and when we report what happened, news will go out to everybody that matters about large scale Changeling infiltration. It might already have spread, depending on how well connected Pumpkin¡¯s friend is with the top brass. Once that happens, security will be heightened everywhere, making any repeats of tonight much harder to pull off. The Changelings must know this, so the only reason they¡¯d be so brazen about grabbing sacrifices¡­¡± ¡°Is because stealth no longer matters to them,¡± Kyle concluded, shaking his now empty flask. When it failed to produce any more rotgut, he pressed it between his fingers and crushed it, tossing the remnants into the empty cell for someone else to deal with. Let it be known that recycling was not a priority in a militarised medieval kingdom, not in the slightest. As the metal fragments bounced around, it brought to mind the noise I¡¯d heard on Pumpkin¡¯s end of the call. I¡¯d thought it just a local scuffle at the time, but in light of this new information? ¡°Say, you don¡¯t think¡­¡± The entire prison shuddered, nearly throwing me to the floor as screams filled the air above. ¡°Never mind.¡± Chapter 93: War Never Changes Chapter 93: War Never Changes War. It was a possibility that was always just on the horizon, something even the old Will had been cognisant of despite his limited knowledge of the world. They were known to happen without fail every few decades, and it had been a while since the last one, to the point where people joked that the next one was overdue. There was never any talk about world peace here in Frontier, unlike back on Earth, where idealists still dared to dream of a world without conflict. That was easy to imagine, when the only species capable of taking part were humans; even if they never came close to the reality, it still remained a possibility in theory; when there were endless hordes of monsters up north that craved the flesh and blood of mankind, that calculation changed drastically. According to the old myths, attempts had been made to exterminate the monsters in the distant past, grand crusades that embarked beyond the walls led by mighty heroes who performed deeds worthy of song by the day. Those same myths never spoke of the outcome of such expeditions, and the last such attempt was centuries ago, yet the monsters remained: the outcome was fairly clear in that respect. By the time of my grandfather, the notion of peace had become a very practical thing: if there wasn¡¯t an active, large-scale incursion past the walls, then humanity was at peace. Eventually, that would change, the seasons turned, and the monsters always came back. ¡°Wirerrrlrllllzzzkpt-¡± Amelia tried to speak my name just then, perhaps to issue further orders or to give some kind of warning, but whatever she was trying to say devolved into meaningless gibberish before abruptly cutting off. The Adjudicator vanished in a final puff of smoke, and at the same time, I felt a noticeable weight sink into me; nothing debilitating, but enough to tell me that something was wrong. [Long distance communications blocked.] My attempt to call Amelia again didn¡¯t even pass the first hurdle, though this time the System gave me the reason outright, which again indicated a change in approach by the aggressors, having abandoned stealth in favour of maximum disruption. ¡°I can¡¯t reach any of the old crowd living beyond Heaven¡¯s Reach,¡± Kyle spoke up a moment later, confirming that he was suffering from the same issue. A wide scaled disruption of communications; truly a textbook manoeuvre in the immediate lead run up to boots on the ground. Another tremor ran through the ground, dislodging dust from the ceiling older than I was.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I decided, suiting action to words as Kyle fell in behind me, both of us beginning the climb back up the stairs. I had no idea what awaited us there, but given the choice, I¡¯d rather face danger on the surface than run the risk of being buried alive; I wasn¡¯t necessarily afraid of death, having experienced it already, but that still ranked pretty high on the list of the worst ways to go. The Warden was nowhere to be seen when we emerged back on the first proper floor, while the guards paid far more attention to us too. There were far fewer of them now, just four to a floor, their knuckles white as they gripped their batons for dear life. ¡°ES3, copy. S plus, estimate?¡± Occasionally, one of them would bark out a code phrase as we passed, likely already on the line to what passed for their command structure, but I had no time to dig into the matter, choosing instead to press on as fast as we could while following their example. [Pumpkin - Level 4 Cat. Call connected.] ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I barked, relieved that short distance communications still worked. ¡°Everything¡¯s on fire!¡± Pumpkin replied succinctly, while the wails of the damned sang around him. ¡°I¡¯ve got Harvey with me, we¡¯re heading back to the inn!¡± ¡°We¡¯ll meet you there.¡± [Call ended.] As our brief check up ended, we finally made it back out onto the surface, and got our first look at the damage. Pumpkin had been right, everything was on fire; thick plumes could be seen in the distance, converging upwards to envelop the top of Heaven¡¯s Reach in a searing hellscape. We got off light, I realised, the relative cold down at ground level forcing the smoke away towards warmer climes. We still weren¡¯t safe though, as more than a few houses had caught on fire, the blaze slowly spreading from one terrace to the next, helped by the densely packed nature of city construction. We ran past the lot, ignoring the men and women frantically pulling their possessions out of their homes, or trying desperately to fight the fire. [Owen Goal - Level 1 Civilian Mike Hawk - Level 1 Farmer Noah Deer - Level 1 Merchant] Despite there being more people out than when we arrived, most were too preoccupied to notice our flight, but a few bucked the trend, turning towards us with abject despair on their faces, pleas for help at the tip of their tongues. Before I could tell them to mind their own business, all three of the busybodies pitched forward, a bolt in each of their right eyes. Behind me, Kyle reloaded his hand crossbow all while keeping pace with me, his lips thin and eyes filled with resolve and slight regret. [Hydra¡¯s Teeth: Bolts are envenomed upon firing and dissolve after thirteen seconds.] ¡°Can¡¯t use stealth while running, so this is for the best. Last thing we need is people telling tales and blaming us for tonight.¡± It was a commendable display of ruthlessness, to be expected from a veteran adventurer who grew up in the bad part of town. I just nodded once, before returning my attention to our outbound flight. We made really good time, running at full pelt, and even made it most of the way back to the merchant¡¯s district by the time the first monsters spawned, emerging from sickly green pools of bile to bar our path. [Skeleton Soldier - Level 5] Chapter 94: Spooky Scary Skeletons Chapter 94: Spooky Scary Skeletons Monsters needed darkness to spawn. That was one of the few undisputed truths understood by humanity, on a subject that remained little understood; the masses remaining shrouded in superstition, misinformation and simple ignorance despite the tireless efforts of a legion of researchers spanning the entire domain of mankind. I sympathised with them, truly, because research was never the easiest of things, not when performed with sufficient rigour for the results to be useful. It was hard enough even with bog standard animal testing and modern science, so it was surely harder by several orders of magnitude when dealing with test subjects that were uniformly feral, reproduced asexually and harboured and undying hatred of mankind. The lack of knowledge still irked me though; it couldn¡¯t be helped, given I¡¯d grown used to the wonders of the internet, where every conceivable subject was just a few clicks of the mouse away. [Skeleton Soldier - Level 5] Monsters needed darkness to spawn, and there was no darkness to be found, only flames, fear and fury. The strategically placed pools that called up monsters to block our escape could only have been planted in advance, hidden from the regular patrols and whatever magical oversight existed, until they were activated on the orders of the enemy to capitalise on the chaos of the first strike. Up until this point, the possibility still existed that I¡¯d stumbled into an isolated plot and a few unlikely coincidences, but seeing this finally doused that hope for good. [Knife withdrawn.] The Skeleton Soldiers didn¡¯t look too threatening, with their brittle bodies and rusty scimitars, except that there were a lot of them: half a dozen were already active by the time we reached the line, with two more in the process of spawning. Against just the two of us, quantity could have a quality all of its own. ¡°They¡¯re resistant to cuts and thrusts, so use blunt force instead.¡± Kyle instructed, side-eying my knife as he switched the ammunition for his crossbow. I knew that already, having had enough exposure to fantasy tropes over five decades in Finance; not every stereotype was true, but there were certainly plenty of geeks in the industry, to the point where it was inevitable. Even so, the thought did count for something, and I mentally moved Kyle up a notch for knowing the right answer and being composed enough to share in the heat of battle. ¡°Break through and keep running,¡± I answered, putting words into action as I barreled headlong into the enemy.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Despite their names, they showed no sign of working in tandem, remainly loosely grouped together in front of us, rather than forming ranks as any disciplined troop would. I took full advantage of that, darting towards the edge of their line up. This placed me close to one of the green spawning pools, but I decided it was worth the risk, especially as only the new skeleton''s head was visible at the time. I¡¯d played enough Sunday Football to know what to do, giving the skull a mighty kick that sent it flying off into the distance, the newest spawn neutralised before it could even leave the cradle. [Goaaaaaaaal! 10 XP gained.] That left only the leftmost Skeleton within arm¡¯s reach to retaliate, swiping down with a clumsy diagonal slash aiming to chop me up from shoulder to hip. My front foot was still outstretched from my kick, making repositioning on the spot an awkward affair, so I didn¡¯t bother trying; instead, I used the oldest trick in the book, one that was always available to every man standing upright. I went totally limp, dropping like a sack of potatoes as my dead weight brought me to the floor, the enemy slash passing harmlessly overhead. Now it was the one over-extended, leaving itself open as I rose into a pommel strike, smashing its right knee into splinters. That wasn¡¯t enough to kill the undead, but it left him unbalanced and unable to respond as I got to my feet, followed by a heavy shove that sent him into the next Skeleton Soldier in line, tying it up and keeping myself out of blade range. All of this happened in just a few seconds, which was how long it took for Kyle to get a shot in. ¡°One for All.¡± Kyle fired a single round from his crossbow, a blunt bolt with a thick metal head resembling the face of a hammer. Halfway to the target, one bolt became seven, the first continuing on its original flight path while the remaining six diverged without any loss of momentum, reminding me of old military footage from a MIRV missile test. All seven rounds struck home in the vulnerable necks of the Skeletons, sending decapitated skulls flying every which way while their bodies crumpled to the ground, bereft of command and control. A single shot, and they were gone, even the spawning pool opposite me having lost its head; needless to say, I was starting to appreciate the potential of the Sharpshooter Class, which was looking quite a bit more versatile than the sniper I¡¯d envisioned it as. Still, that was no excuse to dally, as fresh heads were already bubbling up in the spawning pools. I had no idea how to stop that from happening, or even if that was possible, so we had to get a move on before sheer attrition did us in. On we went, leaving the monster checkpoint behind. By now, the air was thick with smoke, forcing me to constantly absorb it from my immediate vicinity, dumping it into my inventory to allow myself to breathe. Glancing briefly over my back, I saw that Kyle had covered his face with a mask; how much good it did I wasn¡¯t sure, but it was probably better than nothing when it came to smoke inhalation. We ran past two more sets of spawning pools on the way, both substantially larger than those spawning Skeletons, but their increased size seemed to slow the process down, as nothing emerged to stop us from exiting the slums, returning to the bosom of civilization. It was also on fire. Chapter 95: We Didn鈥檛 Start The Fire Chapter 95: We Didn¡¯t Start The Fire Granted, the damage wasn¡¯t nearly as bad as in the slums, though the jury was out on whether that was due to there being fewer saboteurs placing bombs or superior building standards leading to more resilient housing. Even so, it was hard to find a row of buildings without at least one fire, and the air was still thick with smoke, albeit not as stifling as where we¡¯d just been. One area that proved undeniably better was the civilian response to the flames; because rather than the hodgepodge, ¡®every man for himself¡¯ approach that ruled in the slums, organised firefighting protocols were taking the lead in the defence of the merchant¡¯s district. [Anne Ominous - Level 1 Civilian Catherine Fond - Level 2 Chef Peter Out - Level 1 Merchant Syre Lawless - Level 3 Soldier] The group closest to me was a pretty good example of that. None of them were specialists in firefighting, instead carrying the typical Classes that were omnipresent in everyday life, but they were working together seamlessly with an ease borne of proper training. Catherine stood in the back, either generating water or releasing it from storage, pouring it into a series of empty buckets. Anne and Peter then ran those buckets to Syre, who was the most durable of the bunch and therefore closest to the blaze. He poured the water wherever he deemed most useful, before handing the empty buckets back to the runners who took them for a refill before coming right back around for another go. It was a simple system, far from perfect and with obvious inefficiencies where I cared to look, but that hardly mattered because it was working. They were fighting only a single fire on the side of a single building, but they were making genuine progress at beating back the flames, progress that was replicated across the street, as ordinary men and women stepped up to the challenge and protected their homes. This, in turn, allowed for the more combat-oriented among them to focus on the monsters, safe in the knowledge that they¡¯d return to something worth protecting. [Bone Vulture - Level 5] That was easier said than done however, as the local skeletons were airborne, diving down from the sky instead of emerging from fixed spawning pools. This suggested a limit to their numbers, even though the swarm looked almost endless from where we were standing, but more importantly limited who could engage them effectively. Ranged combatants had to take the lead here, while those stuck in melee had to play a purely reactive role, waiting for the enemy to dive before counterattacking. Naturally, Kyle was having a grand time of it, picking off targets one after the other with blunt arrowheads. The switch from crossbow to a recurve bow caught my eye, though I didn¡¯t know enough on the subject to speculate on his reasons, which could have been anything from better targeting to having more arrows on hand than bolts.