Chapter 1:

Blood, shit, and mud surrounded me.

My fingers ached, my legs whined in protest even whilst still, and it took to effort to keep my eyes open.

Crows and vultures circled the sky, pecked at corpses, and the sun beat down on me.

The thought occurred to me to just lay down for a bit and rest, as my muscles ached, my bones cried, and my stomach sent out familiar cries of need. A strong, heady need like a sizzle that crept all the way up the roof of my mouth and strangled my throat.

In times like these, I barely recalled my prior, better life. Everything that I once took for granted seemed like a fantasy.

Until, of course, I heard some mud shifting due to footfalls and the ragged breaths of others.

That got me off my ass and gripping my little hand-axe like a man possessed.

“This pile of scrap’s mine!” My vision swam, but I didn’t stumble. That would’ve gotten me killed. Any sign of weakness would, because everyone here now was doing the same thing: looting what was left of the battle to get themselves fed. “I haven’t eaten in day. I saw you lot eat yesterday! If you come any closer, it’s a hit straight to the skull!”

My declaration was met with resistance and barely a move from the trespassers, because they were out to get what they wanted too.

And, there were three of them.

“Y-you can’t ‘urt us all!” The leader was a seven year-old boy, just like me. That didn’t matter. What did was that he was short. He had one eye bandaged over, his hair was slick with grease and matted against his skull, and his mouth was a mess of crooked and broken teeth. A Pulitzer-prize winning picture by any journalist who took it. In my past life, I would’ve felt sorry for the kid. In this one, I felt emboldened, because he was smaller than me by a large margin and a bit weaker. “Even if you are bigga!”

I took a step forward and growled at them as best as I could manage.

“Try it, then! Come and try it! Let’s see what happens!” I scanned for someone else and found them. Kids, especially kids in our circumstances, were clever, dangerous, and malicious pieces of shit. I scooped up a rock and threw it at the one sneaking at my left. He gave a cry of pain as the stone the size of my fist hit him square on the forehead. If he was unlucky, then that was the end of him. “See, how about it!? You’re already down one man!”

If they were smart, they would’ve charged me as I did that, but when plans failed while morale was already low… the results were simple.

They didn’t waste their breath nor their time, once they were one man down against a stronger opponent.

My fellow battlefield looters made a run for it, one picking up their friend who I’d hit, and left me to my work.

I looked around to make sure nothing was wrong and didn’t let myself relax. I waited until the crows and vultures descended, until I got to work.

They knew I wasn’t interested in them, so they let me be.

Especially since they knew the faster that I worked, the sooner they’d get at the swelling, rotting corpses that I was tending to.

From a life with air conditioning, electricity, and indoor plumbing to a world of swords, magic, and epic sagas to be woven.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t some hero from another world delivered to save everyone from evil.

I was just a brat popped out by a whore on a baggage train of a warband lucky enough not left to die by my mother, while my father didn’t care.

Or, so I thought for a few years, until my mother sold me off to the camp’s quartermaster.

Yep.

Born.

Nursed until I could walk.

Then, sold off until I could pay my debt off to a cutthroat for a pittance.

“And, today, I’m going to be free. Free to go die on my own terms.” I grumbled to myself, while attending to my task. Weapons and armor were looted by the soldiers themselves. I dealt with what they couldn’t be bothered with. If I was lucky, I’d find a padded gambeson, some boots, or maybe a few arrowheads. Most of the time, I pulled off clothing that I would have to wash clean, in a pot that I had to get water and wood for, and maybe sew together. “Free to try and live, until ten years pass and the world gets utterly fucked.”

Oh, right.

This wasn’t just a regular fantasy world in medieval limbo for the sake of satiating the egos of socially inept mouthbreathers, such as myself.

It was a regular fantasy world stuck in medieval limbo because some morons back in my previous world wanted to roleplay as heroes, command armies, and feel a sense of accomplishment and achievement in their otherwise boring, unimportant lives in concrete jungles.

Again, much like me.

Yep, I was going to get killed in a game. A game where I’ve sent hundreds of thousands to their deaths for the sake of overcoming challenges. Challenges that I wanted made as hard as possible to make myself as happy as possible.

The bloated corpse I was tending to quivered a bit as I managed to pull its shirt off, then the stomach proceeded to burst. Black goop splashed onto my pants and boots, while guts spilled all over them.

If there was anything in my stomach, I’d have retched it out.

Why couldn’t I have been a normal nerd? One that was into power fantasies?

Why were my favorite games real-time-strategies where I transformed people and nations into build-orders, figured out cost-effective troops combinations, and sent innumerable amounts of people to die?

