The rhythmic clanging of metal in the smithy stopped abruptly as I entered. "Howdy, Mr. Ballard," I called, my voice slicing through the enveloping silence.

Emerging from a curtain of steam, the blacksmith stood by a vat of water, a half-cooled sword clutched in his seasoned hands. He set the blade onto the workbench before reaching for a canvas bag dangling from a wall hook.

With a knowing smile, he shook the bag at me. "Bet you're here for these," his voice was mischievous.

He poured out the bag's contents onto the counter that separated the forge from the rest of the workshop, an array of Systemized cartridges spilled out, catching the flickering light.

Mr. Ballard stroked his graying stubble, deep in thought. "One and a half silver for each round. Hundred for the Sharps and thirty for the pistol," he said, leaving room for negotiation in his tone.

I didn't barter. I knew the cartridges could go for more on the auction house, but it felt wrong to squeeze a better deal from the blacksmith. I fished out two gold coins from my pouch and slid them across the counter. "Fair enough?"

Mr. Ballard snatched the coins into his palm, disappearing them into his money pouch. "Thanks for your business, Cade. See you next time," he said, appreciating my acceptance.

Contentment washed over me as I nodded, pleased with our transaction. The gatehouse, a stone's throw away, called for my attention next.

On the second floor, I got to work, listing dozens of Systemized .227 ammo rounds on the System auction house. The thought of people still owning modern weapons capable of using such ammo was baffling. But as long as there was demand, I intended to supply. Once the .227 ammo is gone, that would be it. My benefit from them would be over.

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Descending into the shadowed coolness of the gatehouse, I found Mr. Lowe framed by the bright light spilling between the open wooden gates. His offhanded murmur floated towards me, "Would you look at that?" I stepped up to his side, my gaze following his outstretched arm.

A raw, empty canvas lay in front of us, where modern suburban houses used to huddle close together. Now, a weary trail of human figures threaded through the barren landscape, their tired forms converging towards our gate.

Closer they came, these strangers. The cruelty of the open road had hewn their faces into masks of hard-earned endurance. Two men led the assembly, their age seemingly a mirror of each other's four decades, their eyes reflecting unseen trials. Behind them, a motley group of women and children - some barely out of infancy, others teetering on the brink of adulthood.

My chest tightened at the sight of them—empathy bloomed for their plight, curiosity for their tales, and a thread of anticipation that our village could offer them sanctuary and gain from their skills.

Mr. Lowe's raised hand cut through the simmering heat, signaling their advance to a stop. His voice echoed through the silence, authoritative but not unkind, "That's close enough, folks."

The nearer man's face crumpled, lines of despair deeply etched. "Please, mister. We need a respite, just a night’s rest," he whispered, his voice sandpaper rough. He swept his arm behind him, his hand lingering on the women and children. "It's for them."

“Where about are y’all from?”

With a loose gesture to the east, the second man muttered the name of a small town not fifteen miles distant.

Mr. Lowe's hawk-eyed gaze snapped to me. "Cade, bring Steve Jr. and the others." His command sent me springing into action.

As I spun on my heel, his voice followed me, "Hold tight. We'll talk about letting you in."

The worn earth drummed under my sneakers as I darted towards the tavern. My sprint slowed as I spotted Wesley and his son, engrossed in a lively game of catch. Between panting breaths, I relayed the situation. His face tightening, he nodded before I spun back on my path, leaving the father and son in a moment of sudden stillness.

In no time at all, I found a handful of guards, swords in hand, engaged in a friendly bout near the houses. I heaved out the urgent news and our orders from Mr. Lowe in quick, breathless words. Recognizing the urgency, they fell into step behind me without question.

Returning to the gatehouse, I discovered Wesley deep in conversation with the two strangers. Despite the half dozen guards standing by, their presence seemed to be forgotten. I sidled closer, my curiosity piqued, eager to discern the flow of the dialogue.

Wesley spoke, a fine balance between kindness and hard-nosed reality underpinning his words. "We might manage to feed you and your kin tonight, but space is a luxury we can't afford. Come morning, you'll have to move on."

His firm stance surprised me. Among our core members, Wesley was our calming force. Yet, he held a resolve in his tone, an unyielding command.

The older man seized Wesley's arm, desperation marking his features. "We're not deadweight, sir. Jason and I can hold our own, we've learned to manage a sword since chaos fell. Give us a chance, and we'll earn our keep."

Wesley folded his arms, his gaze sizing up the pair. "What makes you two different? Swordsmen, we've got aplenty."

The younger man interjected, pulling the older man's hand away from Wesley with a soothing touch. "Frank, here, doesn't mean to intrude. He was an engineer when the world was still normal," he said, revealing fragments of their past lives. "I worked for the highway department, and my wife was a teacher. Frank's wife worked for the county."

