The morning light streamed through the windows of The Spear, its warmth at odds with the cold tension that still lingered from our previous quest. We sat at one of the long tables in the inn's dining hall, finishing breakfast while Garvin combed through the newly posted jobs from the mercenary guild. The quest board was smaller here, tucked into the corner of the room, but the jobs listed were a noticeable step up from what we’d been taking back in New Fenrir.
“Alright,” Garvin said, clapping the parchment he’d picked off the board onto the table. “Got one that looks interesting. Escort mission to a temple a few days north of here. It’s for a caravan carrying relics for the Church of the Eternal Flame.”
Drea raised an eyebrow as she popped a piece of bread into her mouth. “Relics, huh? You think they’re cursed?”
Garvin smirked. “Oh, I hope they’re cursed. We’ve got Malric for shooting things, you for chopping things, and Sigvard for doing... whatever it is he does when things get weird.”
Drea snorted, shaking her head. “You’re way too enthusiastic about potential death traps, Garvin.”
Malric leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Escort missions are usually easy. Until they’re not. Churches like to keep their secrets.”
“What’s the pay?” I asked, eyeing Garvin.
“Decent,” he said, sliding the parchment toward me. “More than enough to get us a few upgrades once we’re done. Assuming we don’t die, of course.”
I looked over the details, then passed it to Drea, who gave a curt nod before sliding it over to Malric.
“Alright,” she said. “We’re in. When do we leave?”
“Caravan’s leaving at noon,” Garvin replied, leaning back with a grin. “So finish your breakfast, pack your gear, and get ready for adventure, people.”
We left The Spear just as the caravan was preparing to depart, a small group of wagons loaded with crates, barrels, and cloth-covered bundles that the priests of the Eternal Flame guarded with almost obsessive care. The head priest, a wiry man named Father Beltran, explained the basics of the mission in clipped, precise tones: get the relics to the temple safely, no questions, no delays.
The journey north was uneventful for the first day. The road was well-traveled, the weather clear, and the priests stayed quiet, keeping to themselves. It wasn’t until we set up camp for the night that things took a more serious turn.
The fire crackled softly as the group gathered around it, our tents set up in a loose circle around the camp. The priests had set up their own camp a little further away, their murmured prayers blending with the night sounds of crickets and rustling leaves. The mood was subdued, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
Garvin broke the silence, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Alright, I’ve been thinking about something,” he said, leaning forward. “If we’re going to keep working together, we need to trust each other. I mean really trust each other.”
Drea raised an eyebrow. “We’ve already put our lives in each other’s hands plenty of times. What’s this about?”
Garvin gestured toward me. “It’s about Sigvard. No offense, man, but you’re still a bit of a mystery to us. And when push comes to shove, our lives are in your hands just as much as yours are in ours.”
Drea nodded slowly. “He’s got a point. You’ve pulled some pretty crazy stunts, Sigvard. If we’re going to keep doing this, we need to know what we’re working with.”
I shifted uncomfortably, staring into the fire. I’d expected something like this eventually, but it didn’t make it any easier to face. Still, they weren’t wrong. If I wanted to keep this group together, I needed to open up—at least a little.
“Alright,” I said, my voice low. “I’ll tell you what I can. But it’s... not pretty.”
Garvin leaned back, giving me the floor. Drea and Malric both watched me intently, their expressions unreadable.
I took a deep breath. “I wasn’t born here. I’m an Outlander, like you already know. But what I haven’t told you is that I remember dying.”
Garvin blinked, startled. Drea frowned, while Malric tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing.
“I don’t remember everything,” I continued, staring into the flames. “Just flashes. I remember my wife—Alicia—and I fighting. Things weren’t good between us. Money problems, stress, everything piling up. That night, it got worse. I don’t even know what set it off, but... I remember her screaming. And then I remember pain. A knife.”
I paused, my voice catching. The fire crackled, filling the heavy silence.
“She stabbed me,” I said finally. “I don’t think she meant to, but it doesn’t matter. I died. And the next thing I knew, I woke up here.”
The group was silent, the weight of my words hanging in the air. Garvin ran a hand through his hair, his usual cocky grin nowhere to be seen. Drea looked down at the axe resting across her knees, her brow furrowed. Even Malric’s calm, stoic mask cracked slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.