Why couldn’t I have just played shitty, perverse games where guys easily get laid all the time?

I dry heaved for a while, tears streaming from my eyes, but I managed to get myself under control and look over the body.

They took the soldier’s boots, but they forgot his belt.

Score.

Hooray for me.

Not.

Once upon a time, I could press some icons on a piece of glass and metal, then food would arrive at my door. My entire day would just be sitting down, clacking on some plastic, looking at moving pixels, and then I’d go to sleep. I would give just about anything back to get my peaceful, modern, and boring life back.

But that wasn’t happening.

I was looking at a decade before the campaign started and found out whether the world was going to survive or not. I didn’t know what I could do, so that wouldn’t happen as a scavenger earning his freedom… but I wasn’t interested in dying again.

Therefore, today, I was going to buy my freedom and join the warband to become the hero this world needs with my knowledge of future events, as well as my understanding of technologies and concepts beyond their understanding.

Haha.

No.

I’m going to run away to the ends of this world and hoping that the apocalypse kills me last.

The sun listed a little from being straight above me, so I hastened my pace in scavenging for things to sell.

Ten years can pass in a flash, especially in a world where traveling takes weeks or months at the shortest.

…

Gerund was a fat, bald, and smelly quartermaster, but he kept his word, kept things tidy in the barracks, and sold everything we runts needed to survive at fair prices. In a baggage train filled with swindlers, gamblers, and whores who wanted to make money from trailing the warband, he was an oasis of reason. Not that he was a particularly nice person, but things were fair around him, despite the fact he bought kids and used them to make money.

He didn’t fuck the kids, but he wouldn’t give them a meal, a cot, clothes, or tools if they couldn’t pay.

More importantly, though, he did free the kids who managed to pony up the money.

Most kids managed to do it within a few years, getting out when they turned thirteen or fifteen, but it was too risky for me. Not only would I only have a few years to get out of the way, I’d be taking all sorts of risks. Getting a cold is practically a death sentence as a half-starved orphan, and it’s easy to get an even-worse infection picking at scraps in a battlefield. Not only that, but the older boys competed for the best loot, which could lead to broken bones and cuts… which were also death sentences in this world.

Healing magic existed.

This world had plenty of magic and a lot of it was ludicrous.

But for the trash living off the scraps of mercenary warbands selling themselves to the highest bidder?

Magic might as well not exist, let alone healing magic.

So, I did my best to get out quick.

I kept out of the way of the bigger boys, put those younger or my age in line, and took measures to get everything I needed. The bigger boys knew what to do with their stuff, so I did the same as them when I could and paid them to teach me. They’re the reason I knew how to sew, owned my own pot, and knew what not to do. Kowtowing and treating them like royalty felt bad, but it kept me safe, and I got some skills out of it, so I smiled, hunkered down, and grinded away.

Grinded away, until I looked Gerund right at his greasy double-chin and received my freedom.

“Yah, dat’s just about what ya need and a little more to earn ya freedom, boyo.” Some of his words slurred, and his teeth were yellowish or outright brown. His mouth stank and it drifted over to me from behind his desk, where he had an abacus, weights, and a ledger. A grisly smile formed on his face, which I didn’t want to see nor smell, but I returned it anyway. “Here’s ya tag. What’ll your name be?”

He rifled through a drawer in his desk. The movements of his large arms rattled it and shook his entire wagon, as he shifted to get something from the floor. The tubby bastard managed it in a feat of grand physical prowess, thus showing me that he deserved to be morbidly obese while he profited from three dozen starving children.

“Jack, sir. Thank you very much.” I smiled at the gargantuan quartermaster. I smiled at everyone, if I found the chance. It reduced the chance of me getting mugged or taken advantage of, while earning me some sympathy now and again. I’d lick the underside of a boot that stepped in shit, if it meant getting a pound of food. “Thanks for having me!”

Thank you for buying me as a kid and using me as a slave, charging me for every necessity, and charging me money for my freedom.

Fuck you very much, I hope you have a stroke, choke on your own spit, and drown on land like every whale should.

“Ya be welcome, boyo. Gerund’ll get it done.” The pewter nameplate was a person’s identification. When I was delivered by a midwife, my mother received it along with the date of my birth and a number to keep track of me. A few officials hung around the camp to keep track of numbers, population, and other things to appropriately tax the warband’s leader while they operated in the domain of the tyrant that hired them. My plate was sold to Gerund along with me, therefore he was technically my guardian. Now, he was using a hammer and chisel to put my name. A short name. No last name. That was me in this world. “Here ya go, Jack.”

I worked for four years and received a piece of metal with my name on it.

This world sucked and I would be fine with it getting razed to the ground, if I wasn’t in it.