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Maybe it was just a matter of preference, as bows were the overwhelming favourite of the defenders I saw; though there were also crossbows, slings and throwing knives in evidence. Sadly, I didn¡¯t have any of those on hand, nor any convenient rocks to throw, so I let Kyle take the lead for this stretch of the journey, following after him while watching his back. [Knife stored.] The few times a Vulture dove for him, I made sure to get in the way, relying on some good old fashioned fisticuffs to smash them up. My knuckles hurt, and I certainly would never have done this back on Earth, but my new body was hard enough to get the job done. Kyle was doing far more by keeping the skies around us relatively clear, so it was the least I could do to punch a few stragglers in the beak. Even as we killed, we made sure not to lose sight of the goal, continuing to push our way towards The Dead Horse while keeping up enough of a tally that nobody would accuse us of shirking our duties, real or imagined. We were making good time despite the constant harassment from above, and I even began to recognise a few familiar landmarks amidst the destruction as we neared the inn; such that I started to hope we¡¯d get there without further issue. [Lesser Dragon - Level 45] Kyle stiffened at the same time as I saw a very unpleasant name tag at the edge of my vision, followed by a roar that put most jet turbines to shame. Both of us broke into a sprint, any thoughts of contributing to the defence set aside in favour of survival. [Sarosh - Level 53 Archmage] This was laughably out of our strike range, so we could only leave it to the proper guardians of Heaven¡¯s Reach, ones seemingly capable of flight under their own, and of creating a shimmering purple barrier that stretched into the distance. I kept running, because while it was great to have that kind of shield between me and a hungry dragon, it was still incredibly worrying that such a shield was needed in the first place. I kept running, my lungs beginning to burn as even my youthful stamina succumbed to fatigue, and at last our destination was in sight. I never thought I¡¯d be so happy to see a cartoonish metal sign featuring an old, dead horse, but I was truly euphoric at that moment. Then, because nobody was allowed to have anything nice, a second sun claimed its spot in the sky.. I wasn¡¯t looking directly at it, which let me keep my eyes, but there was no mistaking the sudden heat and light, turning night into day. Even this was likely blunted by the Archmage¡¯s shield, but it could stop everything, meaning we still had to endure a fraction of the light, the heat, and the shockwave. That last one slammed me straight through a wall, and then there was only pain. Chapter 96: The World Shall Know Pain Chapter 96: The World Shall Know Pain What is pain, exactly? Well, it¡¯s one of those fiddly concepts that are easy to understand but hard to quantify; everyone knows it, yet no two people experience it in exactly the same way. Differences in biology, psychology, even something as simple as mood in the moment changes how we interpret pain, to the point that an objective standard proved all but impossible, and remained something of a running joke in the medical and pharmaceutical community. Every decade or so, some new development in a lab would claim to solve the problem, before promptly disappearing, never to be heard from again, while clinicians continued to ask patients to rate their pain on a scale of 1 to 10. I was a solid 9 out of 10 in that moment; getting ploughed straight through a wall tended to do that. I couldn¡¯t move my arms or legs at all, everything below the neck felt like a massive bruise, and I was pretty sure the pool I lay in was neither water nor wine. Even that counted as good luck, because given the wall had been made of solid brick, I could only thank my enhanced physiology for being alive at all, while also cursing it for leaving me awake rather than blissfully unconscious from shock. ¡°Oops, my bad¡± I heard someone mutter. It wasn¡¯t something I ever liked to hear, even in circumstances that didn¡¯t drive daggers through my assuredly ruptured eardrums and into my brain. ¡°Mass Revive. All Heal.¡± The next four works were much more pleasant, coming alongside four waves of light that washed over me, two of the real and two the product of my double vision, as bad as it was after eight pints at the pub. The golden light did nothing for me, except maybe reducing the autumn chill just a touch. A good sign, I decided, since it meant I wasn¡¯t dead. The green light did its job the next moment, seeping into my broken body and knitting it back together. Magic truly was wonderful, I reflected anew, as injuries that would have left me a lifelong quadriplegic back on Earth were gone in the blink of an eye. Even my clothes had been restored to pristine condition, as a hurried patdown informed me, even though I¡¯d been sure they were torn and no spell had been cast to repair them; a hidden component to one of the two spells cast, or a Trait to that same effect, I could only speculate. Another roar split the sky; I flinched, eyes instinctively seeking out the threat above, because I was only human, and anyone in my position who claimed they wouldn¡¯t was a liar or a fool. It wasn¡¯t as loud as before, I realised, nor did the sky light up anywhere near as brightly; meaning I got an actual look at the Dragon as it unleashed what could only be its breath attack. The purple barrier overhead held, blocking a gout of white hot flames, while a second layer behind it that hadn¡¯t existed before rippled, concentric waves spreading across it entirely but failing to penetrate. That was what took me for a ride, I realised; not the flames themselves, but the shockwave that was far less visible but still deadly even at such a distance. It hadn¡¯t even been a proper attack that nearly killed me, just the spillover on the edge, one the Archmage hadn¡¯t even considered a threat, if his muttered apology was any indication.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°So that¡¯s why Archmage is such a prized Class,¡± I shook my head ruefully, feeling only a faint vestige of nausea as my body finished healing It was one thing reading about them, or having the orphanage workers express their hopes that we could receive it on Class Day, and another matter entirely to see one in action. One day, I promised myself, I too would fly through the skies, and all beneath my gaze would be my dominion. I had a lot of work to do before then, however, so I banished that dream to the distant future and finally refocused on the here and now. The street lay in ruins, every rooftop blown away and many walls toppled or left barely standing with holes blown through them; clearly, whatever had worked to restore my clothing hadn¡¯t done the same for the infrastructure. Some people ran around aimlessly, collecting trinkets and belongings from the ruins, while others stood stock still, shocked into immobility by the force of the attack. There weren¡¯t many of the latter, thankfully, because this was Heaven¡¯s Reach, humanity¡¯s front line in the long war; basic protocols for evasion and evacuation were probably drilled into residents from the day they were born. That said, we were in much better shape than expected in terms of human resources; only a few mangled bodies remained on the ground, beyond the reach of resurrection for whatever reason, and largely ignored by those who lived. I found myself approving of the stoic pragmatism on display; get your belongings and get to safety, leave the mourning for when it¡¯s safe to do so. Similarly, that was my cue to get a move on, before my idle moment passed the threshold from acceptable to suspicious. The Dead Horse was still mostly intact, though the iconic sign was nowhere to be found. The inside was mostly deserted, only the single innkeeper to be found, kneeling behind his desk with both hands clasped in prayer. A faint golden aura surrounded him, seeping into the walls, floor and ceiling, likely contributing to the superior durability of the inn compared to its neighbours. I ignored him and headed upstairs, back to the room booked what felt like a lifetime ago, ostensibly for a peaceful night¡¯s rest. ¡°You made it!¡± Pumpkin exclaimed, leaping from the bedside table onto my shoulder, swiftly returning to his position as my favourite scarf. ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± Kyle made it too, I realised belatedly, having lost track of him in the chaos. At least that was one bright spot out of the madness of the day. Chapter 97: Sleeping Beauty Chapter 97: Sleeping Beauty After a gruelling run, I was finally reunited with the rest of the party, even picking up an extra along the way, which was good. Less so was seeing Harvey sprawled out in my bed, groaning in his sleep and dead to the world. [Harvey Miller - Level 10 Thief of Souls] ¡°Harvey booked two rooms for us,¡± I pointed out, because while I was willing to do plenty of dubious deeds on the job, that most definitely didn¡¯t include sleeping with the line manager. I¡¯d seen far too many careers, businesses and lives ruined, all because some moron in a hurry couldn¡¯t keep it in his pants; accordingly, I¡¯d made sure to instill a strict policy of non-fraternisation at my pension fund. It didn¡¯t take much to set up, just a few paragraphs on a single side of A4 paper that every employee had to sign, and it had quickly proved to be worth its weight in gold; written in black and white, there was nothing for litigious employees to contest, allowing for the subsequent terminations to proceed in no time at all. ¡°I couldn¡¯t find the key. Also, I have no idea which room is his, since he ran off almost as soon as we arrived.¡± Pumpkin was annoyingly correct, and it wasn¡¯t worth the effort of disputing, so I gave it up as a lost cause; Harvey could keep the bed in the meantime, despite my own desire to flop over. ¡°Let him rest then,¡± I grunted. ¡°Is he going to be alright?¡± A perfunctory look didn''t find any injuries on him, but I was no doctor, and even a professional glance wouldn¡¯t account for any internal damage. ¡°He looks a lot better now than when I was carrying him back; I swear, there were more holes in him than a dartboard. They all closed up after the green light arrived, so he should be good.¡± That was one potential problem taken care of, I reflected, deciding not to ask how Pumpkin had managed to drag an adult man with him while evading pursuit. My gut told me I wouldn¡¯t like the answer, and gut instinct was important in matters of life and death; they¡¯d saved my bacon on more than one occasion, even if the case that got me in the end was too much to hide. That said, if Harvey had gotten a dose of All Heal¡­ ¡°Can you wake him up?¡± I turned to Kyle, who had watched our reunion in silence; whatever awkwardness there was at being a third wheel smothered beneath his professionalism.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Not any more gently than you,¡± Kyle replied, making a fist as he stared at my expectantly. ¡°Please don¡¯t,¡± I retorted, raising my own open palm in his place. [Water (10 oz) withdrawn.] Harvey sputtered back to the waking world, the latest victim of the old bucket of water sans bucket. A pretty poor way to wake up, all told, but still nicer than a punch to the stomach, and less likely to provoke an instinctual counterattack at that. True to form, Harvey coughed and spluttered, but his eyes opened without any fists flying from either end. I wasn¡¯t unsympathetic to what he¡¯d been through, but as he was the highest ranking member of the Dead Hand within reach, there was no chance I was leaving him to snooze through an active warzone, not when a single stray attack could do us all in. ¡°Will,¡± Harvey¡¯s eyes focused on me first of all. ¡°What did you do to Damien when he first went to try and recruit you?¡± ¡°Choke him for a bit and intimidated him, before sending him back to you.¡± [Harvey: How many carriages did we set out with?] ¡°Six.¡± Two questions, one verbal and one through the System; Harvey was understandably paranoid given what was going on, so I didn¡¯t begrudge him the additional verification, as I¡¯d have done the same were our positions reversed. ¡°Good,¡± Harvey nodded, visibly relaxing, before finally turning his attention to the last man standing. ¡°I see Pumpkin as well, but who¡¯s our new friend?