Alonso went to pick up his backpack. His heart was pounding, nerves twisting in his stomach. Fear gnawed at him, but there was no turning back now.
Even without Simulation, he knew one thing with absolute certainty—if those nine people decided to attack, he was dead. No escape. No other outcome.
The question now was: what would they do? Had his display of strength been enough to deter them, or had it stoked enough fear to make them band together and finish him off?
Should he have spared Oleg and his companions? Maybe. Knocking them out could have been an option, but then his chances of survival would have dropped to 88%. And while that was still a high number, it wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. He was weaker than all three of them. The only reason it had seemed easy was because of Fake Reality, and their inability to break through it. Any slight delay, any misstep, and a single projectile from their sling could have left a gaping hole in his body.
In any case, Alonso had thought this through. If there was truly a human community in the Oasis, then conflicts between its members were almost guaranteed. A perfect society in these conditions? Not a chance. That meant there could be factions—at least more than one. And even if there was only one dominant group, there were bound to be rebels, people dissatisfied with whoever was in charge. So, while he was likely on bad terms with the group he had just killed, others might see his ability to take down three opponents in a 3 vs 1 fight and consider recruiting him.
But there were a lot of ifs here. First, there needed to be enough people in the Oasis for factions to form. Second, the group had to have been together long enough for tensions to evolve into actual divisions. It had been a month since Alonso arrived on the island, but he could have reached the center much sooner. He deliberately delayed his journey by nearly three weeks to refine Fake Reality and develop his other skills. Based on that, assuming everyone here was an elite, people would have started reaching the center around 20 to 25 days ago, with the majority arriving within the last 10 to 20 days. Given these factors, the probability of two or more opposing factions, or at least a dictatorship with rebel groups, was:
“61%.”
“Well, that’s lower than expected, Houston.”
“While you accounted for human nature and the friction over orbs, you overlooked the possibility of a stronger common enemy in the Oasis, something that could force unity. And secondly, you forgot the potential existence of a human with overwhelming power. In trials where power rules, one dominant force could compel everyone else to cooperate.”
“And a month is enough time to create that kind of absolute power?”
“Imagine someone like you, but with stage progress higher than 3%. Now, imagine someone even better.”
Alonso’s face darkened, and he took a deep breath. Only 61%. That was too low a chance to gamble his life.
“To gamble now? You already did.”
As he weighed his options, he noticed the three groups closing in, but then two of them started staring at each other. He couldn’t hear the exchange from that distance, but he could sense the tension, the shouts between them. And then... more people appeared on the horizon. Another group of three and a single person approaching separately.
What the hell? Thirteen people already! Was the whole community coming out to greet him?
But then he realized something was off. The one that came alone was shouting and gesturing angrily at another group. It looked like a fight was about to break out as they rushed toward each other.
“Well, I reckon that’s good news. What’s the percentage now?”
“89%.”
“That’s more like it,” Alonso thought, feeling a wave of calm wash over him, though he kept his face serious, his eyes fixed on the scene ahead.
It looked like a 7 vs 6 standoff, but the six, who had initially seemed aggressive, finally backed down.
“Are the victors the good guys or the bad guys?”
“Well, considering the factions should be roughly equal and you just killed three, odds are the majority is the 'good guys,' but with only a 6 vs 7 difference, it’s hard to say. Anyway, pray and prepare to run for it.”
Alonso remained standing his ground as the two groups of three closed in. Leading them was... wait, was that?
“Yep, the Asian girl who saw you naked on the beach. Talk about first impressions.”
Amidst all the unease and tension, a wave of embarrassment washed over Alonso, his face briefly flushing.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Hey, don’t let that distract you. And no getting friendly just because she’s a woman. There’s still a good chance she’s here to kill you.”
Alonso nodded internally, shaking off the thought, and kept his focus. As the distance closed, he began to make out more details—their faces, their posture—and, oddly enough, they all seemed... Chinese? East-Asian in general?
“How good’s your Mandarin?”
“Shut up.”
A language barrier—that was going to be a problem. But hopefully one of them spoke English, right?
