Day 1, 5:40 PM

“You only live once.”

— Somebody spreading lies

“Noble Lady,” I say with a hopeful voice at the mouth of Princess’s tiny shelter.

I found it two hours before dusk, sooner than I had expected. Not getting poisoned saved me some time, and I’ve kept munching on something all the while. Even the stone-bread’s not that bad once you wet it with water.

“It’s me, Aang the porter,” I say and she moves the curtain of vines obscuring her hiding spot.

Her green eyes shine with hope, just like last time, and her mouth stretches into a tiny smile rather than a scowl of distrust. I guess it was a good idea to keep old Aang’s slave sack.

“Aang, is that you?” she asks, her voice shaking with relief.

So, this is the first moment she thought I was a bandit or a spy. Is it because of the way I addressed her, or because of the clothes? Knowing what she thought kind of explains her reservation and bipolar moments later. She wanted to trust me and think of me as her hero, but there was this worm telling her I was actually a spy.

“Yes, Noble Lady, it’s me. I was unconscious. I was alone when I woke up, surrounded by dead people. I grabbed some supplies, some food, and ran away.” I look up towards her face, but don’t meet her eyes, in case that’s also some slave taboo. “Imagine me running into you like this. It must’ve been destiny.”

“It is fate,” she agrees with a wide smile, and her stomach growls.

“Li—ady, would you like something to eat? I’ve scavenged some bread and jerky and water. I’m sorry, I only found some leftovers.”

The difference in her attitude is staggering. She gnaws at the bread without complaining and eats the jerky. The sun has yet to set as we finish our meal. I think we’ve got at least an hour of light left.

“What do we do now? Where do we go?” I ask, doing my best to sound panicked, which turns out surprisingly difficult. I can’t believe how calm I am.

“Don’t worry, Maricello told me to keep heading South, and pointed me in the right direction.” She tries to sound confident, but there are tiny nervous tells. There’s the slight left-right sway, the nail fidgeting, and in the corner of my eye I catch her gaze darting about, as if following a pesky fly.

It’s barely noticeable, but it’s there, if you know what you’re looking for. Or if you raised three kids and needed to figure out ‘who done it?’ several hundred times while each screamed their version of reality, trying hard to will it true.

“Should we spend the night here?” I ask and she decides our current location is safe enough. I agree, last time we spent an eventless night here.

Being Aang the slave, rather than the mysterious Teemur spy, doesn’t earn me the right to sleep in the cave, but I don’t mind. A night of peaceful sleep to unwind and recover from my bruises works for me.

It works wonders, in fact. Not having to worry about wolves sniffing out her blood after I killed her was well worth the wait. In the morning, before opening my eyes, I mumble, “F1,” and the blue screen appears in my mind.

I smile and check my information.

The last line has grown shorter again. My grin grows wider, and I get up. I stretch, pop my joints and spine, and realize this was the first really restful, carefree sleep I had since reincarnating. I continue exercising my shoulders before finally settling into working my hips in wide circles.

Just before I move to my knees, Princess walks out of her den, the sheeted dagger hanging off her thin leather belt. Her smile is gone, and she seems distracted. Perfectly fine by me.

I grab the traitorous bitch by the neck. In one smooth motion, I sweep her off her feet and slam her back-first onto the ground. She gasps, but that’s all she manages before I smash my fist into her face. I hit her over and over again. I vent my anger and hatred by violently punching her for at least a minute. Finally, I heave and stand up.

I breathe, watching what I’ve done. I think she’s the corpse I stared at the longest. Her face is ruined beyond recognition, but everything else is there.

I should get going. I decide after several minutes or seconds. I turn to leave, then realize I’m being stupid again.

She had some money sown into her dress. I saw it weighing the fabric when it was tattered, and she’s wearing gold rings and earrings.

I strip her of her valuables and leave her where she died. I’m still angry with the shit she pulled the last time, but I don’t do anything stupid and leave her corpse alone.

With any luck, bandits will find her, and they’ll leave the forest.

I head back to the bush where I left the tangle of bandit tunics and pants and take my leave, Princess’s dagger hanging from my waist. I enjoy my breakfast on foot, throw away Aang’s old rags, and dress into the bandit ones, still carrying all the spares with me.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

There’s still hours before sunset when I run across a familiar creek. I refill my canteen and wash up. Wolves attacked us some two to three miles west of here.