A furrow developed between Wesley's brows, reflecting the intense churn of thoughts beneath his stoic facade. The tense silence hung in the air, thick and palpable. Then, with a quickness that surprised us, he spun around and walked briskly towards the gate. His words, heavy with authority, echoed back, "Hang tight. The council needs to discuss this."

His announcement stirred the air, hinting at a potential for justice and a glimmer of hope.

Wesley's sudden shift left me reeling, like a delayed reaction to an unexpected plot twist. A spark of realization ignited within me. I was part of this; a member of the council. Shaking off my inertia, I moved swiftly to join him.

I caught up with Wesley outside the tavern, now the epicenter of curious onlookers eager for updates. The council assembled with remarkable speed; Hanna and Jayden had made their way from the training grounds while Sarah had emerged from the tavern.

Hanna, ever the vigilant one, squinted towards the gatehouse. "Who're those people? Locals?"

Wesley gave a brief rundown on their origins and added a nugget that grabbed everyone's interest. "I think we should offer them a place here. We're just ten people away from a village level-up."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"But you seemed hesitant earlier, Wes," I pointed out. "Why?"

A mischievous smile played on Wesley's lips. "True, but we've already got a bunch of freeloaders. These folks need to know they're welcome only if they pull their weight. No harm in being candid."

Jayden cast a teasing glance at Wesley, his voice layered with irony. "And here I thought you were a preacher-man, Wes. Doesn’t sound very Christian-like."

A frustrated sigh hissed through Wesley's lips, his eyes momentarily flicking skyward. "Jay, we've got ninety lives on the line here. No space for messing up," he said, the gravity of his tone unmistakably clear. "I'll beg the Almighty's forgiveness if need be, but only if I can do so with my wife and kids alive. Perhaps that doesn’t make me a very good pastor, but it's what these times demand."

The flippant grin that usually graced Jayden's face faded, replaced by a sober thoughtfulness. Wes then sought a collective agreement, turning his gaze towards Hanna and Sarah. "Ladies, it’s crucial our new arrivals understand the game rules here. Are we agreed?"

Sarah paused, her warm features slipping into a pensive expression as she flicked through her System's intel. "We're short on housing materials. For a few days, they'll have to bunk in the inn."

Hanna nodded, her caution etched into every word. "They seem vulnerable. Without the children, I'd tell them to move on. But, if they're ready to work, they can stay."

We were all system-adjusted, our views recalibrated. I felt myself nodding along. "Wes, want me to give them our terms?" I proposed, stepping up to the plate.

Wesley slung an arm around me, his tone light yet firm. "Cade, let's do this together. You'll be the good cop, I'll play the bad."

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The room was quiet, save for the soft glow of the mana bulb as it cast long, stretching shadows. Randy Littrell was hunched over an open book, his focus intent. Intrigued, I peeled away from my desk, littered with .45 caliber cartridges - newly filled with mana - and sidled up to him. "What are you into, Randy?"

Without a word, he flipped the worn cover towards me. The title shone under the light - a Hardy Boys mystery. He chuckled, the sound as soft as rustling leaves. "Found it at the old library. Takes me back, you know?"

His words painted an image of a younger Randy, lost in the simple yet thrilling adventures of the Hardy boys. An innocent echo amidst our harsh reality. I took a moment to appreciate the scene, our sanctuary amidst the chaos.

Finally, I broke the silence, "Catch you later, Randy." I needed to wash off the grime of the day, my skin sticky with sweat.

A young boy, barely into his teens, was waiting outside the shower when I turned the corner. He shrugged apologetically at me, "Sorry, Tom's in."

I dismissed his apology with a wave, offering a grin. "No worries, kid. Which new family are you with?"

His eyes dropped to the floor as he muttered, "I'm Donny Bronson. My dad's the highway guy."

As we waited in silence, I found myself wondering about Donny's old town. The thought brought a sudden realization. "Donny, heard anything about the state park? My dad was headed there when everything went haywire."

Donny's face went pale. He spat out the words as if they were burning his tongue, "It's not good. Wild animals, goblins... People dying daily."

I had to swallow hard to keep my emotions at bay. My voice barely above a whisper, "Maybe we should go check it out. I need to know if my dad made it."

Just then, the bathroom door opened, and a burly teenager, Tom, emerged. Donny quickly slipped into the room, calling over his shoulder, "Tommy, this is Caden. His dad was out at the park when it all went down."

Once the door clicked shut, Tommy turned to me. "That's rough, dude. Heard the park's a mess."

"Yeah," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "Think he might've made it?"

Tommy rubbed his stubbled chin, thoughtful. After a moment, he said, "Maybe. But it'd take some real badasses to find out."

A grin split my face, despite the situation. "Well, if there's one thing we are, it's badasses."