“What’ll ya have for the rest of ya coin, boyo?” Gerund asked and I already knew what to ask for, but before I spoke he laughed. “Heh, it’s fine. I might be old, but I still know.”

He reached under his desk and took out a pouch.

The pouch the rest of the money I had was for.

“Rations. Enough for a week. Two waterskins. Empty. Boots. A good knife.” Gerund took the rest of my pay and gave me the pouch. It was heavy, but I opened it just to check. The rotund man laughed as I made sure. “Ya sure you wanna leave, boyo? Ya know how to read and do maths. Enough to be my assistant. I’ll pay ya handsomely.”

An offer to be a clerk to a slave-owning whale that bought children off their parents.

I’d rather choke on my own shit and die.

“No, thank you very much, but I want to see the world! It can’t all be just fights and looting, right?” I gave Gerund a big, shiny smile. Yes, I’m smart, but I’m also just a kid. No give me something for free. Don’t you see that unlike anyone else, my skin is clear, my teeth aren’t messed up, and I have hair that isn’t filled with lice and grease? I pulled out every loose tooth that I could the moment I could, cleaned myself up, and trimmed my own hair. Please, be nice to me, or stop talking to me and forcing me to act this way. “I want to see the entire world, Quartermaster Gerund!”

The accumulation of filth, rolls of fat, and rot lodged in a wagon and behind a desk laughed… but my little ploy paid off, as he fetched something else and threw it my way.

“Well, ya can’t go see the worl’ without money, so take this, go ta the last town, and work for the blacksmith! He’ll feed ya and pay ya, as long as ya make enough nails!” Gerund laughed and so did I, but I held onto the thing like a lifeline. Years of brownnosing and acting like a deluded kid paid off. I had a contact and a place to get money that didn’t involve plunging my hands into corpses and boiling off human piss, blood, and shit from scavenged materials. “Go and see the worl’ for ya pal Gerund, ha-ha!”

I was about to smile and tell him that I hoped that he’d get stuck in his wagon and die when the worst, possible thing that could happen… happened.

A horn blew in the camp, which was followed by another, and then… another.

Three horns.

Enemy attack.

An enemy air attack.

Right after I relinquished my shelter in Gerund’s other wagons.

For a second, I thought about asking him to go into them… and then I realized that going in there with all I had was a ticket to getting it all stolen.

I looked at the man’s way. His normally drowsy eyes were sharp, while he leaned forward and took hold of the doors. Some of the things on the table were on the ground in his haste, with only his ledger secured.

The man who raised me in this world, the tubby bastard who made me pay for every little meal I had and the shelter that I needed, began to close his doors before uttering his last words.

“Run, boyo. Run and hide!”

I knew it was my only option, given the camp’s nature, but I hated hearing it especially since it was accompanied by the shuttering of wooden doors that could’ve kept me safe.

Jeez, thanks for stating the obvious.

My first day of freedom… and the place I was born and raised in was going to be attacked.

My luck was totally abysmal, as expected.

I got ready to run, but only after I picked up the scale, the hammer, and the chisel off the ground.

If I had any future after this, I had to be an absolute kleptomaniac.

But that was after I survived the attack.

…

If you were lucky, whoever was attacking you would only do so on flying horses covered in armor.

In the game, there were three types of aerial cavalry. The first and lightest were just horses that had wings and could instinctively fly with magic. They were common, quick attackers that you could hold off against with masses of pike and shot just fine. They were sent in to clog up the enemy’s main force, flank already-entangled infantry, or pick off poorly-guarded artillery.

A waste of resources and a mid-tier unit at best. Only masochists with massive egos used them to win, and they had to cultivate a strong empire with ludicrous amounts of money to mass enough of them to be worth it.

In a reality where tactics and doctrines have used them since time immemorial, they were a terrifying against any force that couldn’t be always on guard against them.

Which was nearly everyone.

“Eyes up! They’re coming!”

“Where are the pikes!?”

“We’ve sent a runner to the war camp, but they’re still marshalling!”

“Dammit, then get the wagons in a circle try to scare them off!”

Armored knights were the tanks of medieval times. Kings and other owners of territory used them to crush dissenters who couldn’t afford war horses and enough armor to make farming equipment worthless. A few dozen knights could run down a mob with ease. That mob’s only chance was to set up barricades in their mud-hut village and hope that whatever they made would last… and the knights would just run by and set their thatch roofs aflame, or their retainers and men-at-arms would come forth to settled things on foot.

Now, give those warriors the ability to cover immense amounts of land in minutes, the ability to just leap over barricades, and let them retain all their durability.