I put on all the spare bandit pants and tunics I carried, then I wrap my neck with Princess’s thick bodice. It’s not really armor, but it should reduce the damage. I move around a bit. It’s awkward, but not horrible, and I can swing the dagger more or less fine. But my wardrobe change turned the comfortably cool forest into a sauna.

I find the tree, which she climbed to safety while leaving me to fend for myself, I think. It’s hard to tell with trees. I tie my sack with supplies to a high enough branch and sit down.

I’m too nervous about the upcoming, easily avoidable, fight, but I need those wolf steaks, especially if the bandits retreat with my stone-bread and jerky.

“F1,” I say, and the blue screen appears.

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Seems better than before. A lot of the red is gone, and I have some defense. It’s not kevlar, but it should do the trick.

I have some time on my hand, and I try to break the code of my character sheet. No luck. I can only break up the message into words, thanks to Princess saying ‘°’ was the character for word end.

I give up. Instead, I focus on the screens I have access to.

[Anarchist Level 2

Abilities - Rage, Redo, Blunt, Heavy Handed, ✦ Godly ✦, Vengeful

To level up, start a small-scale riot or a medium public disturbance.]

“What does Rage do?” I ask, but get no response. “Details on Rage?”

I’m surprised to find an answer on my second try.

[Rage - Increases physical attributes, decreases mental attributes, exhausts the body. Skill activates automatically upon taking a dangerous hit.]

I go back to the initial screen. “Details on Redo?”

[Redo - Transfers consciousness into a previously experienced segment of time. Skill activates automatically upon death.]

I check the rest, but their details are identical to the ones I’ve already seen.

Now, for some quality of life.

“Can you minimize the screen?” Nothing happens.

“Reduce screen size? Windowed mode?” I whisper two dozen possible commands, but none work, and I sigh through my nose.

“Give me something. Alpha fifty? Opacity fifty percent?” Suddenly, the screen becomes see-through and I smile.

Finally! The bloody thing took up half my vision whenever it appeared.

“Opacity ten percent.”

I can ignore the screen and see the forest just fine, but when I focus the letters become clear enough to read.

This works, we’ll keep you like this. I dismiss the screen, happy because it will no longer obstruct me with its random pop-ups.

The sun sets, and soon enough I hear the howl.

Great. I try to tell myself this is what I wanted, but my heart is racing and my breath is quick and shallow.

I squint, but there’s only darkness all around me. Suddenly, I catch some rustling, and it grows louder and louder. I unsheathe my dagger, and shrink my neck so that the rag shawl covers my chin and mouth when a wolf pounces me.

It bites into my left forearm, but four layers of clothes help mitigate the damage. Blindly, I stab away from me, taking more care not to injure myself than to finish off the wolf. Still, the blade strikes something firm and the wolf gurgles and whines, then another bites my leg.

Multiple trousers rip, but I think its teeth fail to pierce my skin. I bend and begin stabbing, but before my dagger plunges into the wolf's flesh for the second time, a third one smashes into me. I land on my back, and stab it to death, but it’s too late.

Several wolves bite and tear at me, and the blue screen finally appears.

There were more than five? That is my last thought before Rage temporarily decreases my mental attributes.

It’s dark when I regain my senses. I'm in pain, but it's easily manageable. I start a fire, and this time I find six corpses.

Why are there more? I muse on the subject while skinning and butchering, eventually concluding my performance last time was more intimidating and scared them away with fewer casualties.

I work in the light of the fire, skewering strips of meat on sticks and stabbing the other end into the ground to roast my dinner.

While the meat sizzles, I strip and wash the wounds with water. They don’t seem nearly as bad as the last time. I’ve got a bunch of bruises and only two serious injuries on my left leg. I smack my lips, and smile because there’s not a single hair on my tongue.

This went a whole lot better than the last time. I check my status screen again, and find the orange-yellow color has returned.

That probably keeps track of damage. It was a dark red after I fought the nine bandits.

I don’t care. I’ve got food, money, no reason to fight with bandits, and no burdens weighing me down.

This will be easy.