“That’s... heavy,” Garvin said finally. “And you think the System brought you back? Resurrected you?”
I nodded. “That’s what it feels like. Like I was given a second chance. Chosen.”
“Chosen?” Drea repeated, her tone skeptical. “The System doesn’t choose people, Sigvard. It doesn’t feel. It just... acts.”
“I know that’s how it seems,” I said, my voice firm. “But I’m here, aren’t I? There has to be a reason.”
“Or maybe you’re just useful,” Malric said quietly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “The System isn’t kind. It doesn’t care about us. It only cares about results.”
I didn’t respond right away, the truth of his words sinking in. Was that all I was to the System? A tool? A means to an end?
The fire crackled softly, the flickering light casting long shadows across the camp. For the first time since arriving in this world, I felt the weight of doubt settle over me, cold and heavy.
But I couldn’t afford to dwell on it. Not now. Not here.
“Whatever the reason,” I said finally, “I’m here. And I’m not going to waste this chance. Whether the System chose me or not, I’m going to make it count.”
Garvin nodded, his expression softening. “Fair enough. And for what it’s worth, Sigvard... we’ve got your back.”
“Always,” Drea added, her voice quieter than usual.
Malric said nothing, but the faint nod he gave me was enough.
The tension eased slightly, and the conversation shifted, but the doubts lingered at the edge of my mind, refusing to fade.
And deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to my arrival here—something I hadn’t uncovered yet. Something darker. Something waiting.
Eight months. It was hard to believe it had been that long since I woke up in this strange world. The days and weeks had blurred together, filled with quests, battles, and the relentless drive to level up and survive. Winter was closing in now, the first chill winds of the season cutting through the air like a blade. The leaves had turned fiery shades of red and orange, and the once-bustling roads were quieter as traders and travelers began to prepare for the harsher months ahead.
I’d come a long way since those early days, now standing at level 40. Every stat point I earned had gone into dexterity, turning me into a blur of motion in a fight. The rest of the group—Garvin, Drea, and Malric—were all level 45, their training and experience evident in every move they made. We’d grown together, fought together, and survived together. It showed.
Like now.
The clearing was chaos, filled with the shrill screams of goblins and the clash of steel. They came at us in waves, small but vicious creatures armed with rusted blades, crude clubs, and the occasional makeshift bow. Their numbers weren’t overwhelming, but they were clever, using the terrain to their advantage—darting from behind trees, circling us, trying to catch us off guard.
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They didn’t stand a chance.
Garvin moved like a wall of steel, his shield raised high to deflect the incoming arrows while his sword slashed and stabbed with precision. A goblin lunged at his exposed side, but Drea was there, her massive axe cleaving the creature in two before it could get close.
Malric stood on higher ground, his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield. He didn’t waste a single arrow, each shot finding its mark with deadly accuracy. A goblin hiding in the bushes, one aiming a slingshot at Garvin’s head, another trying to flee—all dropped before they even realized they’d been seen.
And then there was me.
I ducked under a clumsy swing, my steel sword flashing out to sever the goblin’s arm before spinning into a kick that sent it sprawling. Another came at me from the side, but I twisted away, the blade missing by inches as I countered with a swift stab to its chest. The creature gurgled and fell, its blood pooling in the dirt.
We didn’t need to speak. After months of fighting together, we knew each other’s movements instinctively.
I darted toward Garvin, cutting down a goblin that had managed to slip past his guard. He gave me a quick nod of thanks before turning to intercept another attacker, his shield bashing the goblin to the ground.
“On your left!” Drea shouted, though she didn’t need to. I’d already seen the goblin sneaking up on Malric and had thrown my sword like a dagger, the blade spinning through the air and embedding itself in the creature’s neck.
Malric didn’t even flinch, loosing another arrow at a goblin trying to climb a tree for a better vantage point. “Nice throw,” he said, his voice calm as ever.
“Don’t get used to it,” I shot back, summoning another sword into my hand. The black flames flickered briefly as the weapon solidified, but I dismissed it as quickly as it came. No need to draw unnecessary attention.