The two groups, led by the Asian woman, stopped about 80 meters away, still too far for direct confrontation but close enough to signal intention. Alonso could feel the tension radiating off them.
The girl in the lead, the one from the beach, had her hand resting on her sword’s hilt, her eyes locked onto him. After a moment, she glanced at another person in the group. He nodded and stepped forward.
“You... speak English?” the man asked, his accent thick but understandable.
Alonso gave a slight nod. “Yeah.”
The man looked back at the woman, exchanged a few quick words in Mandarin, and turned back to Alonso. “She ask... why you kill Oleg?”
Alonso’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face impassive. He had expected this question. “Self-defense,” he said simply, his voice steady. “He tried to take my weapons. I refused.”
The man relayed the message in sharp, clipped Mandarin, and the woman’s expression darkened. She spoke quietly, her voice cold. The man turned back to Alonso. “Asking for weapons... protocol in Oasis. Killing human... banned. Killing in Oasis... means death sentence.”
"Do you think getting naked would make her laugh again?"
"Fuck off, Houston."
“It’s your best shot right now.”
Alonso ignored the internal banter, feeling the tension rise but maintaining his composure. “He attacked me first,” Alonso said firmly. “I had no choice.”
The man translated again, and the woman’s eyes narrowed, her tone sharper now as she responded in Mandarin.
“She say... no matter. Rules broken. Oasis has law. You broke it.”
Alonso’s pulse quickened, but he kept his voice calm. “So, what now?”
The woman listened to the translation, then spoke more forcefully. The man nodded. “She say... you face death trial. Leaders decide.”
Alonso’s mind raced. A trial? It felt like a setup. He looked at the group, all eyes on him, weapons ready. He took a slow breath, trying to buy time. “And if I refuse?”
“Before you ask, Stealth Reckoning is not working on their leader, and one more of the group, at least at this distance. They are using EM Cloaking. And, on top of that, the leader has been trying to manipulate your waves and... oh... wait.”
“Houston?”
“It’s a code. She’s sending an encrypted message in EM waves. She’s saying, wait… keep talking and give me more time.”
Alonso blinked but kept his face impassive. A code? From her? He took another slow breath, keeping the conversation moving while buying time. “I don’t see why a trial is necessary. You could hear my side of things right now,” he said, his voice calm but firm.
The man translated as the woman’s eyes stayed locked on Alonso, her expression inscrutable. She responded sharply, and the man’s voice came back. “Leaders decide... not her. You must go to Oasis.”
Alonso nodded to himself, shifting his stance slightly as if considering the offer.
“Got it!” Houston chimed in suddenly. “Though... it’s a bit tricky. She’s sending encrypted images, not words.”
“Images?” Alonso raised an eyebrow mentally, careful to maintain his poker face.
“Yeah. First off, she illustrated you naked on the beach. Touché on her side.”
Alonso nearly faltered, but quickly regained his composure, though he couldn’t stop the slight twinge of embarrassment creeping up. Really? He thought, internally gritting his teeth.
“She’s got jokes, apparently. Then she showed two circles in the Oasis. One had a bald angry face on it—guessing that’s the bad guys. The other had a happy face, and she threw Oleg and the other two on the bad side. And here’s the fun part—she’s put her group on the happy side with a thumbs up.”
Alonso blinked, barely suppressing a grin. “Seriously?”
“Yep. It continues. Now she’s showing you following them to meet their leader, and… well, showing a skull emoji if you don’t and a thumbs up if you do.”
Alonso bit the inside of his cheek to avoid laughing outright. In the middle of all this tension, encrypted emojis were the last thing he expected. “Great... so I’m supposed to trust the happy face team?”
“Hey, it’s either that or you get to be the guy who fought off seven highly skilled warriors... and didn’t live to tell the tale.”
He sighed quietly and glanced at the woman again. She stood impassively, waiting. “Alright,” he muttered under his breath, “Let’s hope happy-face-gang isn’t secretly psycho.”
He finally nodded, keeping his voice even. “Alright, I’ll follow you to meet your leader.”