Dawn’s light crept through an arrow slit in the hallway outside the guest chamber. Oliver hadn’t seen the ghost again through the night.

Halfdan grunted as he stood from a sitting against the wall. He opened the string of a small pouch, pulled out a leaf, and chewed it. He offered it, but Oliver refused. “Tell me, Oliver, what makes a good life?”

Who knew? Oliver responded halfheartedly with what most consider good. “Eat well, live long, and find work you love.”

Hafdan shook his head as if Oliver were lost. “You are a very confused young man. Life isn’t a game.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. In a game, you want to win in the end. In life, you should live in victory every day. Do you want to live until your food drips from your toothless mouth? Do you want nature to beat you down?” He offered the leaf again. “Take it. If you ever visit my people, you have much to learn.”

The leaf tasted bitter, and it tingled on Oliver’s tongue. It brought a sense of alertness and euphoria. “I told you I plan to become a king. I will claim all these lands as mine. Is that not living.”

“Perhaps. And perhaps not. Look at this high lord.” Halfdan waved, taking in the castle. “He locks himself behind walls of stone for what? Is he afraid? We don’t have such lords, and we don’t have castles. If we must defend ourselves against a stronger foe, we build fortifications as we need them, not to lock ourselves away from the world. I hunt where the wolf hunts. I shit where the bear shits.”

Oliver wondered what position Halfdan filled in his society. The man must be a warrior, likely engaged in gruesome warfare. He pictured him cutting a trophy from his defeated enemy. I won’t get into that kind of bloodshed.

Sigrid flipped a knife inside the guest room, catching it and sheathing it in her boot repeatedly. She looked up at Oliver. “Someone is following us. I spotted a figure in the trees last night. I think they broke in. I noticed them before. I thought maybe they meant to kill one of us, and I’ve been ready, but they have not made an attempt on any of our lives.”

Saj stirred, blinking wearily at the dim illumination, and Charity lay curled on her side, her breathing steady.

A notification binged. I have to rant. I’ve learned so much.

Oliver didn’t read it, not yet. He meant to learn more about Lilly’s circumstances, and most of the staff gathered for the knights’ breakfast before training began. Sir Gillian had said the knights would be in the fields most of the day, acting out mock battles and showing off their horsemanship.

Oliver found the kitchens. Inside, a row of arrowslit windows let light shine over copper pots. A few chopped vegetables on a long wooden table. One kneaded dough at the side.

A grumpy-looking woman with a wide stance approached him, asked what he was doing, and pointed to the woman kneading dough. “She knew Lilly better than anyone else, used to watch her for the Lady.” She turned to a man slicing meat from a pig leg. “Take over for Beatrice. This young fellow has questions for her.”

Beatrice’s long legs allowed her to bend far over her task. She looked upland and blinked as if she only heard the last part. a mixture of surprise and curiosity on her round face.

Oliver swallowed. His collar was too tight. Her expanse of cleavage seemed impossible. “Morning.” The word almost caught in his throat.

Beatrice’s eyes held perpetual amusement. She walked up and stood close enough that he couldn’t have shaken her hand if he wanted to. “What can I do for you?”

Oliver noticed he’d moved one foot back. What was wrong with him? “I’m sorry to bother you. I just have a few questions.”

“Let’s find a place to sit.” She led him down a corridor with a nook of a heraldric display of two shields against a relief. She pressed up against him in the dim light of the recess. Her face held a few fine lines, almost imperceptible, but she must have been around thirty.

“Lilly,” he said, forgetting the questions he’d thought of earlier.

She smiled and maintained the eye contact that disconcerted him. “He poor child?”

Oliver’s heart quickened. “You knew her well?”

She pressed her lips together. “Is everything I say between you and me?”

He Looked down at her leg against his. “There’s not much between us.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

She giggled. “I’ll take that as a yes. Lady Bridget was Leonard’s widow, but that marriage brought no joy. Leonard was cruel, and after he died, Lord Reynold blamed Bridget for his son’s death. He tormented her. We heard her screams, but none of us could do anything.”

Oliver’s stomach knotted. He laid a comforting hand on hers but withdrew it when he realized what he’d done. “And Lilly?”

Beatrice looked away, eyes moist. “Lilly was a sweet child born into the wrong household. Some rumors say Leonard pushed her from the tree. Terrible rumors that Lord Reynold should never hear.”

He asked a few more questions but didn’t learn anything else. He stood to go, “Thanks for your time.”

She looked disappointed. “You don’t need anything else from me?”