Drea barreled past me, her axe carving through two goblins with a single swing. “Keep up, Sigvard,” she said with a smirk, her breath fogging in the cold air.
I grinned, charging toward the remaining goblins. They were faltering now, their initial confidence giving way to panic as they realized they were losing. One tried to run, but Malric’s arrow took it down before it could get far.
The last goblin—a particularly scrappy-looking one with a jagged blade and a chipped tooth—squared off with Garvin. It swung wildly, screeching curses in its guttural tongue, but Garvin blocked the blows effortlessly, his shield moving like an extension of his arm.
With a final swing of his sword, Garvin dispatched the creature, its body crumpling to the ground. The clearing fell silent, save for the sound of our heavy breathing and the distant rustle of the wind through the trees.
Garvin lowered his shield, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Not bad,” he said, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction.
“Not bad?” Drea echoed, raising an eyebrow. “We just wiped out an entire goblin raiding party, and all you’ve got is ‘not bad’?”
Garvin shrugged, his usual grin returning. “Well, you didn’t even break a sweat. Figured you’d want a real challenge.”
Drea rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile on her lips.
Malric slung his bow over his shoulder, his sharp gaze sweeping the clearing one last time. “No stragglers,” he said. “We’re clear.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, sheathing my sword and leaning against a tree. The adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving behind the familiar ache of exertion.
“We’re getting good at this,” I said, glancing around at the others. “Almost makes me feel bad for them.”
“Don’t,” Drea said firmly. “Goblins don’t feel bad for us when they’re raiding villages and killing farmers. They get what they deserve.”
I nodded, though part of me couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like for them—living in a world where survival was just as brutal for them as it was for us. But I didn’t dwell on it. Survival was survival, and we’d done what we had to.
“Let’s grab what we can and move on,” Garvin said, motioning toward the fallen goblins. “No point sticking around.”
We moved through the clearing, checking the bodies for anything useful. Most of their weapons were too crude to bother with, but we found a few coins and supplies that would at least cover some of our expenses.
As we prepared to leave, I glanced back at the clearing, the bodies scattered like broken toys. Eight months in this world, and I was finally starting to feel like I belonged. But sometimes, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d never fully understand it.
For now, though, we were alive. And that was enough.
Warmth was a strange thing in this world. Like so many other aspects of life here, it was ruled by the System—measured, defined, and executed with almost mechanical precision. There was no gradual warming as you moved closer to a fire, no slow acclimation to the heat. Instead, warmth was binary: you were either within its radius or outside it, with nothing in between.
Campfires, for instance, had a specific range of heat determined by how well they were built. Step inside the radius, and the chill vanished instantly, replaced by a comfortable, steady warmth. Step outside, even by a single inch, and the cold snapped back, sharp and unforgiving. There was no transition—just a sudden shift from one state to the other. It wasn’t natural, but it was effective.
The same applied to houses. Cross the threshold of a door, and the warmth of the interior wrapped around you as though someone had thrown a blanket over your shoulders. Step back outside, and the cold reclaimed you in an instant. It was efficient, sure, but it lacked the subtleties of what I remembered from home—the way heat would creep into a room from a fireplace, how it lingered in the air long after the flames had died.
I couldn’t help but think of my mother and how much she would have loved this system. I could almost hear her voice now, shouting after me or my brother to “close the damn door!” whenever we left it open on a cold day, letting all the warmth escape. Here, there was no escaping warmth. It stayed neatly confined to where it was supposed to be, like everything else in this world. Efficient. Logical. No room for waste or nuance.
It was one of those little things I’d learned to accept about this world, even if I didn’t fully understand it. There were rules here, unyielding and absolute, governing every aspect of existence. At first, it had seemed alien, even oppressive. But over time, I’d started to see the appeal. There was a strange comfort in knowing that everything had its place, its purpose, its function.
And yet, every so often, I found myself longing for the imperfections of home. For the messy, unpredictable way heat would fill a room, the way snow would melt unevenly on the pavement, the way life just... happened without a system to dictate its every detail.