¡± ¡°A long-time local. He was one of the first to respond when your warning came through.¡± [Changeling Skeleton withdrawn.] ¡°We were planning to find you, then get the best name to turn this in anonymously while still getting most of the reward, but well¡­¡± I trailed off, still holding the rickety bones for emphasis. ¡°Not much point in that any more,¡± Kyle shrugged helplessly. ¡°A shame really, the reward was a big one, but we were just a bit too late to matter.¡± ¡°Realistically, there was nothing you could have done to affect tonight¡¯s outcome,¡± Harvey shook his head. ¡°A plot like this would have been many years in the making, the work of embedded agents spanning generations of infiltration, with significant logistical support from man and monster alike. Getting me out of the fire was already above expectations, speaking frankly; but even if we¡¯d swept the nest clean by nightfall, Heaven¡¯s Reach would still be at war.¡± ¡°You knew this was coming?¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Or did your captors let something slip on the way?¡± ¡°I was unconscious for most of that time,¡± Harvey shook his head. ¡°Amelia tried her best to reach me though, and when that failed she left me notes on the general situation as she understood it. I¡¯m unable to reach her for further instructions, or anyone else outside the city. Even my contacts within Heaven¡¯s Reach have gone quiet, so I¡¯m afraid we¡¯re on our own for the time being.¡± ¡°Lovely,¡± Kyle groaned. ¡°So, now that we¡¯re all here, should I leave and pretend we never met, or is there a chance I can tag along? There¡¯s safety in numbers when things go this bad, and I like to think I¡¯m a decent shot.¡± ¡°He was pretty helpful on the way back,¡± I admitted. ¡°That might be for the best,¡± Harvey allowed. ¡°Alright, here¡¯s what we¡¯ll do.¡± Chapter 98: Mind Map Chapter 98: Mind Map ¡°I set out tonight to meet Marek, my primary contact here in Heaven¡¯s Reach,¡± Harvey began by way of explanation. ¡°He was a local, born and raised in the city, with extensive connections in the criminal underground that made him an excellent fence and information broker. I made it a habit to always meet him at a safe house, first thing on arrival, to get an update on anything important that¡¯s happened since my last trip here: where the black markets are hosted, who¡¯s in charge of the bribes in each sector, any new outlaws of note, that sort of thing.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve used his services before,¡± Kyle chimed in. ¡°Expensive, but worth the price, and one of the few in the business willing to make house calls. I take it he¡¯s dead?¡± ¡°He was probably dead weeks if not months ago. I could barely identify the body; if it weren¡¯t for the gold teeth he spent a fortune on, I might have thought him just a dead vagrant. Not that it made a difference in the end; the entire building was trapped, and I was starting to fall asleep as soon as I entered the building. I never suspected a thing until then, not when the codes we exchanged on the way all matched my expectations. Whoever took over his position was able to mimic even the functions of the System.¡± ¡°I¡¯d have said that was impossible, but it¡¯s not supposed to be possible to block communications with an entire city either,¡± Kyle shivered, making the holy sign of the System with his hands, his fingers interinked to produce a rough square. ¡°That¡¯s the rule, but every rule has its exceptions, and the higher your Level, the more common they become. None of the regular skirmishers at the Wall could pull off something like this, but if we¡¯re facing down a proper incursion, then all the usual assumptions go right out the window.¡± [Changeling Skeleton stored.] I put the skeleton away as Harvey continued talking, stifling my increasing impatience by force of will. My blood was still up from the frantic retreat through the streets, urging me to head back into the fight, but doing so without a plan was suicidal, so I could only wait and listen. ¡°Unfortunately, if we follow that school of thought, then we have to conclude that anything that was common knowledge to our organisation is already compromised. Marek didn¡¯t know everything about me, but at minimum, the larger safehouses and coin stashes are either trapped, under surveillance or simply already looted and burned down in the chaos. Similarly, any other members of the local branch are either dead, under suspicion, or already fled the city in the night, because none of them are returning my calls. As it stands, we have whatever we¡¯re carrying in person, or in the carriages out back, and one or two homes I kept entirely private; not much, but not nothing either.¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°We¡¯re not going to be able to move four carriages safely in an active warzone,¡± I pointed out. ¡°Of course not. We¡¯ll take as much as we can carry - either fruit or Valkyrie Dust, both are useful in times of war - then burn the rest. Not the stealthiest means of disposal, but I¡¯d wager the city won¡¯t even notice another fire tonight.¡± The entire inn shuddered just then, seemingly in agreement with Harvey, though the rational part of my mind told me that it was more likely caused by another shockwave from above, which was hardly comforting either way. Harvey placed his palm on the table, and a tattered old map popped into place, the parchment yellow with age and torn in more than a few places. One corner was gone entirely, except for a small stain that reminded me of coffee, bringing a twinge of longing to the forefront; what I wouldn¡¯t do for a nice hot cup after a long night of fighting. I¡¯d yet to find a brew in Frontier, not even when window shopping in the eateries catering to the well off, so either it didn¡¯t exist, or the imports just didn¡¯t make it this far. It would be incredibly expensive, since coffee beans needed tropical conditions to grow, something the North simply couldn¡¯t provide. Harvey was still tracing his finger along the map as my reminiscing came to an end, making me wonder if he¡¯d forgotten the way home. Then, he finally completed a full circuit along the edge, and the page lit up. Three black dots appeared, one in the Slums from which we¡¯d just fled, another not too far from us in the Merchant¡¯s District, and one at the western boundary where the city met the mountain range. Only one green dot appeared, northbound and nearly halfway to the Wall, in a long stretch simply marked ¡®Residential¡¯. ¡°Right, we¡¯ve got our target,¡± Harvey declared as his map disappeared back where he pulled it from. ¡°Let¡¯s go empty the carriages, then head up the mountain. Hopefully, all the big players will be too distracted to pay attention to a few hapless merchants.¡± The plan was entirely light on details, which I was starting to realise was Harvey¡¯s preferred way to do things, but nothing better came to mind, so off we went. Miraculously, the carriages were still where we left them. They laid broken against the back wall of the property, and two of them had caught fire at the edges, a few embers starting to work their way up the tarp, but that still went above my expectations, given the circumstances. ¡°Looks like half our job¡¯s done already,¡± Harvey laughed mirthlessly. ¡°Alright, get grabbing.¡± The two burning carriages were write-offs, so we focused on the remainder; Pumpkin and I took one carriage while Harvey and Kyle went for the other. ¡°Ew,¡± Pumpkin complained, turning his nose at the thick billows of smoke mixed with old wood. I didn¡¯t think it was that bad, but then my nose wasn¡¯t nearly as sensitive. Pumpkin buried his face in the back of my neck and looked to be in no mood to contribute, so I took mercy on him in the end. [Pumpkin the Cat stored.] With that distraction out of the way, I dug into my first crate, and began to test the limit of my inventory for the first time. Chapter 99: Inflation Chapter 99: Inflation Up until this point, I had been selective in what I stored, taking only what I needed in the immediate term, or what I was asked to store, and otherwise letting the carriages take most of the burden of transport, because otherwise why even bother hiring them? Now, the circumstances had changed; with the city at war and resupply all of a sudden uncertain, I simply grabbed everything within reach, paying no heed to the slowly smouldering carriage to my immediate left. This was easier said than done, because many of the crates had been smashed by an immense force, presumably the shockwave from before, to the point that there was nothing useful to be found. A few of them still remained intact however, saving me from a futile excursion. [Stored: 171 Apples 194 Pears 191 Plums 300 oz Water 14 Loaf of Bread 19 Salt Pork 40 oz Butter 800 Valkyrie Dust] Five full crates later, and I finally began to feel the strain. I could probably have fit a little bit more from the wreckage, and there were at least two or three more crates left intact, but I didn¡¯t really want to see what happened if I overstretched, and I also wanted to leave some space free in case I stumbled upon anything more valuable and wanted to grab it without having to unload a ton of fruit in the process. [Inventory
  • 4.5¡± Knife (Smooth/Serrated)
  • 18 Loaf of bread
  • 23 Salt Pork
  • 181 Apples
  • 204 Pears
  • 200 Plums
  • 340 oz Water
  • 50 oz Butter
  • 1000 Valkyrie Dust
  • Changeling SkeletonIf you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
  • Pumpkin the Cat]
Taking one final look at my inventory, I decided that this was enough; a good amount of product, far more than I¡¯d expected to be able to store, in all honesty, while also not being too eye-catching. There was far more fruit and dust on hand than bread and pork, my only true complaint with the goods, but that was inevitable; the former filled the bulk of the crates since they were the merchandise and the cover respectively, while the latter was only meant for personal consumption and thus far less abundant in stock I did make one final attempt to store the entire carriage as a single item, only for it to be rejected just like when I tried at the outset of the journey, before leaving it at that. ¡°All done here,¡± I called out, stepping back from the row of carriages with borderline indecent haste. The flames were nowhere near penetrating just yet, but I¡¯d seen how volatile Valkyrie Dust could be when exposed to an open flame, so I intended to be far away by the time the remaining glass vials inside felt the burn. ¡°Same here,¡± Kyle was the first to reply, coming back out with a final bundle of fruit that he shoved into a coat pocket. Unlike my inventory, the effect wasn¡¯t instantaneous, meaning I got to watch half a dozen apples distort in plain view, turning into kaleidoscopic swirls as they vanished into a pocket far too small to hold them normally. I couldn¡¯t see a name tag on the coat itself, which implied that this was part of Kyle¡¯s ability as opposed to a separate magical item, but that wasn¡¯t necessarily a guarantee either, since it could also be concealed from view by another effect. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Harvey concluded, the last to exit, carrying a small box in his hands. ¡°Catch.¡± I figured it probably wasn¡¯t a trap, since he¡¯d put in far too much effort bringing me along to kill me off as a prank, so I played along and caught it, storing it immediately. [6 Throwing Knives stored.] ¡°You were pretty good with coins, so I figured you¡¯d get good use out of those.¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± I grinned, happy to finally have a proper set of ranged weapons. I had a few ideas how to use them, which may or may not have been viable in conjunction with my inventory, and I was pretty sure I¡¯d have plenty of opportunities to test them out in the near future. ¡°Don¡¯t mention it, their original owner might not be too happy with you,¡± Harvey chuckled, before lighting half a dozen cigars and scattering them on the two carriages that weren¡¯t already on fire. ¡°Right, let''s get out of here before it blows. Follow me, and don¡¯t get split up, I¡¯m not coming back for stragglers.¡± [Contact request from Kyle received. Accept? Y/N.] Kyle¡¯s request wasn¡¯t too surprising, all told, and a good idea just in case we did end up separated, as it would let us keep in touch nonetheless. The Matron¡¯s words of caution resurfaced in my memories, only to be quickly brushed aside; the situation was already entirely FUBAR, to the point where I doubted Kyle could make it much worse even if he did turn on us. [Contacts
  • Amelia Dawn - Level 30 Necromancer
  • Harvey Miller - Level 10 Thief of Souls
  • Kyle Erwing - Level 11 Sharpshooter
  • Pumpkin - Level 4 Cat]