Against professional military trained to handle them with masses of crossbows and pikes, they were doomed light cavalry best used to other ends.

In game, like I said, that was being fodder, being a distraction, or maybe picking off some stupidly-placed artillery.

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Here and now, to presumably great effect, they were used to harass the supply chains of the army and kill it indirectly.

Man, I would’ve loved to have that option back when I was playing the game.

Now, though, I would’ve loved it if this world fucked off, was as stupid, and could be as one-dimensional as the game.

Wagons were moved, tents were abandoned, and the smattering of guards in the train requisitioned what they could. People were handed light crossbows and called to act even with a just farming tools and torches, as the beating of massive wings resounded in the air. It was a well-rehearsed act, as they’ve gone through making hasty fortifications before, but something was different this time.

The number of wings beating in the air.

Normally, raiding forces would be nearly a dozen at most. They’d harass, pick people off the outskirts, and generally stay clear of the assembly of wagons and angry people armed with whatever they could carry. Barbed wire and trenches would be of little use here, since they could fly, but with a big enough mob and a closed enough space even flying knights could die.

Normally.

But things weren’t normal.

I looked into the sky and did a quick count on the number of approaching, armored aerial cavalry and realized that it was a full unit coming at us.

Two dozen heavily armed and armored flying murdermachines were about to descend on the camp.

My initial play was to run into the hasty shelter being built, which was going to be filled with people ready to fight for their lives.

It turned out that just continuing to run, like Gerund suggested was the right choice.

For a moment, I thought about not running, but my body chose for me and I slipped through the gaps of the closing circle and ran.

This wasn’t a simple raid like all the others.

This was a refugee train hunkering down about to be absolutely fucked by a cavalry charge.

There was no winning in it.

So, I ran while people cried out behind me.

“They’re here! Braces yourselves”

“Get behind cover! Stand together!”

“Fight for your lives! Fight for your families!”

Their cries were voice lines straight out of the game for the “refugee caravan” unit that had to be guarded through passes, valleys, and empty plains. I’d heard those people die repeatedly to my enemies, so I forced my legs to take me away as fast as I possibly could. They sounded capable now, but the moment they made contact with the enemy, then things were going to change—

A loud trumpet blast from above suddenly resounded and I almost tripped and fell, as I recognized it too.

It was followed by another, then another, and another… and finally the armored, flying horses began to descend.

Horn of Empowerment.

It was an annoying activated skill, because it blared through the entire battlefield upon use. Mods were dedicated to lowering its volume in single-player, while the developers insisted it was important because in multiplayer it was important both sides knew when it was active. Assholes all over the world massed aerial light cavalry for matches and blared them into their opponents’ ears until the devs lowered the volume.

I was one of them, so the sound was engraved into my ears.

So, I knew exactly what was coming.

Red light shrouded the flying figures, and their already quick descent hastened. The Horn of Empowerment doubled a unit’s armor, increased their charge damage by twenty percent, and gave them health regeneration for a minute. Its cost was that it lowered total health by twenty percent for the rest of the battle. In large-scale battles, it was a good way to make your aerial cavalry into living missiles and take out a single target that cost more than they did.

Here, without anything to punish the charge present, it was a way to kill everything and everyone in an instant.

And they did.

Nearly thirty, living comets smashed into the wagon ring as one. Wood, canvas, and wheels came apart against armored, speeding horses. Lances didn’t just pierce through people, but tore them apart entirely, throwing limbs, viscera, and heads in the air. People unlucky enough to be caught by the wagon-shattering charges of the horses themselves came apart as bloody chunks. People sprayed across the field, some no larger than a fist, as the charge’s momentum carried them through one side of the wagon circle and out the other… creating a path of destruction in their wake as they took to the air an instant later.

I couldn’t help but laugh, even as my lungs ached.

“Extreme difficulty! Of course! Why wouldn’t it be!?” In the game, charging units had to be micro-managed so that they wouldn’t get entrenched. It involved setting up waypoints, paying attention right when the charge ended, and giving them the right order at the right time. In ranked matches, if you couldn’t manage to pull out your cavalry at the end of their charge, so that their cooldown reset and they could charge again… you’re told you shouldn’t play ranked. In the campaign, the AI was only allowed to be the micro-god that it was on the “Extreme” difficult level. Seeing the tactic pulled off perfectly here and now duly informed me that I was fucked. “Dammit!”

My legs strained as I carried myself and little more than thirty pounds on my back. I’d complained about shit stamina systems in dozens of games, but those guys maxed out at a hundred pounds and could run again after a breather.

Me?

In my scrawny, shitty, eight-year-old orphan of a body?

I could barely breathe.