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A restless night of nightmare fuel had me up before anyone else in the tavern, my dreams haunted by dad's possible fate. Each chilling scenario lit a new fire in me. Time was a runaway train, and every second that ticked away was a roll of the dice against finding him.

Stifling a yawn, I took the stairs down to the main floor, every step echoing louder in the quiet space. And there was Wesley, parked in our usual corner spot, his head buried in his thoughts.

I mustered up the guts and approached him, a weird static charge filling the air, like the pause before a boss battle. My heartbeat provided a drumroll as I neared him, his forehead creased with worry lines. Was the weight of the village’s survival pressing down on him that much?

"Wes," I started, my voice steady, even though my insides felt like a room full of bouncing pinballs, "We can't afford to sit on our asses. My dad's still out there, maybe fighting to level up alone. We have to find him, now."

He raised his head, his eyes holding a mix of caution and anxiety. He hesitated, thinking through his response like he was strategizing his next move in a game of chess. "Cade, I get it. Your dad means everything. But a blind rush into the unknown is a surefire way to lose lives. This isn't some video game. We're playing on hardcore mode now. We need to prioritize the safety and well-being of our entire village."

Frustration surged through me, threatening to spill over in an overwhelming torrent of pent-up emotions. "I understand the risks, Wes, but what if it were your family out there? Would you simply sit back and hope for the best?"

His look was rock-hard, his voice not wavering. "Surviving means knowing when to fight and when to run, Cade. We buried Flacco yesterday because we went made mistakes. Not everyone can be saved. We can't put the whole village in danger for a single person, no matter how much they mean to us."

Fists clenched, my voice resonated with a sharp edge of determination. "I can’t accept that, Wes. I can't just forget it and leave my dad hanging. If you won't party up with me, then I'll start this raid solo."

I spun on my heels and stormed out, hurt and anger threatening to overwhelm me. As dawn yielded to morning, I wandered the inn's dim corridors, my decision spawning a relentless ping in my mind. Across the hall was Jayden's lair, the door ajar like a dungeon entrance.

Pushing it open, I found Jay stashed on his bed, grinding away at his sword, lost in the rhythm of sharpening his sword. "Jay," I jumped in, urgency tingeing my voice. His eyes snapped up, widening at the intensity rolled onto my face. "I need your help. It’s about my dad."

Curiosity piqued, he paused his grinding, sitting up straighter. "What's the strat, Cade?" he asked, a challenging glint in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, I relayed my last night's chat with Donny and Tom, the possibility of dad still being alive, and my burning desire to find him. "Wes doesn't want to help me. Thinks it's an impossible quest, but I can't stay here and do nothing. I need to find him, Jay. I figure you're the only one crazy enough to join me."

Jay's smirk slowly spread across his face like a wildfire. "You know me too well, Cade. I'm always up for some thrills. Count me in."

Our conspiracy got interrupted when the door suddenly burst open. Standing at the entrance was Hanna, arms crossed, eyes sharp as if she was inspecting a suspicious loot drop.

"What are you two noobs up to?" she asked, her tone a weird mix of curiosity and caution.

I stood center-stage in the room, a burning determination flashing across my face as I explained about my dad. Hanna, with her arms crossed, gave me the stink eye, her skepticism loading up like a progress bar.

"Cade, you know how dangerous it is out there. We can't just go rushing into the unknown," Hanna warned, her voice wrapping me in a protective bubble of concern.

Jayden jumped in, trying to spawn his own reality distortion field. "Oh, come on, Hanna. We've been camped in this safe zone for way too long. This could be our chance for a real adventure, to make a difference."

Hanna shook her head, unyielding. "Adventure? What the hell do you call the hospital dungeon? That fucking killed one of our fighters, Jay. If you haven’t figured it out yet, bro, this isn’t some game. It's a matter of life and death. Nobody’s found a resurrection spell yet."

I pushed aside my teen crush for the nineteen-year-old and took a step closer. Pulling in a deep breath, I locked eyes with Hanna, sending all my desperation her way. " Hanna, I understand your worries. I do. But my dad could be out there, and if he is, he needs us. Wes refuses to help, but we can't let this fear control us. We have the skills and the guts to make a difference. If he’s out there, we can find him and bring him back.”

Her tough exterior cracked a little, her resolve flickering. She exhaled, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Cade, I can't make any promises. But I'll talk to Sarah, see if she can help. We'll need all the help we can get if we're going to do this."

Relief washed over me, grateful that Hanna was willing to help. I nodded as I tried to blink away a tear. "Thank you, Hanna. This means the world to me."

As Jayden grinned in triumph, the weight of the impending journey lifted slightly from my shoulders. We had taken the first step towards finding my father, and with Hanna and Sarah, our chances of success grew brighter.