The Contacts were stored in alphabetical order, I noted, now having enough of a sample to know that for certain. Everybody had a last name except for Pumpkin, making me wonder how the concept functioned; back on Earth, names had been the responsibility of the General Registrar, whereas here the System seemed to do it all automatically. How did changing one¡¯s name work then? Perhaps it went back to the Priest of the System, who might perform the role of a clerk in exchange for a donation, or maybe there was a way to do it directly from the user interface? I tried to think of a few probable phrases to bring up such a menu, receiving no response for my trouble, not even a System notification telling me I was on the wrong track. Harvey began moving then, after freezing in place briefly much like I did, making me believe that Kyle had added us both as insurance. Kyle followed after him, and then I was moving too, and there was no more time to think. Chapter 100: Metre Dash Chapter 100: Metre Dash I wasn¡¯t particularly keen to go running through the streets, dodging fireballs for a second time in one night, but the alternatives were even less appealing, so off we went, chasing the best of a bunch of bad options. If anything, this second go around was even worse than before, because we were going uphill without pause, on roads as steeper than any I¡¯d had the misfortune to see outside of a dedicated climbing route. The route was well lit, with the majority of the streetlamps still upright and intact, yet I still nearly tripped on several occasions. Part of that came from me keeping an eye to the sky the entire time, expecting to be flattened by another shockwave at any minute, but the dragon had either been killed or driven off, as neither its bulk nor any deafening roars caught my attention. In fact, the sky was entirely clear of enemies, the vultures from before seeming to focus exclusively on the Market District for whatever reason. A few skeletons still attempted to bar our path, but I never even got as much as a swing in; Harvey kept ahead the entire time, dispatching them with a simple wooden stick and sharp blows to the skull. Only a few though, because most of the mobs were being kept at bay by the locals, who had caught on to the trick behind the summoning pools quickly enough, and had devised simple and practical solutions to deal with them. The most common trick was to dig around them, ensuring that newly spawned skeletons fell right into a pit, where a rotating guard carrying blunt weapons could easily dispose of them from high ground. A few pools were on fire, burning with acrid yellow smoke that smelled faintly of tobacco and cooking oil; no guards were needed here, just a steady flow of firewood to keep the flames roaring. Others failed to spawn anything at all, as burly workmen poured barrels of clear, hissing liquid that dissolved the ground where it spilled; some kind of industrial acid was my guess, easily enough to deal with a few bags of bones. I didn¡¯t see anyone destroy a summoning pool outright, though that might have been a case of survivorship bias, as there¡¯d be no need for traps around them after they were gone; I wasn¡¯t looking too hard for evidence either, as keeping up with Harvey was still the main priority, and true to his word he hadn¡¯t slowed down in the slightest, maintaining a ferocious sprint the whole way. [Pumpkin the Cat escaped.] ¡°There¡¯s a lot fewer people than I expected,¡± Pumpkin remarked, rejoining us now that the threat of manual labour had passed. ¡°Where¡¯s all the civilians?¡± I was somewhat envious of his ability to walk and talk, as I lacked the breath for it, but I was never going to beat a cat on foot, not when the average member of the species could beat Usain Bolt with time to spare.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°This is a military city,¡± Kyle replied from behind me, at least having the decency to sound winded as he spoke. ¡°Emergency drills are a fact of life, and most people outside the Slums obey the law, so as soon as the attack began, any non-combatants would have barricaded themselves in the nearest building, or headed to the nearest bunker. Anybody still outside is either a fighter or just really unlucky.¡± Personally, I thought our little party was both, though I didn¡¯t waste my breath correcting him, as I had little enough of it to begin with. Against all odds, we didn¡¯t run into any trouble on this last stretch of a very fraught night, and I got to play the spectator for the remainder of our ascent, giving me a proper look at the defenders of Heaven¡¯s Reach. As far as classes went, the overwhelming majority of defenders were Soldiers, in keeping with Kingdom policy on recruitment, though there were a few Archers, Mages and Healers in the mix. The former in particular were everywhere, killing skeletons, dealing with spawning pools, erecting and manning makeshift checkpoints and calming the few panicked civilians caught with their pants down. None of them paid us any attention, probably since we looked human, weren¡¯t trying to kill anybody, and were running with purpose; they had enough on their plate as it was without causing more trouble for themselves. Every once in a while we¡¯d see a Lieutenant, or even a Captain, all of them shouting a steady stream of orders to their subordinates. [Intrusive thought: Kill a commissioned officer during the defence of Heaven¡¯s Reach.] ¡°Go away,¡± I muttered, dismissing the prompt immediately. There was probably a reward attached for doing so, maybe even a good one, but unless I was able to silence all the witnesses, doing something to stupid would only guarantee me a trip to the gallows after a drumhead court martial. Needless to say, that wasn¡¯t remotely worth the risk in the circumstances. It might even be dangerous to think about it, given that no resources would be spared hunting down infiltrators after such a fiasco, so I put the idea firmly out of my mind, kept my head down, and returned my full focus to the run. I was panting now, even my newfound youth and fitness struggling against the punishing pace Harvey set; it felt like we¡¯d been running forever, even if I knew it had probably been less than twenty minutes. When at last, Harvey stopped, I nearly ran into him from behind before I caught myself, coming to an awkward halt while still wheezing like I smoked two packs a day. ¡°Here we are, home sweet home,¡± Harvey sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an old fashioned key that was more rust than metal. My first thought was that the nondescript stone house was tiny. It was barely wider than me, standing straight and measuring from shoulder to shoulder, a single slice right down the middle of a long terrace, one townhouse among innumerable others, and that was just in my immediate line of sight. ¡°It¡¯s not much to look at, I know, but it¡¯s better on the inside,¡± Harvey laughed, as he stuck the key in and turned the handle. Chapter 101: Staircase to Heaven Chapter 101: Staircase to Heaven To my great relief, the front door didn¡¯t open to reveal a small, dingy house fit only for the poorest of itinerant workers coming from afar, without even any windows to let a bit of sunlight inside. With three grown men plus Pumpkin, I could already see living conditions on par with the orphanage, sharing cramped bunk beds stacked high against the ceiling, because the only plausible direction to build in such cramped conditions was upwards. In fact, even the orphanage would have been better, as it at least offered freshly cooked meals to soften the blow. Instead, the door served no purpose except to provide a facade of normality in keeping with the terrace as a whole, and the only thing behind it was a similarly narrow staircase going down into the mountainside. ¡°What¡¯s the rent on a secret underground lair?¡± I joked as we descended, immediately regretting it as I inhaled a lungful of dust in the process, leaving the stonework marginally cleaner and myself in a coughing fit. Harvey had gone first, with myself in the middle and Kyle bringing up the rear. Pumpkin rode on my neck as usual, his paws wrapped around my ears; enough to warm them, but not entirely muffle the sound of the door slamming of its own volition, likely due to some manner of timed release. Harvey evidently hadn¡¯t been lying about secrecy behind this place, given the lack of cleaning, which only made me more curious about the glass jars embedded in the walls, their faint light providing our only safeguard against a long and painful tumble down the stairs. They resembled the lava lamps that had become popular in recent years, as good taste fell victim to one New Age trend or another, except those needed a constant stream of electricity to operate, and I couldn¡¯t recall any batteries that lasted for years at a time. [Harvey: No idea, I¡¯ll let you know if I ever have to pay.] Adding insult to injury, Harvey was able to communicate non-verbally, while Kyle had clearly known better, saving them both from suffering the same fate. I almost opened my mouth again before catching myself, deciding that conversation could wait until we were somewhere clean. At the very least, I was able to keep it off my body, passively storing anything that landed on me and disposing of it in my inventory. It didn¡¯t even register a new entry for dust, indicating that the material was worthless, but it saved my clothes, which was something. The stairs ran longer than I¡¯d been expecting, not quite as far as some of the offices I¡¯d had to walk down during mandatory fire drills, where the elevators were shut off to simulate the proper response during an incident, but comparable to some of the more annoying stations on the London Tube when the escalators were broken. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. At least we were going downward, as I¡¯d done enough climbing for a good long time on our way to the supposed safehouse. Part of me wondered why we went up before going down again, as opposed to building a tunnel from the lower level, but there was no use griping about it after the fact. When we arrived, the difference was immediately noticeable; it was like stepping from one scene to another, as the dust simply ended at the bottom, leaving us at the end of a long corridor with six rooms branching off to the sides, dormitory style. Poking my head into the nearest room, I found a small square box, barely fitting a mattress on the floor alongside barrels labelled ¡®water¡¯ and ¡®hardtack¡¯ respectively. ¡°Here we are, home sweet home,¡± Harvey chuckled, now that it was safe to do so. He pressed his hand against an indent in the wall, and the staircase behind us disappeared, the walls coming together obscure any hint of a passage behind us. ¡°Deep enough in a mass of solid stone to mask the magic that comes off of passive enchantments. That switch just now collapsed the walls, and closed the trapdoor at the top of the stairs; even if someone thinks to look past the front door, they¡¯ll find only an empty house. This entire living area is warded against communication and teleportation, so the only way in when the tunnel is closed is by digging, which we¡¯ll hear in time to take the other tunnel out. Take a room for yourself, all four of them are the same so no need to fight over it. Bathroom¡¯s at the end, along with the emergency exit. It cost me a small fortune, hiring a Mage with an earth affinity to build all this, and a bigger one to pay him for his silence, but it was well worth the expense, don¡¯t you think?¡± Despite the grave situation that brought us here, I couldn¡¯t help but smile at Harvey¡¯s proud boasting, which brought to mind the many estate agents I¡¯d dealt with over the years as they tried to sell me on their particular property. ¡°Impressive,¡± I admitted, not having expected this degree of sophistication for a simple bolthole. ¡°Do you have one of these at every stop?¡± ¡°Only the major cities. There¡¯s no room to hide something like this in a small town or fortress, and everyone knows everyone else in those kinds of places so any attempt at deception is doomed regardless.¡± Harvey¡¯s expression turned gloomy then, any hint of his previous cheer bleeding away. ¡°Even the other safehouses were only ever seen by a few people, all of them veterans of the Dead Hand. People I knew, people I thought could be trusted, as far as trust goes in this profession of ours. Losing one of them was expected, two would be an unfortunate coincidence, but three? The entire local branch is compromised, I know that for certain now.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡± Kyle asked, sounding a bit tense, which was understandable given he was surrounded by strangers deep underground. ¡°We all pick a bed and fall over in exhaustion. Tomorrow, after a good night¡¯s sleep and a hopeful end of the battle above, we pick up the pieces.¡± Chapter 102: Hard Enough Chapter 102: Hard Enough I didn¡¯t get much rest that night, despite being bone tired from all the running and fighting, instead finding myself rolling back and forth into the long hours of the night. I couldn¡¯t even blame my accommodations for that, since the mattress was actually pretty comfortable; I had no idea what it was stuffed with, but the softness beat most of the hotel beds I¡¯d stayed in hands down. It was probably a combination of stress and my plans for the future being turned on their head, since the last time I slept so poorly was the first night after my pension fraud was uncovered. I still slept in my own bed that night, since all the police officer did was take my statement and schedule an initial interview; there simply weren¡¯t enough empty spaces in jails to detain non-violent white collar criminals pending trial, and I still barely got a wink of sleep. There was no way to tell the time, this deep underground, so I didn¡¯t know exactly how long I ended up sleeping, just that I drifted off at some point and woke up later, still tired, to Pumpkin slapping me in the face with his paw. ¡°Stop that,¡± I groaned, which was a mistake, because Pumpkin took the opportunity to shove a piece of hardtack into my mouth. For those unfamiliar with it, hardtack is a biscuit made out of flower and water, baked hard enough that it could last for years, and only burrowing insects could hope to make a dent into it while stored. Once a ubiquitous source of food prior to the advent of refrigeration, it had fallen out of fashion on Earth centuries ago, largely relegated to the role of emergency rations for soldiers, campers and doomsday preppers. I wasn¡¯t sure which category our merry band of outlaws fit into, and resolved not to think about it in favour of chewing. It didn¡¯t taste too bad, like a really dry cracker with a side of dental pain, though I certainly wouldn¡¯t want to eat it for months on end like the voyagers of yore. I washed down the crumbs with a bit of water, taken straight from my inventory, before finally pulling myself upright to welcome the new day. We reconvened in the corridor, all of us looking rather worse for wear; both Harvey and Kyle sported prominent bags under their eyes, showing that I wasn¡¯t alone in my lack of sleep. Pumpkin was the only one to remain energetic, climbing up my body to sit on my head, his paw outstretched like a navigator pointing the way to the horizon. ¡°Alright, it¡¯s been over twelve hours since we came down here. The battle should be over, so it¡¯s time to take the lay of the land,¡± Harvey explained, pulling out the map from before for us to take a look.