“It’s a Status that appears when a Player engages in Combat,” the Baron explained. “What LVL am I?”
Still trying to regain his composure, he was unsure if he had concluded it correctly. “I-… I think you’re 50.”
The Baron smiled. “A correct answer. What a nice change of pace.”
He wanted to say something back, to stuff the Baron’s mouth, but he was too weak to say anything. Bonatelli let go of his face, leaving him dangling by the rope.
“Now that we’ve confirmed that you can see the game’s interface, let me ask again.” The Baron pressed the blade of the sword against his throat. “Are you an NPC or a Player?”
“I am a Player,” he answered in the only logical sense possible.
For some reason, he felt defeated when he admitted it, but the Baron continued his questioning.
“Then are you an Adventurer or a slave?”
He paused to think for a moment. The way he understood it, Players are supposed to be Adventurers. There was no reason to put it into these terms again. He had already answered that question. Or hadn’t he? What do you want to hear from me?
“Well?” Bonatelli insisted.
He looked the Baron in the eyes. They were smiling as much and as fake as his lips. Depending on his answer, the Baron could strike him down right at that moment, but he made up his mind. Deep in his heart, he already knew what he wanted to say, and all he needed was the courage to speak it out loud. He knew there was no coming back after this.
In an act of defiance, he said: “I’m a slave.”
Bonatelli quickly lost his smile and lowered his sword. He gulped. Was that the right choice?
“A Player slave? An enslaved Adventurer?” Bonatelli asked, “that’s what you are?”
He nodded.
“That’s what you choose to be?” the Baron asked.
He nodded again, this time slowly. The Baron straightened up. He could already hear the ‘wrong answer’ coming out of Bonatelli’s mouth. He braced for the worst.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“A lot of people won’t like this,” the Baron commented, “But I’m glad that I could help you figure out the truth. We finally know what you are.”
He glanced over to the servant, making sure that Timmy heard him, then shifted his attention back to him.
“If that’s what you choose, then so be it.”
The Baron swung his sword in a wide arc. Afraid he might get hit, he closed his eyes. He collapsed to the ground, scraping his chin on the floor. He opened his eyes and realized that Bonatelli had cut the rope binding him to the ceiling. Since his wrists were still tied to each other, he was unable to break the fall. The blood from his chin was mixing with the dry remains on the floor. The Baron seemed amused by this. He felt tricked. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!
“Let’s get one thing clear,” the Baron said, “just because you’re a Player, it does not mean that you’ll be treated differently. You’re still a low-life piece of trash slave that disrupted my operations here. You will be punished accordingly. You still have 30 hours left in this shithole, and if you dare to act out again, I can easily make them 30 days. Am I understood?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“Yes, what?” the Baron asked threateningly.
He lowered his head. “Yes, my Lord.”
Bonatelli eased up a bit.
“I mean, I’m doing you a favor here. If you leave the manor with your LVL 1, you’ll be eaten by mobs the second you step outside,” the Baron said. “But who am I talking to here? You already know that from what I’ve heard.”
A mix of guilt and shame welled up inside him. Yes, I know that.
“The Starting Zone has become a fuckfest teeming with monsters. No single player could go there to train by himself,” the Baron explained, “but even if you wanted to get stronger, the bastards from the Heavenly Union and B4 have occupied those territories.”
The Baron confused him even more with all the names, and he started to feel more and more angry and powerless. He tried to hold back tears.
“It’s really for the best that you decided to stay here and live a life of servitude. All I’m asking in return is for you to follow the rules. Don’t you think?”
image [https://i.imgur.com/0wKAKTk.jpeg]
The only thing he could say at this point was a quiet: “Yes.”
The Baron leaned over. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve heard you correctly. You have to speak up a bit. Yes, what?”
He swallowed. “Yes, my Lord.”
“Attaboy.”
Bonatelli signaled the servant towards the door, and Timmy rushed to open it, bathing the cabin in sunlight once again.
“Just remember: your life is in my hands,” the Baron said on his way out, “it’s only been through pity that you even survived your first days.”
Timmy held the door open as the Baron took out his sunglasses to put them on. Once outside, the Baron stopped for a moment.
“Oh and one more thing.” Before the door to the cabin closed, he turned to say: “Welcome to the game, Player.”
The door closed with a loud clank. The sound, much like the sunlight, faded from the cabin, leaving him alone once more. As he lay on the dirty ground, beaten and broken, there was only one thing occupying his mind. Just what kind of game allows the Players to behave like this?
He couldn’t hold it back any longer. He started to cry.