“Not really,” I replied. “I’ve come on the behalf of Father Adam.”

“Is it about the Red Runners?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve already told him we can’t just send soldiers chasing after his lost possessions: we neither have the men to spare nor the desire to indulge every little request.”

What do you do then? I wanted to ask, but didn’t.

“He said you would know where Red Rian is holed up.”

The big man thumbed his nose, then looked me up and down, before smirking. “Aye, I know where that bastard is hiding, but what’s a pipsqueak like you going to do with that information?”

“I’m going to get the Father’s map back,” I replied matter-of-factly.

He laughed, then said, “You really think yourself capable of that?”

“Oh, I know I am,” I lied confidently. I don’t know shit about what I’m capable of…

“Tell you what, Pipsqueak. If you can beat me in a duel, I’ll give you the information. If not, then you’re better off not knowing. That bastard has killed more than enough people as is, and I don’t want some foolhardy Adventurer’s death on my conscience.”

“Bring it on.”

The large man laughed again, before moving over to where dozens of soldiers were trading blows with dull swords and worn-down shields as they practiced bog-standard moves of defending and attacking. They looked woefully underprepared for actual combat. With a few curt commands, he cleared the area, and, soon after, the recruits were ringed around us, creating an arena of about eight metres in diameter.

The Quartermaster pointed to a long wooden table, upon which lay every weapon at the army’s disposal. These were not the dull ones that the recruits used, but actual weapons. “Pick one,” he told me.

I took a moment to look over the weapons. There were spears of varying length; arming swords; longswords; rapiers; maces; a few claymores; knives, both thick-and-short and long-and-skinny; recurve and longbows; throwing javelins; and shields in every imaginable size, from parrying shields that’d pair well with rapiers to door-sized tower shields. None of the options seemed better than what I had though, especially considering the state they were in, some with very obvious signs of damage.

“I think I’ll stick with this,” I said and put my hand on my scabbard.

“Fair enough,” the man replied, picking a short spear for himself, as well as a kite shield.

After he created some space between us, he looked down at me and said, “We’ll go by First Blood rules: whoever first receives a wound from the other, is deemed the loser.”

“Got it. I’ll try not to kill you,” I promised.

He grinned, “Let’s see what you’re worth, ey?”

The Quartermaster lifted the shield, so that it obscured his chest and every bit of his face below his eyes. I found it curious that he didn’t wear a helmet, but then again, neither did I…

As he approached, keeping a careful distance for the moment, I drew my obsidian blade from its sheath. The sunlight gleamed off of its mirror-like surface. I held it before me with both hands on its handle, the tip angled slightly towards him.

Remember, don’t try to block him, I warned myself, recalling the ‘Brittle’ trait of my sword.

With a sudden burst of speed, the Quartermaster loped forward, keeping his guard in place as he jabbed his spear around the side of the shield, aiming for my shoulder.

I moved my body out of the way with ease and kicked the shield back into the towering man, eliciting a grunt from him as his arm slammed into the chainmail covering his wide belly.

He quickly responded with another jab of his spear, but I saw it coming and chopped my blade down just below its spearhead, cleaving the wooden staff and rendering his weapon useless. But before I could seize the opportunity, the Quartermaster flung his shield outwards, forcing me back.

He quickly returned to the long table stacked with weapons and drew an arming sword, before I could catch up to him. It was strange how quickly he was moving despite his large frame and heavy chainmail, although his fighting style seemed to leave a lot to be desired, as every move was telegraphed for long enough to be easily avoided.

I lifted my katana above my head and slammed it down into his shield, cutting partway through the top of it, though it held long enough for the Quartermaster to fling it wide, forcing me to go along with him, as I struggled to wrench free my blade. As I moved with him, he slashed his blade at my stomach, where the cuirass deftly dulled its blow. The strike was weak enough to not even leave a scratch on my newly-acquired armour.

With an explosion of wood and metal bracings, the shield was reduced to one-third its original size, when I rammed my sword downward and pushed the keen edge further into its frame, rather than trying to extract my blade from its grip. The razor-sharp edge barely missed his hand, but it didn’t matter, because, I quickly snaked around his riposte with the short sword and opened up his upper arm in a shower of severed chain links. I had to stop myself from following up the strike with another slash to his exposed throat.

It was quite a frightening experience that fighting had come so easily to me, and that I had to actively fight against my instinct to deal a finishing blow to what was ostensibly a friendly duel.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Why on earth does it feel like I’ve been practicing this for years? Am I not supposed to have forgotten everything?

Blood gushed forth from the Quartermaster as he tumbled backwards, landing on his knee and dropping the arming sword in one move. One of the recruits quickly came running with bandages, but I knew from the length and depth of the wound I’d created that merely wrapping it in soft linen wouldn’t help much.

Unconcerned with the copious amounts of blood escaping his body, the Quartermaster excitedly said, “That’s first time someone has defeated me in over ten years! Pray tell, Traveller, what’s your name?”

I considered this for a moment, though I already knew what I’d respond. “You can call me Raven-Black.”

“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to join our army?” he asked, while another recruit came to the first one’s aid, in order to bind the bandage tight enough that it might stem the bleeding.

“I’m good.” I didn’t see the merit in joining an army where this guy was teaching people how to fight. I mean, I’d defeated him, and just a day prior was the first time[1] I’d held a sword. Also, aside from weapons in terrible shape and some low-quality armour, I didn’t know what I really stood to gain.