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°As a local resident, is there anywhere in particular we should go?¡± ¡°The top district will be sealed off for sure,¡± Kyle replied, running a finger across the north wall for emphasis. ¡°Everything closest to the wall, only nobles, their servants and the military live and work there, meaning they¡¯ll all be on high alert after such a brazen attack on the city. Even if you somehow got it, you¡¯ll be found and detained in no time at all. Everywhere else is fair game.¡± ¡°Alright, we¡¯ll leave the nobility alone. In that case, let¡¯s split up to cover the rest of the city. We¡¯re currently in the Residential Ring immediately below the noble district. Directly south of us is the Merchant¡¯s District we came from, right in the middle of the city. Everything else branches off from there, with the Main Gates directly south again. From there, you¡¯ve got the old city Slums to the south east, the Industrial Quarter to the north east, and the entire west side dominated by the Services: everything from the guilds that organise and regulate tradesmen, to banking and law, to the various churches and schools of magic recognized by the Kingdom of Frontier. That¡¯s it, in theory at least, reality isn¡¯t quite so neat and tidy, but this is a good starting point, if you¡¯ve got any preferences.¡± ¡°I know my way around the Slums and Industrial Quarter,¡± Kyle spoke up immediately. ¡°Hopefully at least some of the regulars survived the night, and might know just what¡¯s going on in the world.¡± ¡°Let me check out the Services,¡± I offered after him. I had no illusions that it would resemble the City of London in any way, shape or form, the existence of magic alone precluded that, but it was still the closest I¡¯d get to my previous world, so hopefully some of the experience would carry over. ¡°That works out well, since I spent most of my time in the Merchant¡¯s District and Residential Ring, so I¡¯ll hold down the fort here.¡± Harvey concluded, putting the map away. ¡°Remember, this first excursion is just to test the waters, and see how badly Heaven¡¯s Reach got hit. If you find a chance to sell some product, take it, but that¡¯s not the priority at this point.¡± Kyle and I both nodded, neither of us keen to draw the attention of law enforcement literally a day after a major invasion, and with that, our day began. Harvey pressed the concealed panel from before, returning the staircase to operation, and I led the way up this time, bringing us back into the afternoon light. The dull and overcast weather seemed to set the mood for the city, one that had clearly seen better days. From our vantage point, I could see several craters where entire blocks of buildings had ceased to exist, many more areas burnt down to nearly nothing (The Dead Horse among the latter), and plenty more damage of a lesser scale. Even the Residential Ring hadn¡¯t been spared, I noted, as I stood back to let a row of burly men pass by, the convoy carrying long wooden planks and boards intended for reconstruction. ¡°Alright gang, let''s split up and look for clues.¡± Pumpkin leaned down to give me a funny look at that, but didn¡¯t object as we made our way back down the mountain. Chapter 103: City Builder Chapter 103: City Builder It was weird, seeing an entire district demarcated for a specific purpose. I hadn¡¯t bothered paying attention to the specifics before now, having considered this nothing more than a brief layover before the journey resumed. That was very much in doubt now, given the invasion, and it was probable that our stay would be greatly extended in the interim, meaning that I actually had to pay attention to Heaven¡¯s Reach as a whole. Cities back in England had been hodgepodge affairs, filled with windy roads and alleys all too easy to get lost in, and overgrown brickwork laid across waves of settlement, rising and falling over the generations until the same street could host homes built centuries apart. Eco-friendly new age designs sat shoulder to shoulder with remnants of the Roman Empire, while Victorian brick houses reclined in the shadow of high-rise behemoths of glass and steel, not always without mishap either. One well known example reflected the light at just the right angle, melting any car unfortunate enough to be parked underneath; the subsequent lawsuit had been top fodder for tabloids and news shows alike, leading to a costly settlement and an even more expensive refurbishment, adding black blinders to cover the offending wall. The point being, cities were very much organic affairs in my past life, contrasting sharply with the utilitarian planning that had shaped Heaven¡¯s Reach; it hadn¡¯t been as easy to notice when amongst the weeds, but now that I was overlooking the city from above, the distinction was clear. The market district was a perfect square, surrounded by a wall on every side. Every building in the district followed the same design, building long rather than tall, with wood on the outside and thatched straw rooftops. All I had to do was shift my gaze very slightly to the west, and not a single stalk of straw could be seen, and white brick held a monopoly in the half circle allocated towards the service industry. The industrial quarter, meanwhile, was a lifeless concrete jungle, reminiscent of my few visits to the former Eastern Bloc, while behind me were only buildings of stone, the most durable material of all, albeit the heaviest and most difficult to work with at scale, but worth it close to the Wall, where fortification was the sole and pressing concern for architects. The slums alone lacked a coherent style, with aspects of every other district evident in the sprawling shanty town that dominated the south-east; whether this was due to a lack of provision, or the lack of enforcement eluded me, though the distinction was probably academic at best. All told, Heaven¡¯s Reach looked like five cities in a trenchcoat, and I wasn¡¯t sure if I liked it or not. ¡°Stop turning,¡± Pumpkin grumbled, whacking my ear with a paw in protest as he moved in tandem with my head. ¡°What are you even looking at?¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Just admiring the scenery,¡± I explained, knowing that Pumpkin hadn¡¯t gotten much out of the view, given his relative lack of distance vision. Idly, I wondered if it were possible to give him the kind of visual acuity humans took for granted, at least before years of sitting in front of a screen degraded our sight to a similar degree. It hadn¡¯t been possible back on Earth, or at least I¡¯d never heard of a cat with glasses, but maybe magic had a solution for this; something to consider, once I had more gilt to my name and the ear of a magical Artisan. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± I relented, picking up the pace and abandoning my sightseeing. I didn¡¯t go too far, limiting myself to a light jog, because the path was steep enough that I didn¡¯t want to risk it; a small tumble would turn into a long roll down to the bottom, and while I could probably survive it given my durability, it would be a painful and humiliating way to make my descent. The streets were emptier than I¡¯d have expected for a city this size, with only the odd Soldier making his rounds along the path. None of them tried to pull us aside, though several turned our way, staring at Pumpkin more often than not. Possibly, that was due to his Class being on display, while mine was hidden by the Blackened Bracelet, but it was just as likely they were cat lovers, and there was no deeper motive in their stares. Our descent concluded peacefully, charting a southwest path to the ground, and it wasn¡¯t until we reached the northern wall to the service district that we found our way blocked by a pair of guards, halberds crossed in front of us like a scene out of a mummer¡¯s play. ¡°Halt! We need to make sure you¡¯re not a Changeling, show us your name tag!¡± Not the worst demand I¡¯d ever gotten in the street, since he wasn¡¯t begging for money, even if it was a bit hypocritical since neither of the guards showed their own. It would be pointless arguing over it, so I removed the Blacked Bracelet from my arm for a moment. [Class (Public): Level 1 Merchant] ¡°Alright, carry on then.¡± With that brief stop out of the way, I was able to cross the threshold and enter the service district. The roads were crowded, with men and women of all stripes roaming the streets, going from one establishment to another or chatting by the roadside with drinks in hand. Hawkers set up stands in front of some of the more prominent buildings, loudly proclaiming the superior quality of their goods and services, carrying trays laden with brochures and occasionally free samples. None of them had been visible from above, so I could only conclude that an illusion was in place to preserve their privacy from outsiders. In stark contrast to the martial lean, further up the mountain, everybody here was either a Civilian or a Merchant, and there were no guards in sight, though I was sure some were hiding among the crowd; my ability to conceal my true Class was unlikely to be unique. That was fine though, because I had no intention of being caught doing anything illegal. This was definitely the right place to be, I already knew; money flowed freely here, so all I had to do was make some of it my own. Now, where to start? Chapter 104: Beefeater Chapter 104: Beefeater I had a few goals in mind, beyond just getting up to date with the daily news. Investigating what passed for financial services was a must, if only to pay homage to my long and distinguished career back on Earth. A visit to the Church of the System would also be helpful, to get access to better methods of long distance communication. Magic in general also remained an attractive prospect; even if I wouldn¡¯t get the full benefit from it, not being a Mage myself, even learning a few cantrips would be well worth the return on investment. That said, there was one immediate barrier to my ambitions: I was broke; the last of my inheritance had been spent fending off a horse demon, the coins I threw being left in such condition as to make reuse impossible, neither as a weapon nor as currency. More annoyingly, my Covenants meant that I couldn''t just borrow a few Gilt from Harvey or Kyle, so this was something I needed to solve by myself. To begin with, I made a show of window shopping, slipping into the role of a country bumpkin visiting the big city for the first time. It wasn¡¯t hard at all, because I was genuinely interested in the variety of services on offer, so my gawking was mostly natural, albeit slightly exaggerated for effect. Some were identical to those on Earth, like the estate agent offering rooms for rent, starting from fifty Gilt a month for a cot inside someone¡¯s broom closet, and going all the way up to five hundred a month for a luxury townhouse with a cook, maid and nanny included in the price. Others were a strange blend of new and familiar, like the apothecary¡¯s shop; a small nook in the corner of the street, offering familiar household remedies such as cough syrup, lozenges for the sore throat and an impressive array of herbal teas, alongside holy water capable of repelling monsters and talismans of exorcism to deal with unwanted spirits. I stayed at each shop just long enough to take in the sights, leaving before the shopkeep got annoyed or attempted to engage me in conversation. Eventually, I made it to the nearest eatery, a joint carvery and butcher that proudly advertised ¡®the freshest cuts in the city¡¯. It was absolutely packed, with two long lines running from the counter all the way out into the street, as men and women from across the district waited (im)patiently for some food to go. The atmosphere was remarkably relaxed given the events of just a day prior; people were hungry and impatient, but not any more tense or fearful than the average Londoner after a long morning of work. The lunch queue was likewise a familiar sight to me, but it had been many years since I saw one this long; delivery services had taken a big bite out of the food-to-go market in London, something that evidently didn¡¯t exist in Heaven¡¯s Reach. Briefly, I considered the pros and cons of starting a local variant of Uber Eats; was there a way to integrate a delivery app into the System? Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. If so, the cost savings would be immense, because there would be no need to develop separate infrastructure menus, maps, telephone or text; everything could be deployed through the System that every sentient being already possessed, a captive market that put motorway service stations and airport kiosks to shame. It was a heady vision, but one that was far beyond my reach for the time being, so I set it aside in favour of a more achievable goal: pickpocketing. That was why I picked an eatery, my stomach notwithstanding; it was a volume business, sustained by larger numbers of low value transactions, more often than not in cash. Accordingly, all I had to do was glue myself to the meat counter closest to the cashier, pretending to be fixated on the cold cuts sitting on piles of ice. From there, I let my eyes relax, enough to maximise my peripheral vision, and whenever someone came up to pay, I reached out with my inventory, stole into their coin pouch and took a little bit off the top. [1 Gild stored. 1 Gild stored. 1 Gild stored.] I only took from those with full coin pouches, and only a single coin from each of my victims at that; there was no need to get greedy, nor to risk the attention of the poor misers who counted every coin as a matter of course. Turnover was quick, as expected of what was effectively a fast food counter for the busy white collar crowd; in little more than ten minutes, I¡¯d taken a good thirty Gilt for myself. [20 XP for stealing people¡¯s lunch money.] The experience was great as well, though I suspected I only got it because the System thought I was funny, rather than for any great achievement on my part. Still, it was enough to take me from destitute to over half of the inheritance Will¡¯s parents had left behind after years of toil for the state, proving once again that crime was clearly the best way to make a living. ¡°Hey, stop that!