My lungs burned, my legs cried, and every part of me ached.

But I ran.

I knew that there was no choice, as the horns blew once again.

However…

Yet…

Even as I forced myself to run…

I knew that it was worthless.

If the difficulty was set that high, then there was absolutely no way that the cavalry was alone.

It was bait for the force ahead to pursue, so that they could be flanked by another force hidden away.

Hidden away in a grove, a forest, or… a hill just like the one I was cresting.

My legs took me up the crest of the small hill we’d passed just days ago and in an instant the clatter of hooves reached my ears and a spear’s tip was at my neck.

A mounted warrior looked at me and behind him were dozens of others mounted on horses. But they weren’t light cavalry. I found exactly what I expected. The AI’s preferred harassment force in the game in extreme difficulty. A cavalry commander with three supporting mages and dozens of mounted archers. A highly compact, if expensive force, that could dish out damage and retreat with ease after provoking an attacking with the aerial cavalry. The aerial cavalry dealt damage, the enemy pursued, and they were hit by mounted archers and bombarded by magic.

The Tier One Skill Check that severely punished just throwing heavy infantry at problems until they died.

To beat this without losing in terms of cost-effectiveness, I needed the same force, understanding of the AI’s patterns, and micro to split my troops with as little losses as possible. Then, I’d need to have the right NPCs in the right administrative positions in my territory, so the losses could be replaced via supplies and money.

I didn’t have that.

I had a pouch of food and shit to sell, as well as an eight-year old’s malnourished frame.

So, I considered my options.

But I needn’t have bothered.

The one that levelled his spear at me brought it up quickly… and the blunt end rushed forward towards my head.

There was a flash of pain, a moment where I looked straight up into the blue sky, and then nothing.

As far as deaths went, I thought it was a pretty painless one.

Until I woke up with a fierce headache, bound up, and on the back of a horse.

Great.

After earning my freedom, I got myself captured by another warband.

…

In the inside, I lamented the fact that I got fucked over the moment I managed to find a semblance of a chance at survival.

On the outside, I was all smiles despite my throbbing headache, the blood on my face, and the aches across my body from being luggage on the back of a horse.

It was time to start again and I wasn’t going to fuck it up.

“Name?”

“Jack, sir.”

“Job?”

“Scavenger, sir.”

“Are you free?”

“I earned my plate today, sir.”

My captors brought me back to their camp, which was half-a-day’s ride away from my former position. Bumping up and down on the back of a horse, while trussed up like a hog, gave me bruises and aches across my body. However, I made sure to sit upright and talk properly to this warband’s quartermaster.

A baggage train’s quartermaster was in charge of civilians, while a warband’s took care of supplies for the soldiers themselves.

Warbands, especially mercenary ones, operated on very lean budgets. Everyone here risked their lives for coin. They were already willing to kill for coin, so whoever oversaw them needed to make sure everything ran smoothly or problems arose. Generally speaking, in the game, not having enough to pay your armor automatically meant your army turning into brigands and keeping their stats. Losing a highly-experienced stack of doom-bringing super units was worse than having another front opened on you.

This warband’s quartermaster was a wrinkled old man with a monocle and trembling hands with skin the color of darkened leather. Despite his age, his brown eyes were sharp and he considered me carefully, while I sat in front of him. He had an assistant ready to write in his ledger, but his trembling hands tended to things that required less fine motor control.

“What’s in here?”

He gestured at my pouch, which was closed, but had a different knot closing it.

It was probably a test if I would be truthful.

Since it was opened and had a different knot at the end, I couldn’t tell him what was inside, though.

So, I told him the truth.

“I don’t know. It’s been opened and closed by another person, sir.” I did my best to sound meek. Acting clever might make me out as a spy. It was for the best that I didn’t act like a possible threat. “But, when I opened it last, it had food, a scale, a hammer, a chisel, boots, waterskins, and a knife.”

“A pack for a long journey… save for the hammer, chisel, and scale. Are you a thief, boy?” The tanned man turned his gaze on me and ran a shaking hand through his pure-white beard. The top of his head was covered by a hat, but given how difficult it was to clean oneself in this world, it was likely that he was bald for the sake of convenience. “These three things are worth more than any a mere scavenger your age could pay.”

It might seem crazy, but the scale, hammer, and chisel were all trade tools here. It was like stealing a cash register or welding equipment from a shop. They were expensive things that merchants would contact authorities to recover because they were practical assets.

Lying was a terrible idea, but I didn’t hesitate to make my actions sound better.

“They fell onto the ground when the warnings came. I took them, because they are valuable and would help feed me, sir.”

“By the laws of this land, thieves lose hands and feet for every object they steal, boy. How do you feel about losing two hands and a foot?”