“I see. Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

“You said you’d tell me about Red Rian’s whereabouts,” I reminded him.

“That’s right, you’ve earnt it after all.” As more of his blood pissed out his ruined arm and now four recruits were panickingly wrapping layer-after-layer of instantly-soaked-through fabric around it, he stroked his beard with his free hand as though he wasn’t going to bleed to death in a couple of minutes. “We sent some scouts east a few days ago, but they have not returned like the rest that we sent elsewhere.”

“So, he’s to the east?”

“That would be my best bet. The scouts were sent to a small farming community that we suspected might have been infiltrated by the Red Runners some time ago. I assume you’ve already been to the Old Church, so it should be easy enough to find if you simply follow the east-going road until it splits and snakes north through the low hills in that area.”

“Gotcha…” I replied. I was a bit annoyed that I’d have to backtrack to get there, but at least I knew where I was going now.

If I’d explored more, could I have bypassed this Stage? I wondered.

“Oh, and if you do manage to kill the bastard, bring his head to Captain Tabian in the Forgotten Village and he’ll reward you handsomely. We’ve all lost someone we know to those Red Runners, but I doubt none have lost as much as Tabian.”

“Thank you,” I said, then eyed his arm that I’d ruined. “…You should probably get that fixed by someone who knows what they’re doing,” I commented, as now a fifth recruit had joined the impromptu first-aid team, who were all looking very desperate and muttering about having to amputate.

Some minutes later, I departed from the camp, ignoring the derisive words of the guard out front as I passed him.

After leaving the area, the music returned to the birdsong-and-flute and a soft ping began sounding in my inner ear every minute-or-so, growing more insistent with every repetition. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I pulled out my menu to try and find its source.

An exclamation mark hovered next to the progression menu, just like it had when I first equipped the sword. On the weapon levelling screen, I found the Katana progression tree, where the glowing dot had moved to ‘Level 2’ and the incessant pinging sound apparently served to inform me that I had to pick either of the two available abilities: ‘Guard’ or ‘Quick Draw’. Each ability had a short description when I clicked on them. The first explained: “Use the katana to guard against incoming attacks”, and the second: “Quickly draw the katana from its scabbard, performing a powerful slash.” I immediately picked the latter, since I clearly wouldn’t have a use for the ability to guard, when it contradicted my weapon’s ‘Brittle’ trait.

As soon as I’d chosen the new ability, I felt the understanding of how it worked flush into my mind, as though injecting itself directly into my memories and muscles. I swiped the menu away, and, looking at the tallgrass around me on the side of the road where I’d stopped, bent my body slightly, spread out my legs for balance, placed one hand on my scabbard, and the other on the handle. Then, as if lightning shot through my veins, I pulled the sword out in a Quick Draw, the blade tracing a half-moon in front of me with the motion of my arm. The grass in a wide cone before me was cleaved neatly in half and snatched away with a gust of wind that soon followed.

My arms trembled as I returned the blade to the scabbard, but I couldn’t stop smiling. This was what power felt like.

“I knew you would pick that skill,” someone commented nearby.

From looking around prior to testing out my skill, I was certain that nobody was nearby, and yet, on the road just at the top of the hill leading to the Soldier’s Camp stood someone I recognised. Someone I hadn’t expected to see again.

“Did you follow me here??”

The threat in my voice was obvious, not to mention, I was still holding on to my scabbard and hilt.

Kerebor laughed. His voice was hollow from the bucket-shaped helmet on his head. The two narrow slits for his eyes in the blank-faced mask made him seem a lot more intimidating than what I remembered, but perhaps it was also the fact that I felt like he’d ambushed me here.

“I knew you would eventually come here, so I’ve just been waiting.”

I hadn’t seen him when I’d arrived, and it wasn’t like he could hide in the open hilly landscape, at least not well enough for me not to spot him. Or could he? I actually wasn’t sure, since I didn’t know what people were capable of the further they progressed…

Sensing my confusion, he quickly explained, “Most of this World is phased to Players prior to them completing the first Stage, except for the area near the Starting Zone and the Safe Zones. I was here when you came by, you just couldn’t see me, or well, I couldn’t see you, or… well, both.”

“Like parallel dimensions?” I asked.

“Pretty much.”

“So? What do you want?” I was still standing in the grass off to the side of the road, my hands glued to my weapon.

“You’re about to go to the Hideout Stage, right? I want to come with you. I can protect you.”

“You know that’s not very convincing, since the reason I died was because you couldn’t protect me, nor anyone else on our team, apparently…”

“I know. It’s my fault you died. But I want to make it up to you, and help you progress.”

“I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

“But I—”

“No. I want to do this myself. How am I supposed to learn anything if you do all the work for me?”

I wondered what kind of face he was making beneath the helmet, but realised I didn’t care. What little goodwill he’d built between us was quickly eroding.

He then seemed to make up his mind, and nodded slowly. “Alright, I understand.”

I quickly started jogging through the grass, until I was far enough away from him that I felt comfortable stepping back onto the road. For the next several minutes, I looked over my shoulder every few steps, praying that I wouldn’t see him come running. Thankfully, I knew I was a lot faster than him, so, if it came to it, I could outrun him.

After walking down the road for a while, I realised that, if he knew where the Camp was, he’d obviously know where the next Stage would be, and if he decided to ambush me like this again, he might be less chivalrous about it next time…

Great, just what I needed to worry about right now…

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[1] In living memory.