¡± I looked up after my thirtieth mark, feeling a conspicuous lightness on my head. Sure enough, Pumpkin had gotten tired of playing second fiddle to my success, and decided to jump over the counter to claim his own portion of the spoils. It was impressive, watching a house cat on the small side of the species devour an entire rump steak in a single bite. ¡°You¡¯re paying for that,¡± the Butcher deadpanned, though to his credit he didn¡¯t try to pick Pumpkin up, saving himself from a painful and potentially fatal injury. I tossed him the latest of my ill-gotten gains, and that was the end of the matter; he wasn¡¯t looking for trouble after all, and I doubted he got paid well enough to risk his life against a stranger. ¡°I¡¯ll take a roast beef sandwich to go,¡± I added, because if he was watching me anyway, why not take the opportunity to cut the line? Chapter 105: Petty Crime Chapter 105: Petty Crime My sandwich cost another two Gilt, well worth it in my opinion, as it put the hardtack biscuit I had for breakfast to shame. The price was extortionate, admittedly, as I¡¯d paid the equivalent of a room for the night for a slice of roast beef, two pieces of bread, and mustard straight from the vine; much like in London, the West End boasted the highest prices in the city. Still worth it, since it let me eat as I walked, leaving the crowded carvery behind with 27 Gilt to my name; giving me a lot more options now that the lunch rush was ending and the crowd slowly dispersed, trickling back to their offices recharged and ready to work hard until the end of the day. There was some risk in committing such crimes in plain view, but I¡¯d gone in with the expectation that anybody capable of catching me in the act had more important things to worry about at present, which seemed to have paid off, as nobody followed me out to arrest me or try to break my leg for stealing from them. Harvey¡¯s map hadn¡¯t been very specific, listing only the parts of the city without giving much thought to details, and I couldn¡¯t find a public information booth, and there wasn¡¯t a single tour guide in sight. I suppose I could have asked the locals for directions, but that would give rise to questions like ¡®Who are you?¡¯ or ¡®Where did you come from?¡¯ that I couldn¡¯t be bothered dealing with. No, I decided, it was much better to find my own way, and let fate take the wheel. Many had often expressed surprise when I voiced such opinions in the past, struggling to reconcile my image as an agnostic and rational person with a belief in concepts such as luck. I simply pointed those fools to the long list of brokers and businessmen who made their fortunes with a single well-timed transaction, and the much longer list of those ruined by the fickle whims of the market. Luck had its place in the world, whether at the boardroom or the battlefield; only the fool denied its importance, while wiser men hedged their bets at all times, precisely to mitigate the worst possible outcomes as the wheel turned. So, I just kept walking, skipping over the many restaurants, pubs and cafes now that my stomach was full, along with the services that didn¡¯t quite align with my current needs, like the barbers, hosiers and the occasional dentist, until I found something actually helpful. ¡°Vermina, Sorceress Supreme?¡± Pumpkin read aloud, the first as always to give voice to his doubts. Not that I didn¡¯t share them, because the garish purple and yellow sign, complete with a landscape of a woman posing in what could only generously be described as clothing, did little to portray the image of a powerful spellcaster worthy of such a grandiose title. The oversized wizard hat didn¡¯t help either; all told, the entire spectacle looked like something out of a B-list porno from the seventies. I could also hear the doctor introducing the scene in my mind; something many such films shot back then, since recordings made for medical education were exempted from many of the restrictions imposed by the censors of the day. I¡¯d never spared much time for such matters, so it was only morbid curiosity that made me reach for the door.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. [Access denied. Wrong Class.] Annoyingly, the door opened just fine; it was only when I tried to enter that I took an invisible barrier straight to the nose, and couldn¡¯t make it any further past the threshold. In fact, I couldn¡¯t even see past it; the entire inside of the shop stubbornly refused to stick in my mind now matter how hard I tried to recall it. While that proved the owner did in fact have some magic to her name, it also left me rather annoyed. [Blackened Bracelet stored.] I put the bracelet away, thinking that the concealment function might have been the cause of the restriction, but it didn¡¯t help in the slightest. To add insult to injury, Pumpkin jumped off of my head and made it inside without any trouble at all. ¡°Are you coming?¡± The smug feline asked, though I was certain he knew I¡¯d been held at the door; he knew momentum well enough to see that I hadn¡¯t stopped voluntarily. ¡°I can¡¯t. Can you see if there¡¯s anybody inside?¡± ¡°Nope, it¡¯s just a broom closet; literally, there¡¯s nothing but brooms in here, several dozen of them in fact.¡± Now, I was far from an expert in reading the thoughts of a sorceress, but considering she could have easily kept us out entirely, but instead barred my path while letting Pumpkin into the most menial room of any building? Well, the entire setup screamed of calculated passive aggression; the kind that suggested we were only fit to the floor for her, or something of the sort. ¡°Alright, if that¡¯s how you want to play it.¡± [24 pears withdrawn.] I wasn¡¯t able to get inside, but I had no problem rolling an armful of fruit past the barrier, drawing a soft gasp from Pumpkin. ¡°Eat up,¡± I said with a smile, and immediately heard the gluttonous feline dig in, once I¡¯d confirmed I hadn¡¯t dropped them by mistake. Pumpkin was the very definition of a food-motivated cat; when offered a chance to indulge, he took it without any thought as to the long term consequences. In that respect, he greatly resembled many in the Finance industry. Accordingly, it didn¡¯t take long for him to gorge his way through two dozen pears, and it didn¡¯t take long after that for him to do his business, right there in the broom closet. I stepped aside at that point, electing to spare my nose, and he emerged soon after, kicking the door closed behind him with an air of smug satisfaction. Was this illegal? Possibly. But while it would annoy anyone who found the mess, it shouldn¡¯t take too long to clean, putting it in the annoying prank category rather than something they¡¯d be motivated to chase me down for. Still not the smartest thing to do, I can readily admit, but I made it a habit to treat others with the same amount of respect they gave me, so it was only fair. Chapter 106: Take Me To Church Chapter 106: Take Me To Church As is typical when doing something that might be considered inadvisable, a faint, nagging doubt arose as soon as the deed was done. I had no regret inconveniencing the shop that so rudely rejected me, but why was I so quick to take retaliatory action in the face of a fairly benign refusal in the grand scheme of things? While I wouldn¡¯t have batted at eye at such behaviour in the later stages of my career, I was a bit more cautious in my youth. Wasn¡¯t I? [Will Swindell Class (True): Level 4 Soldier of Fortune Class (Public): Level 1 Merchant Title: [Empty] Experience: 631/750 Traits
  • Money is Power: All attributes scale with accumulated wealth.
  • Money in the Pocket: A private storage space for your personal belongings.
  • Masquerade: Your Class is invisible, and you appear Classless by default. Alternatively, you may choose to display a public identity. You may choose the Level of your displayed Class, up to your true Level. Available identities: Soldier, Merchant.
  • Death and Taxes: As a Soldier, wounds you inflict cause rapid decay. As a Merchant, curses you inflict last twice as long.
  • Near and Far: Proficiency (Hand to Hand) and Proficiency (Throwing Weapons)
  • Let It Go: Resistance (Fire), Recognition (The Dark Below)
Titles
  • Murderer: You are recognised by certain dark powers. It would be unwise to wear this in public.
Covenants
  • Self-Made Man: Class will be lost if you ever resort to taking a loan.
  • Thief in Law: Class will be lost if you ever accept legitimate employment.
  • Silvertongue: Class will be lost if you knowingly tell a direct lie.
Advancement
  • Gain property
  • Gain subordinates
  • Gain influence
  • More, always more!Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
Contacts
  • Amelia Dawn - Level 30 Necromancer
  • Harvey Miller - Level 10 Thief of Souls
  • Kyle Erwing - Level 11 Sharpshooter
  • Pumpkin - Level 4 Cat
Equipped
  • Mask of Felis: Grants Language (Cat) when worn.
Inventory
  • 27 Gilt
  • 4.5¡± Knife (Smooth/Serrated)
  • Blackened Bracelet: Hides your Name and Class when worn.
  • Silent Night: The wearer¡¯s actions are silent when they are not under observation.
  • 6 Throwing Knives
  • 18 Loaf of bread
  • 23 Salt Pork
  • 181 Apples
  • 180 Pears
  • 200 Plums
  • 340 oz Water
  • 50 oz Butter
  • 1000 Valkyrie Dust
  • Changeling Skeleton]
The question lingered in my mind long enough for me to take a quick look through my status page, but it was much as I remembered it, with nothing to suggest a heightened emotional response, or being quicker to anger specifically. In the absence of further evidence, I could only conclude that I¡¯d either settled into a general sense of impunity after a decades in the C-suite, or this was the lingering remnants of the previous Will lashing out; as befitted a Kingdom stuck somewhere between the Dark Ages and the Renaissance, disputes were settled physically a lot of the time, so that might have rubbed off on me as well. Still, my instincts had yet to steer me wrong in either lifetime, so I could only trust them and let the dominoes fall where they may. Heading further into the service district, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the sheer number of food outlets, with the majority of the real estate on the ground floor being dedicated to them. It was often joked that a Londoner was never more than ten feet from a rat, nor more than fifty from a Pret, something that seemed to hold similar even here. If anything, the proportion of outlets was skewed even further than in London, since there were no skyscrapers in this district, nor any buildings taller than perhaps five or six floors plus the rooftop. Far from the modern cityscape, it was much more in keeping with the university towns I¡¯d visited; Oxford and Cambridge both came to mind, with their draconian building codes ensuring that all structures conformed to the old red brick aesthetic. I continued to ignore them however, and eventually my persistence paid off, as I emerged from the winding roads into a vast rotunda; an immense pressure built in the air, and the familiar city crowds parted like the waves before me, leaving me in no doubt as to where I was. Statues were the name of the game, here in the religious heart of Heaven¡¯s Reach; towering marble statues depicting the paragons of Frontier society, whose power and presence had shaped humanity in the darkest of ages, giving them succour and strength to endure. Or so I¡¯d been told; these days, I got the sense that the old pantheon wasn¡¯t quite as prominent any more, not when everyone relied upon the System for their everyday needs. Indeed, the Church of the System took pride of place in the middle of the circle, a simple bungalow surrounded by a moat that encircled it on all sides; a literal blue box as it were. None of the temples were that impressive, a concession to the lack of space inherent in city life, but the System had the smallest of them all, and also the busiest, with a large crowd on every side of the river, heads down and hands clasped in prayer. I decided to leave that for last, as I didn¡¯t fancy my chances of forcing my way through without being torn to pieces by an enraged mob. Hopefully, by the time I¡¯d visited all the others, the crowd would have thinned. Heading leisurely clockwise, I first reached the temple of Ea, God of Life and Death. I¡¯d have expected a crowd here as well, given the powerful portfolios involved, but I found only a single caretaker, dutifully sweeping the floor, and a handful of robed worshippers on the benches inside. [Access denied. Required Class: Priest, Paladin, Acolyte] I was rather put out to find that the same restrictions applied here, though unlike the abode of Vermina, I at least got an explanation as to what was lacking, rather than the useless ¡®Wrong Class¡¯. At least Pumpkin wasn¡¯t able to get inside either, so we could at least suffer together. Chapter 107: Indulgence Chapter 107: Indulgence As it turned out, that first interaction set the tone for the remainder of the temples. [Access denied. Required Class: Mage, Warlock, Sorcerer] Some of them made sense, like the temple of Nebet, the goddess of magic requiring an associated Class to enter. [What is my name?] Others were rather more obscure, of particular note being the shrine dedicated to the god of mystery, which was little more than a door protruding out of the ground, denying entry to all except for those who could name him. Whilst it might seem strange at first glance, that a god might reject potential converts to his cause, this was in effect a method of filtering out the laymen, while permitting entry only to those who had some degree of initiation in his faith. A focus on quality over quantity, a preference for serious business while dispensing with the retail side of worship; there were pros and cons to this approach, but I couldn¡¯t help admitting that it fit the theme. [Entry Fee: 5000 Gilt] Then there were the ones verging on the ridiculous. My first thought upon seeing that notification was that I¡¯d stumbled upon the God of Wealth, but no, apparently anyone with a sufficient following could petition the local authorities for a temple. I had no idea what the Worshipful Fellows of Divine Livery represented, beyond conspicuous consumption, which suited me just fine, because I wasn¡¯t going to touch that mess with a ten foot pole. Altogether, I managed to do a full revolution of the rotunda without finding a single temple I could actually enter, and not for lack of trying either. Notably, even those which would ordinarily admit Soldiers or Merchants refused me entry, indicating that as powerful as it was, Masquerade couldn¡¯t quite fool the divine. Useful to know, and a vindication of my decision to seek religion by myself, as this revelation might otherwise have led to some awkward questions, so that was fortunate. On a less fortunate note, the crowd was still going strong at the temple of the System; really, I had to wonder why they didn¡¯t spring for some more real estate, given the amount of traffic I could see. Sure, there was something to be said for exclusivity, but past a certain point it was simply counterproductive. Instead of joining the throng and risking death by trampling, I decided that discretion was the better part of valour and went to find some lunch. Admittedly, I had plenty of provisions stored away, but after a long journal on such simple fare, I wasn¡¯t going to pass up a proper meal when the circumstances allowed it; the sailors of yore might have subsisted for months on salt pork and hardtack, but I had a rather more refined palate, thank you very much. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Circling back to the eateries I saw on the way in, I found one with a moderate queue; the best kind of queue, short enough to be worth the wait while long enough to be reasonably sure I wasn¡¯t about to die of dysentery. Their menu was spelled out on an overhead blackboard; simple and hearty fare of shepherd¡¯s pie and ale, a staple offering in a hilly region that offered little comfort for more traditional livestock. Three Gilt was a bit steep for what was on offer, a sign that the ¡®London tax¡¯ was alive and well in cities even a world away, but I was willing to pay for the convenience; after all, I had plenty of Valkyrie Dust in my inventory to begin making up the deficit in the near future. I never got the chance to hand my hard-earned coin away however, because in an amusing twist of fate, someone tried to pick my pocket. It wasn¡¯t a bad attempt in all honesty; the would-be thief struck during a moment where passersby crowded around the line and stall alike, attempting to disguise their intentions with a bump on the shoulder. Unfortunately for him, I was a veteran of the London Underground (the public transport and the society alike), and had plenty of experience in detecting such attempts on my wealth. [1 Gild withdrawn.] I let him take one coin, pulling it out of my inventory for that express purpose, because the name of the game for both of us was avoiding attention. Better that he think I was careless than to make people wonder how I was going to pay for my meal, as I had no intention of revealing my storage capabilities. That¡¯s not to say I was going to let him off scot free, as I quickly left the queue to shadow the thief. He was taller than me, something I¡¯d ordinarily be annoyed by but in this case was to his detriment; a shorter fellow might have escaped me by ducking into the crowd, but that wasn¡¯t an option for him, so the chase was on. There was an art to stalking, something I¡¯d rarely had to put into practice. Much like a game of red light, green light, the goal was to move when the target wasn¡¯t looking; when he looked my way, I played the part of the gawking tourist, pointing at random landmarks or petting Pumpkin on my shoulder, only to resume the chase as soon as his back was turned. Just once, he swung back faster than before, but I was prepared for him; he caught me picking my nose and turned away with a grimace. Just as planned. It was a tense few minutes, but eventually I managed to lull him into a false sense of security, and he stopped being quite so careful as he ducked away into an alleyway. My Blackened Bracelet came on, followed by Silent Night to disguise my movements, and into the breach I went. Helpfully, the pickpocket had stopped not far away to count his loot; I could¡¯ve put a knife in his back with ease, but I refrained just this once. A dead man told no tales after all; I was a Soldier of Fortune, not a Necromancer. Instead, I crept up on him, and made a fist. Chapter 108: Dharma Chapter 108: Dharma The thief clearly had a second sense of some sort, because he began to turn the moment I made my intentions clear. To this day, I remain uncertain what the trigger was; I wasn''t intending to kill him, assuming an appropriate level of cooperation, so it couldn''t have been detection of Killing Intent. I''d barely curled my fist when he moved, leaving such a narrow window to react that I suspected some form of precognition, but surely that couldn''t be the answer, because why would someone with such a gift be targeting tourists at a food stall? True, my guard wasn''t necessarily up in the moment, but I like to think that I hold myself properly: I''m not the kind to be a victim or in danger, in many cases, I am the danger, so why me? The thief refused to answer my justified questions, mainly because his spin meant my fist was buried in the front of his throat; a painful outcome, albeit less dangerous than the rabbit punch I''d initially aimed at the back of his neck. The latter was banned in nearly every combat sport back on Earth, due to the high risk of irreversible spinal damage followed by death, but that was no reason to refrain here; I needed him to talk, not walk. Surprisingly resilient, he managed to pull a knife from his sleeve, all while coughing like a chimney from my opening blow. [Plum withdrawn.] I gave him a plum for his efforts; serving up two helpings of freshly squeezed plum juice, right in the eyes. Having had the same as a child, I can confirm one thing: it hurts like hell, so don''t try this at home. He actually gasped at this, having recovered enough breath for it; his knife stabbed at empty air while his off hand instinctively went to his face, fruitlessly scraping at his eyes and irritating them even further. My hand clamped down around his wrist, before bringing an end to his wild flailing with a sharp twist, sending his knife flying out of reach. "Stop." It''s amazing how obedient people become after you demonstrate your superiority over them. The thief froze in place, and I didn''t even have to grab him by the throat to prevent him from screaming. "You can have your m-money back," the Thief stammered, looking close to tears at the sudden reversal of fortune. I backhanded him across the face, leaving the beginning of a large purple bruise. "I don''t care about the money. Take off your concealment item if you want to live." I watched his hands carefully, ready to move in case of any skulduggery, but he seemed resigned to his fate, as he pried a worn copper ring from a finger. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. [Armand Level 3 Thief] The big reveal was about what I expected; there was an inherent level of suspicion associated with hiding from the System, so naturally his Class had to be something that would invite even more suspicion when unveiled. "Tell me, Armand, do you use drugs?" Amusingly, he flinched before shaking his head; only a momentary lapse, but a moment is all I need. [Valkyrie Dust withdrawn.] "Are you familiar with this?" I press on, waving the vial in his face and watching his pupils constrict. "Never tried it," Armand shook his head again. "Heard it makes you feel amazing, but the comedown is rough." "Good enough," I nodded, handing him the vial for his troubles. "Consider this a finder''s fee. You''re going to introduce me to whatever you know at the local black market, my product isn''t going to sell itself after all." Armand went three shades paler at my demand, which was rather notable because he didn''t look like he got much sunlight to begin with, judging by the few patches of skin visiuble through his rather concealing robes. "I don''t have a choice, do I?" He eventually sighed, though his dismay didn''t stop him from pocketing the dust. "Start walking." All things considered, this wasn''t quite what I had in mind when I set out for the day, but if anything, it was a stroke of luck. I''d anticipated a gradual process, observing and trailing the local faces of the underworld: the beggars, buskers and their ilk, until I found who I was looking for. Getting a foot in the door this early went beyond my expectations, to the point where I was willing to let Armand keep his pilfered coin. So what if I still roughed him up a bit? That was only par for the course; it wasn''t about the money, it was about sending a message. I kept close to Armand as I let him take the lead, heading deeper into the back alleys, where one grimy grey street blended into the next. I didn''t think him brave enough to try turning on me, not after my earlier display, but I did anticipate a potential escape attempt. Sure enough, after just a few minutes at a brisk walk, I saw his legs twitch with the anticipation of power. "Stop right there," I ordered, clamping a hand around his shoulder and gripping down hard. "Pumpkin, climb onto him won''t you? If he tries to get away from me, slice his neck open." Pumpkin obliged, wrapping himself around Armand like a scarf; it looked significantly more threatening that when he did it to me, probably thanks to the claw pressed up against the carotid artery. That did the trick, and there were no further attempts to break away during the trip. I wasn''t keeping an exact track of time, but we couldn''t have walked more than ten minutes before the smell of industry wafted over, and sure enough, one final turn took us away from the narrow streets and into a bustling market square. Unlike the well-polished stalls near the temple rotunda, small tents and face masks were the order of the day here, and people hurried along without stopping to stare at the goods. As far as a black market went, it was surprisingly presentable; better than the flea markets back home, if I was being honest. "Well, what are we waiting for? Lead the way to the local dealer. Time''s a wasting." Chapter 109: Deal Me In Chapter 109: Deal Me In What does an obvious drug dealer look like? That''s a trick question, because the ones who can be pigeonholed so easily tend to become inmates soon after. Say what you will about corruption and turning a blind eye, but even a guardsman on the take won''t ignore blatant criminality staring him in the face, because to do so would place his own job at risk. Inevitably, those criminals who struggle to blend in are quickly taken out of the game, leaving behind a more circumspect set of replacements. Accordingly, the shop that Armand led me to was remarkably plain. A single unit in a long row of houses, with a narrow corridor leading inside, the latter barely wide enough for Armand and I to walk shoulder to shoulder. All around from ceiling to floor, shelves overflowed with an assortment of bizarre oddities. From the relatively mundane silverware and china cups, to the more fantastical, such as the picked eyes in jars that followed me as I browsed, or the shrunken skulls that rattled in place. [Junk] It was all junk, a statement even the System wholeheartedly agreed with, the kind of antique and oddity shop that could be found in every tourist trap the world over. I''d be surprised if the place saw more than a dozen sales in a week, not even coming close to recouping the cost of even a minimum wage worker. In other words, it was the perfect front for some illicit goods and money laundering; a business that never made any profit on its own merits, and thus left considerable leeway to cook the books for everything from wages, to inventory, to rent and more besides. As we came into view, his eyes singled out my guide at once. "Armand? Who''ve you brought me this time?" [Joe Blow Level 5 Merchant] The shopkeeper sat at the end of the corridor, a wrinkled old man who looked like he was alive during the Normandy landings. His perch behind the till gave him line of sight on all visitors, whilst also barring the way to the staff quarters behind him. The name displayed was an obvious fake, though I figured the Class was probably valid; Merchant was such a broad category that it served as a cover all on its own. "Sorry boss. He looked like the average mark at first, but that didn''t last long." Armand, for his part, was doing his best impression of honest contrition, keeping his head down and making his apologies. It would have been fine ordinarily, but with Pumpkin still wrapped around his neck like a cravat, it looked a bit ridiculous. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. "You can let him go," I relented, recalling my feline companion to his preferred spot on my shoulder. "We have what we came for." It was something of a gamble, as in theory Armand could have led me to a useless old man, but I considered myself a good judge of character, and I simply didn''t think the lad had it in him to play games. Not with his life on the line, since he couldn''t possibly have known that I''d release him at the first destination. Besides, I was almost certain this was the right place, because really? Joe Blow for a covert drug dealer? Either the System was playing games with me, or this was a drug den, I''d bet my last coin on it. "Is that right?" Joe finally turned his attention to me, a bit cavalier of him really, but who knew? Given how Armand sighed in relief, maybe the old man was actually someone dangerous. Probably not, but it never hurts to be careful. I let the old man stare me down, seeing no reason to volunteer information for free; whatever he saw in me, it likely wasn''t too bad, since he visibly relaxed soon after. "Eh, can''t be helped, in this case. You got paid?" Armand nodded furiously, not even trying to lie about the coin he''d kept. "Get going then, you already got yours." The pickpocket didn''t hesitate, shooting out of the door like all the hounds of hell were at his back. Was it Joe he feared, or myself; I didn''t think I''d been overly harsh on the boy, hell, he wasn''t even maimed! "So, you have something for me then?" Joe grunted. His voice was softer with me, compared to the harsh barking Armand got; it reminded me of certain managers I''d known who were true tyrants to their employees, only to turn on a dime and be the best host ever for their wealthy clients. Truly, the marketing department recruited all sorts "Armand seemed to think this was the right place," I agreed, pulling the vial of Valkyrie Dust from my pocket and handing it over. "Hoh." Joe''s eyes sharpened as he examined the vial, every bit the discerning salesman now as he looked it over. I had no idea what he saw in it; I was a numbers man, not a chemist, so I could only hope it did the job. It wasn''t like we had a variety of customers on hand, not with Harvey''s contacts all six feet under. "Looks good," Joe eventually admitted. "Looks are only half the story though." He followed that statement up immediately, uncorking the vial and inhaling the contents in a single sniff. Apparently, the age-old wisdom ''Don''t get high off your own supply.'' did not apply in this world. "Now that''s the good stuff! Ah, this makes me feel fifty years younger, back in the war and taking heads again!" Joe made a fist, flexing muscles previously hidden under an inconspicuous tunic. The bracelet around his wrist shattered, broken fragments falling towards the floor, None of them landed, as a wave of golden light erupted from Joe''s hand, reducing them to nothing. "Thanks, youngster. I needed that. You got more where that came from? In that case, let''s talk terms." [Joe Blow Level 23 Warrior of Light] My first thought was that it made sense he was a Warrior, because who else would be familiar with a combat drug like Valkyrie Dust? My second thought was: that''s his real name? Chapter 110: A Thousand Sons Chapter 110: A Thousand Sons [You convinced the hidden master to reveal himself. 50 EXP gained.] Personally, I thought that was overly dramatic, both the reveal itself and the experience gained, but I was never one to refuse an easy payday. "I have some on me, and my associates might have more, if they haven''t managed to sell it off yet," I replied instead. [Valkyrie Dust withdrawn. Valkyrie Dust stored.] I summoned another sample to demonstrate before dismissing it seconds later; this time, I didn''t bother to pretend it came from a hidden pocket, as I doubted my slight of hand could fool someone who managed to live to retirement mage. Beware the old in a profession where men die young, as they say, and whilst I didn''t know the exact details of Joe''s past, everything said and shown so far hinted at a heavy front-line role. "How much exactly?" Joe queried, leaning back in his chair with the assurance of the deadliest man in the room. "A thousand vials, minus the one you took just now; let''s not count that one, call it a free sample." The first hit is free, a time old adage of dealers everywhere, or so the DARE commercials claimed. "Ah," Joe grimaced. "That could be difficult. Valkyrie Dust is a bit of a specialised product; great for a fight, but most men can''t handle it. Drives them a bit mad, you know, overconfident at best, a full-on blood rage that gets them put down at worst. We have to be selective with customers, even during wartime; if you''re looking to cash in quick, that''s a lot more than can be sold on short notice." "That''s to be expected," I sighed. "Really, this was only meant to be the first stop for our caravan, selling a bit at each point as we went wall to wall all the way to Light''s End. Needless to say, that plan isn''t exactly viable anymore." "The entire city is on lockdown," Joe nodded sagely. "Nobody gets in or out without a proper inspection, complete with magical support. The gate is an entirely different beast now, run directly by military police, none of those half-arsed customs inspectors who''ll look the other way for a bribe. Unless something drastic changes, you''ll be where for a while." That was depressingly likely, I concluded. Harvey had likely realised it as well, if he was sending us all on missions to integrate with the city proper; sure, we might be able to get out and head back south, but if inspections were that rigorous we''d have to leave our product behind. My pocket dimension had yet to be detected, but that was without running into true scrutiny, I couldn''t trust that it would hold under martial law. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. "That''s fine," I replied eventually. "How much are you willing to buy wholesale, here and now? With prices being what they are, I''m feeling a bit cash poor." My old managers would have cuffed me round the ears for admitting such weakness during negotiations, but frankly I didn''t care. I''d known last night''s events would have consequences, but a full lockdown was news to me. In such an environment, with supply and trade routes suddenly restricted, the price of everything was about to spike, as news spread in the coming days and panic set in. I needed Gilt, and I needed it now, something Joe was undoubtedly already aware of. "I''ll take a hundred vials," Joe replied immediately. "Enough to sell over the next week or two, without making anyone wonder where such large volumes came from. I''ll play ten Gilt a vial, a fair price while leaving me enough of a margin for resale." I was undoubtedly being ripped off; even in the best of days, wholesalers got shafted compared to the value of a drug on the street. I also had no reference price as to what was fair, Harvey hadn''t shared that, and I''d expected to be read into the market when he took the lead during the first sale. In the end, none of that mattered; I needed the money, and it wasn''t as if I was attached to the drug trade. War brought many risks, but just as many opportunities, and as I considered my position, a few promising ideas were coming to light. "Deal." Joe pulled a crate out from out of sight, setting it on the counter-top. [100 Valkyrie Dust withdrawn.] A hundred vials filled it most of the way, leaving enough room for a thin layer of whatever decoy he preferred to keep the inspectors happy. Joe''s eyes glazed over briefly, before he grunted, and handed me a faded slip of paper. "In the name of the System, Joe Blow bequeaths unto the holder of this slip the sum of one thousand Gilt?" [1000 Gilt gained.] I''d been dubious, reading it more as a question than a statement, but sure enough, I immediately received an infusion of wealth, whilst the slip in my hand crumbled to dust the moment I read it. "Neat, isn''t it?" Joe grinned, relishing in my obvious surprise. "Notaries who pledge themselves to commerce gain the ability Underwrite, allowing them to issue binding notes of credit backed by the System. From my vault to your storage item in moments, without the hassle of physically collecting and moving a thousand coins." Once again, I was forced to reevaluate this new world''s technological development, because despite the technological gap, they''d created a convincing substitute for central banking and direct deposit. There was still a paper element involved, so it wasn''t quite as efficient as a banking app, but it beat the chequebook quite convincingly. [You''ve made your first serious deal. 50 EXP gained.] Experience was coming thick and fast too, which was nice; I hadn''t had much chance to play the merchant until then, but now that I''d set down roots so to speak, I had no intention of slowing down from here on out. "If you''re still alive two weeks from now, I might be willing to buy another hundred." "I''ll keep that in mind," I replied absently, more concerned with the sudden fire that lit across my entire body. Metaphorically, of course, but undeniably all the same. With a sudden infusion of wealth, my Class was finally showing its value. [Money is Power: All attributes scale with accumulated wealth.] Chapter 111: Apples to Apples Chapter 111: Apples to Apples It was a heady feeling, one that made me want to withdraw all of my coin to count them one by one. I managed to refrain, barely, because this was a public shopfront and I really didn''t need people to stare; it was already bad enough that time I forgot to lock the door to my office, the poor intern was mortified. "Should we exchange Contacts?" I asked instead, eager to get out and about now that I had some proper liquidity to play with. "Better not, for the time being," Joe shook his head. "The top brass are going to be jittery for a while, anyone would be, after such a massive security breach. If they have a brain between them, they''ll realise that last nigh couldn''t have happened with the defences in good order, which means this was an inside job." "They''ll be out hunting infiltrators?" I replied dutifully. Joe was right on the money, though I wasn''t about share Pumpkin''s insights with a business associate at best. "Random inspections at minimum, and some of them can sift truth from lies. Only outright lies though, so if they were to ask whether I made contact with any suspicious individuals today, I could still say no, if they don''t specify the form of contact." That was rather concerning, and only validated my decision to keep a low profile; hopefully, the powers that be would have better targets to chase than a low level Merchant, even if my goods weren''t strictly legal. On that note... [50 Apples withdrawn.] "How much are you willing to pay for fifty apples, fresh from the orchards of the south." [5 Gilt gained.] Joe tossed a handful of coins my way; I snatched them out of the air one at a time, marvelling at the increase in my dexterity. Back when I was a thousand Gilt poorer, I probably would have missed one of them, given Joe''s careless toss, given the speed and lack of consideration for projectile spread. "Get going now," Joe laughed, accepting the olive branch in the spirit it was given; now, if asked about our dealings, he could truthfully say he bought a crate of apples. I didn''t dally, leaving his shop deep in thought. He wasn''t the first ''hidden master'' I''d met, and his level wasn''t quite as high as Amelia''s, but the fact that it had happened twice already spoke volumes. Was it normal for retired, high level adventurers to settle down and take up a sedentary role? On reflection it probably was; Will''s old lessons had covered many subjects back at the orphanage, but there had never been any mention of a state pension. The military was different, offering land and gold to those who survived their enlistment, but I had a feeling that survivors would be few and far apart, if what was happening here in Heaven''s Reach was being replicated across the Wall. It had been decades since the last major incursion, so it was bound to happen sooner or later; we were simply unlucky to be here at the time. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. All told, this impromptu diversion had been quite beneficial; I''d expected to have to find and stalk the criminal elements in order to gain access; instead, I was led straight to the prize, and even learned a bit about the state of the city, enough for a credible report back to Harvey. Daylight was burning though, so I circled back to where I was when this all kicked off, and to my delight I found that the temple of the System was now mostly vacant. There were still a few hangers on: a few children running about, their hapless minders chasing after them, and what looked to be a team of caterers packing their cart away. The line was gone though, and that was the important part. Taking a small footbridge over the moat, I let myself in without much of a fuss; none of them temples bothered to post guards, operating under the assumption that if you were able to enter, then clearly the divine had a plan for you. Even so, I hadn''t even made it to the welcome desk when Pumpkin gasped, leapt off of my shoulder and bolted into a back room marked ''Staff Only''. The receptionist turned a gimlet eye my way, making clear exactly what she thought of the scene. [Adel Weiss - Level 5 Cleric] "Sorry about that, I don''t know what got into him," I could only apologise, something every cat owner had in common. "All who unlock the System are welcome in the temple, human or otherwise. Your pet will return unharmed in this instance, though I would advise against bringing the screen-less here, as they tend to burn upon crossing the moat outside." "I''ll keep that in mind," I promised. It was a genuinely useful tidbit, in case I was ever chased by a soulless horde of zombies or something, and needed a hiding spot. "Now, what can I do for you?" Adel asked, putting the matter of Pumpkin aside. "I was hoping to purchase the ability to send text messages," I cut straight to the chase, as this was something I''d had my eye on for a while now. "Voice communications are all well and good, but on occasion, I have the need for something more discreet." "Easily done. That will be one hundred Gilt please." [100 Gilt withdrawn.] Apparently, easily done didn''t equate to cheap, making me doubly glad for my detour, since it was the only reason I could afford the toll at all. [Trait added. The Silent: Text messages unlocked. 50 EXP received for buying power with gilt. Level up! Will Swindell Class (True): Level 5 Soldier of Fortune Congratulations for reaching Level 5, the first true milestone for your species, and the mark of an adventurous soul. More importantly, you get to choose your first Keystone Trait. Keystones are significantly more potent on average than standard Traits, and only occasionally obtainable, so choose wisely. You have three options to pick from: 1) The End of the Cycle: Sometimes, all you need is the wrong man in the right place. Language (All). Immune (Precognition). Immune (Soul Alteration). 2) King of a Hundred Hearts: We''re so very small, in the end. Upon death, return to before the fatal incident. Masquerade loses one identity. If no identities are available, Masquerade is lost. 3) Cat: I''m not a cat. How do I turn this filter off? You are an honorary Cat in feline eyes. Gain Language (Cat). Access to Cat racial Traits upon level up.