I answered honestly at the intimidating question.

“I would die if I lost them, sir, so I will do what you ask of me.”

Brown eyes bore down upon me for a second, trying to find something, but I met them head on.

Surprisingly, the warband’s quartermaster let loose a shuddering breath and leaned back to fall on his chair.

“This war has gone so long that most of the new generation feel no fear.” The man mused, before shaking his head and looking his assistant’s way. “Send word that we’ve found a child with a decent head on his shoulders. Talk to the scouts and hunters, and maybe a few of our knights. This one’s keen and cunning enough to be of use… and we’ll use him until he pays for this scale, hammer, and chisel.”

He took the items he mentioned out of my back, before giving me the rest.

Surprisingly, the rest of my things were there.

“Those you have paid for and are yours. The rest you will work off under our banner, child.”

Huh, I guess it was theirs by right of conquest and I should be glad that they were willing to let me work for it to live.

Not.

These fucking bastards were high off their own supply.

What kind of thought process lets you convince yourself putting a kid into debt is worth patting your back over? None of this was remotely close to fair and they were taking me as a slave. Even if I didn’t have the scale, hammer, and chisel, they’ll probably have me work for the rest of my belongings instead! Without a doubt, these guys should find the nearest, shallow pool of piss and shit and drown themselves!

I kept a smile on my face and my body relaxed, as I raged inside and replied as evenly as I could.

“Thank you, sir.”

Someday, somehow, I was going to get myself a home in the middle of nowhere.

Then, I’ll watch the entire world burn, before the apocalypse takes me.

No matter what, I’m going to die long after all these fuckers.

Sure, there were better, quicker ways to avenge myself… but I wasn’t willing to take those risks. I’ll just pretend that I’m pissing on their graves when I hear news about their country getting destroyed by the apocalypse.

So, I waited patiently in the tent with the Quartermaster of this camp, until someone came along that would make use of me.

Only for someone to enter the tent and ruin that possibility completely.

In the game, there were three types of units.

General, Elite, and Champion.

General units didn’t have names. They were the models in whole divisions of infantry, cavalry, artillery, or anything else. Some of them were better than the rest, but in the end they were just units that died or killed for you. If you did well, they’ll gain experience and veterancy, which makes them more effective.

Then, you fuck up and get them all killed somehow, and just write them off since the last auto-save was ten minutes ago.

Not worth ten minutes of trouble.

Elites units were off-brand versions of the special units. The bargain brand version of the real thing. Random name, basic skill tree, and maybe some randomization to make them look a bit different on the field and in character portraits. However, Elites are actual people on the game. One of them can be reasonably expected to tear through basic infantry divisions without dying, if they were utilized properly, trained well, and invested into.

If they die, you’ll restart the whole battle from the start, and you’ll look up how to properly use and invest in them.

Worth about an hour of trouble.

Champion units are the main characters of the story. If they die, your campaign is over, and you start from the beginning. Everything about your entire game revolves around getting your Special unit from point A to point B, while killing everyone else’s. They’re the cornerstones of entire nations, they had more special abilities and they didn’t share them, and if properly used, outfitted, and trained, they could win entire battles on their own.

If they die, you’re bad and you should feel bad, because they’ll only lose if you make a mistake.

Restart the game, loser.

Why am I saying all of this?

What’s the point?

Obviously, of course, it was the fact that I was staring at the very worst, absolute bottom-tier Champion Unit in the entire game.

Riegert of the Holy Axe, or in the forums: “XP Dumpster.”

His growth rates were so bad that everyone has a meme screenshot of him getting minimum stat upgrades for every single level. Not only that, but his Perk Tree was centered all around increasing morale of Tier 1 Units in the early game, then getting free Tier 1 Units in the mid game, and then reducing their upkeep costs in Tier 1. Those were his best Perks, because the rest of them were utter shit, even with the best equipment slapped onto his limited slots they were shit compared to specialists in their field who had better multipliers for that equipment.

He’ll lose every match against fellow Special Units because his personal combat perks were garbage, and the Tier 1, low cost, and unbreaking warband he leads effectively can get rolled over by a Doomstack with enough DPS. If you put in him charge of a decent, endgame army, then the enemy just needs to put a Champion with actual, good Perks that buff their own half-decent army, and he loses.

Riegert?

More like “regret.”

Yeah, I’m clever, hurr-durr.

“Isaac, I heard you found someone from the warband we were chasing?” Riegert entered the room, but even with my knowledge of how he’ll eat shit and die in few years, I made myself look small. Even if he was the absolute worst of the tier, he was still a Champion Unit. That meant the bearded, red-haired mountain of a man I was looking at could take on whole divisions of soldiers. Three at the least. He’ll kill around 150-200 men even without micro or luck, before he croaked in a fight. “A survivor from the baggage train?”