“Fire’s burning low,” Drea’s voice cut through my thoughts, snapping me back to the present. She prodded the campfire with a stick, sending up a shower of sparks. “We’ll need more wood if we’re going to stay out here much longer.”
Garvin groaned from his spot near the fire, pulling his cloak tighter around him. “Can’t we just huddle up and hope for the best? I’m too tired to chop wood.”
“Then you’ll freeze,” Malric said flatly, already standing and slinging his bow over his shoulder. “I’ll get more.”
I stood, brushing the dirt off my hands. “I’ll go with you.”
Malric didn’t respond, but he gave me a faint nod as we headed toward the tree line. The cold hit the moment we stepped out of the fire’s radius, sharp and biting against my skin. For all its strangeness, the warmth of the campfire was something I wasn’t going to take for granted anytime soon.
The more time I spent in this world, the more I realized how much of it was dictated by the System. Everything, down to the smallest detail, was governed by its rules—rigid, precise, and completely devoid of nuance. At first, it had seemed magical. Now, it felt more artificial, like living in a machine that didn’t know how to be anything else.
Take the sky, for instance. Clouds rolled in when they were meant to, and when it rained, it rained with perfect consistency. There were no sudden storms or surprise showers. If the System decided rain would fall from noon to four, it fell exactly from noon to four. Every droplet felt deliberate, like it had been placed on a schedule, and the moment the timer ran out, the sky was clear again.
It wasn’t natural. Nature, at least the kind I remembered from home, was messy. Chaotic. Here, the seasons shifted overnight. The crisp chill of autumn didn’t fade slowly into winter—it just was. One day the leaves were fiery orange, the next they were gone, and frost covered the ground in sharp, perfect patterns.
Even the wind wasn’t free. It didn’t build up gradually or move unpredictably through the trees. The System assigned it direction, speed, and purpose. On some level, I appreciated the efficiency of it all. But on another, deeper level, it unnerved me.
Food worked the same way. A campfire made it edible, but there was no guesswork, no art to it. Cook something over the fire, and it turned a shade darker to signal it was done. Every bite gave the same benefits—calories for stamina, a little health regeneration if it was hearty enough. But the taste? It was functional, not enjoyable.
That night, as we sat around the campfire, the System’s influence pressed on my thoughts again. The flames flickered steadily, never wavering in height or heat, perfectly maintained within their radius. Beyond it, the cold was absolute, the kind of biting chill that wasn’t gradual or creeping. It was just there.
Garvin had stretched out beside the fire, his armor discarded for the night. “You ever think about how weird all this is?” he asked, gesturing vaguely around us. “The way everything just... works? Like, the fire never smokes you out, food never burns, and you always know when the sun’s coming up?”
Drea snorted, carving a sliver of wood from her axe handle. “Weird? Sure. But it beats the alternative. You want to deal with unpredictable storms or spoiled food?”
“It’s not about wanting that,” Garvin said, sitting up. “It’s just... I don’t know. It feels fake sometimes, you know? Like, are we even living in a real world, or are we just part of the System, too?”
“Maybe we are,” Malric said from his spot against a tree. His voice was calm, but there was something heavy about it. “Does it matter?”
Garvin frowned, but he didn’t have an answer. Neither did I.
The System’s rules were everywhere. I’d even seen it in people. Their strength, speed, intelligence—it was all dictated by stats, numbers that didn’t always reflect who they were inside. A person with high charisma could command a crowd, but that didn’t mean they were kind or honest. Someone with low intelligence might still have wisdom the System couldn’t measure.
And aging? That was even stranger. People here didn’t age the way they did back on Earth. Once you hit a certain point—around thirty or so—you stopped changing. No wrinkles, no gray hairs, no weakening muscles or failing hearts. Everyone stayed in their prime, their stats locked in place as if the System had decided that decay and decline were inefficient.
But what happened if you didn’t die violently? If no monster or enemy ended you in battle? Did the System just let you... exist forever? Or was there some endpoint, some expiration date that no one talked about?
The System had no room for exceptions or nuance. It cared only for results, not reasons. And the more I learned about it, the more I wondered if this world was alive at all—or if it was just a machine, turning endlessly, with all of us caught in its gears.
But I was here. And whether I liked it or not, I had to play by its rules.