The Quartermaster, just a few moments from condemning me to another life of servitude right after my last, nodded at Riegert instantly.

“This child right here. He’s a smart one. Knew to steal and take all he could, while running away. I’d planned on putting him to work to earn his stolen goods.”

“He can pay it off more easily by telling me what he knows.” Riegert’s footfalls shook the ground. In a medieval world where most people were malnourished, the Champion Unit was a beast that wouldn’t look out of place at a World’s Strongest Man competition. One of his biceps were bigger than my head and his head was just a foot away from the tent’s roof. Almost seven feet tall and at least three hundred pounds in muscle, even before counting all the armor he wore. “How does that sound, kid?”

On one hand, prolonged servitude for how many years, versus working with a Champion Unit for a shorter amount of time.

Given the fact that spending too long around Riegert meant risking death, because he sure as hell would never be able to win, I chose the later.

“That sounds good, sir! I’ll tell you everything that I know!” I beamed at him and did my best to look eager. Riegert shared the smile and his hand descended on my head. It was a pretty nice move to make for an orphaned kid, but I had a hard time standing as a hand that could squish my skull with ease wrapped around it. “I’m a good listener!”

“Ha-ha, that’s good. You and I will work together well, then.” It was hard acting like an eager kid. Smiling so much was wearing on my nerves, but the Champion Unit seemed like he was taking a liking to me. I chalked the cost up as worth it for that alone. “Get your things and follow me.”

He turned around to leave, and I moved to follow.

Then, the Quartermaster spoke.

“Take these with you, kid. If you’re following him around, you’re going to need everything you can get.”

For a second, I didn’t realize what the guy meant, until my blood ran cold.

The mission system wasn’t disabled, and its shitty random events were going to play out!

FUCK.

Can’t I get a break!?

…

The mission system was downloadable content that most people with two braincells turned off, unless they were playing around. It was developed by a third-party, on a shoe-string budget, and basically ruined games. Sure, the missions had good lore, but I could read a codex for that stuff, just go on the wiki, or throw up a video on the second monitor. It had good lore, but the fact remained that the DLC basically made NOT MOVING the most optimal strategy for a turn-based strategy game.

Because, the game mechanic it added was that if a Champion Unit didn’t encounter an enemy, it would receive a random quest based on the region that it was occupying.

People would literally just sit their Champion Units on a space on the overworld, then they’ll press Turn End, refuse the bad quests, and find the good ones for prime Equipment, extra Perks, and even new Champion Units.

It was a bullshit system, and I was glad that it wasn’t allowed in Ranked.

Anyone who asked for it to be included in Ranked, even in third party Ranked, needs to be escorted to the nearest nursing home.

With a brain like that, they need someone to wipe their asses for them, let alone function as a human being.

Of course, since it was vaguely realistic, it functioned in this world and was probably throwing shit out of whack.

I needed to get off this continent more quickly than I thought, because most of the rewards for the mission system was broken as hell.

What?

How do I know that?

I played with it on for shits and giggles when I wanted to relax, of course. Afterall, since I bought all the DLCs, I was going to use all the DLCs.

But back to the problem at hand.

Riegert had his own section of the camp. It was cleaner and sequestered from the rest, as expected of a commander’s position, but there was more to it than that. There were servants present that worked out of large wagons that carried prime supplies for the officers. Fresh meat, fruit, and mistresses were present, instead of salted supplies and whores.

They had cooks working in an open-air kitchen with a brick stove and firepit, with barrels of wine and bear readily accessed, and everyone present looked like they were out on a glamourous, renaissance festival trip, rather than a warband.

Riegert walked past it all and walked into the commander’s tent with me in tow.

There were a bunch of older individuals in the tent, working beneath glowing orbs of light that were magical and beyond my ability to ever have, but only one didn’t bow in his presence.

“Ghor, I’ve located a survivor of the cavalry charge. It’s a child. One of the scrappers that recently freed himself after a few years of servitude.”

Jeez, he really played down the fact that I worked the moment I could walk.

“H-hello! That’s me. I’ll tell you everything I know!” I did my best to smile, even as I glanced over the entire tent. There were a lot of tables with maps and some messengers on standby just waiting to run and deliver things. However, all the older officers were gathered around the massive map on a table at the center of the tent. The massive parchment map was the size of queen mattress and the figures, landmarks, and roads on it… were all simplified but recognizable

It was the overworld when in the “Stylized” mode.

All ink blots, names, and vague descriptions, but it made online play less like a laggy dumpster fire so everyone played with it on.

My throat constricted and I couldn’t help but stare at it.

Ghor noticed.

“Scrapper, you say. Well, it does seem that the child has a knack for spotting treasure. One look at the map and he’s keen on keeping it for himself.” Ghor laughed and so did many of the other officers present. He was missing an eye and covered it with a patch, while his skin was tanned and leatherlike. Despite his age though, he filled out his uniform with wiry muscle rather than fat. “I think this child has a lot to say, but its best if you keep your pockets out of his reach.”

Another round of chuckles filled the room, as Riegert took a slight step to the side.

Ghor nodded at the sight and I instinctively stepped forward across the large map from him.

“Do you know how to read maps, boy?”

“Yes. I wanted to travel far away and see everything I could, so I did my best.” I gave my prepared and rehearsed speech on the subject. Not that they’d believe me if I told them the truth. Of course, I can read this magical map. I spent thousands of hours looking at it and navigating with the arrow keys. Wait, why are you bringing out the pitchforks? “Ummm, this map is looking east of us right now. We’re a bit to the left!”

“Correct. Good eye. I daresay that you might just do as you’ve dreamed boy. The gods know we have need of more cartographers.” Ghor nodded and so did much of his staff. The retinue hadn’t paid me much attention, but being able to read the map managed to get a lot of eyes on me. Hopefully, it was good attention and not the kind that I’ll find myself on the run for murder for. If any one here tries to fuck me, I’m killing them and running with the consequences. “Here we are and here is where your former warband was destroyed.”

A few waves of the hand over the map switched it over to us.

The Talon Hills was one of the starting areas of the game. It had fifteen sites for encampments and towns, as well as three random spots for spawning a citadel. Usually, there were five encampments and towns at the start, which could be conquered while you pass through for taxes and increased unit cap. The encampments could be upgraded to fortresses with training camps designed contribute to specific technology trees, while the towns could be upgraded to cities for increased supplies and revenue. The citadel was the region’s strongest point and you were only allowed to siege it after weakening it. You did that by taking over most of the encampments and towns in the region.

In the endgame, a region with maxed out fortresses and cities surrounding a fully-upgraded citadel was practically unassailable.

In the early game, just as I expected, the Talon Hills region was barely developed.

Three towns, two encampments, and the citadel wasn’t in effect since it wasn’t conquered by faction’s Champion Unit yet.

All of that was known to me in glance, thanks to thousands and thousands of hours of play, but I didn’t expect those hours to be the answer to Ghor’s question.

“We found this on the Warband leader’s corpse.” My heart stilled at what was in the old man’s tanned hand. “It is the key to an ancient, keystone castle hidden somewhere in this land. Whoever finds it will be able to take this frontier as their own… and if you aid us in this project, child, you will have more than you’ve ever dreamed of your entire life.”

On one hand, Talon Hills was a great starting area and giving it to a faction that had Riegert as a Champion Units was consigning it to death in the far future.

On the other hand, I didn’t need to be here in the future and I needed money.

So, I gave a nod and pointed at the map in three places, starting with the closest and ending with the farthest.

“The maps of the warband pointed to here, here, and here. That’s where we were going for something special.” I lied about knowing anything about the warband’s plans. I didn’t know jack-shit about that, but that didn’t matter. A frenzy of whispers and talks arose around the table instantly. I was set to be drowned out, but I did my best to yell. “Mister Ghor, sir, if you find something… can my prize be a wagon and supplies?”

For a second, as Ghor’s stare bore on me, I thought that I’d asked for too much and that they’d kill a kid that they didn’t need to pay in the first place.

Then, my heart dropped into my stomach.

“Boy, I am Ghor of the House Karnow and no lie leaves mine lips; should any of these places contain the ancient fortress we seek, I will make you a retainer of my own house and you shall want for nothing!”

My knees shook and before I could regather my strength, I almost fell back.

I couldn’t refuse the offer.

It was really beyond my wildest dreams to be elevated to retainer of nobility. Not only was it a massive advantage to have, but refusing it would be a slap to the face of a giant I couldn’t hope to piss off.

But, still, I couldn’t help but almost fall on my ass.

I was entwined in the worst starting spot, with the worst Champion unit, and with the worst Faction.

If I don’t put together an exit strategy, forget ten years, I’m not going to make it five.

These guys have twenty seasons/turns at best before they get rolled over and conquered!

A/N:

Hello, I'm Sage Of Eyes. This is one of my first original works and the first to be posted here on Royal Road.

I'll be posting a chapter everyday here on RoyalRoad, until all chapters from all four currently published volumes are present.