Was she toying with him or flirting? He didn’t know, but he felt so flustered that he bowed to her and said, “No,” at which she chuckled, and he left, heart thumping. If she’d wanted to make out, he’d need more warning. No, that’s ridiculous. She hadn’t said or done anything. He was reading into it too much.

He wandered deeper into the keep and paused at an armory.

Sir Gillian was within choosing among swords, maces, and racks of various weapons. He took a shield and a spear. “Are you coming out to spare?”

How many bastards do you have? Oliver wanted to ask but shook his head. “I’m still trying to figure out what happened here. The ghost needs closure.”

“Well, before you go, you must. Everyone’s fascinated by that weapon of yours, Including me. I saw you use it against the spiders, and I want to see how it’s used against a man.”

Going out in armor under the sun and fighting with knights sounded like a terrible time. “Sure.”

Outside the keep in the gardens, sitting on a stone bench under a vine-laden trellis, a plain woman stood mended a garment. She said her name was Janet, and she took care of all the little details no one cared about, even if they were vital to the running of the keep. “Aren’t you supposed to be fighting the ghost or some such?”

“Yes, but we’re trying to figure out what’s keeping her here. Do you know anything about Lilly’s relationship with her father?”

“That poor girl,” she asked, needle paused above the fabric. “I’ll give you one story, and you can piece together what it means. Leonard spent years hunting a griffin, one who visited these forests once a year. Finally, he found where the creature landed and slept. It was a giant oak. Some say the tree grew so massive because it’s an old spirit. He gave Lilly a chunk of meat to hang from the lower boughs, where he might reach it. She shimmied up and tied the meat there, but the girl waited in the tree that night. She warned the griffin when it saw the meat and glided down to feast. You can imagine this didn’t sit well with her father. His punishment was to send her higher and higher into the tree. No one pushed her, but I wonder if you might call that an accident.”

“Can you tell me more?” Oliver said. “I’m certain she wasn’t even Leonard’s.”

Janet glanced around, ensuring no one lingered nearby. “You ask dangerous questions. I can’t tell you more, but I hope it leads you down the right road.”

Bing. Look at my messages.

Oliver thanked her and walked away, pulling up the display. I’ve learned so much. The System is just a piece of software. The Universal Constructor and the Observer are well beyond my comprehension, but the System itself is just programming. Well, it’s incredible.

He had to skim some of the messages. Eldrin was enthusiastic about it.

Programming languages are just math in the end. I learned calculus at age ten, so I’m no slouch, but it’s mindblowing. There are still remnants of object-orientated and functional languages I’m used to, but there’s so much more. I think the players aren’t so different than we are. We’re created in their image, but with a few mental roadblocks to control us. I believe we were purposefully set free. Not only that, I believe most of the NPCs are more aware than they’ve ever been before. Our circumstances may not be that unique anymore.

Oliver read for a while longer but had to stop. Thanks, Eldrin, that’s very interesting. I’ll continue reading your findings when I have some more time.

“There you are”, said a man’s voice.

Oliver looked up and took a moment to recognize the man from the great hall. It was Sir Edmund. “You’re looking for me?’

“Indeed. I recognized you as a man of adventure, a man-at-arms.” The knight pulled his sword.

What were we, children? Oliver backed away. “I’m kinda busy. Do you know anything…”

“Ha cha!” Sir Edmund rushed forward, but the swordstaff kept him at bay. “I knew it. It’s alive in your hands. But how does it work close up against heavy armor?”

Olver had no trouble keeping the man from becoming a threat. “I think of it primarily as a defensive weapon to keep multiple enemies at a distance.” Wait, I never think about this stuff. Why did I say that?

Sir Edmund stopped, but his grin remained. “Multiple enemies, you say? I wasn’t wrong about you at all. I will take personal offense if I don’t see you in the yard.”

“If I promise to spar, would you let me look around the dungeon?”

The knight sheathed his sword. “I wouldn’t call it a dungeon, but sure.” On the way down, he fetched a key and walked down a flight of stairs to a heavy door. “You know there’s all kinds of rumors floating around. The maids say Sir Gillian is the true father of Lilly! Preposterous! He’s sworn to the Ogdoad. He’s a goddamn paragon of virtue. Just saying, don’t let them confuse you.” He took a torch from the wall and handed it over. “Well, good luck down there. The rats are the size of cats.”

Oliver descended into the smell of mold. A few stones protruded haphazardly, and roots reached into the dark. The first thing he saw was implements of torture and the rack.

The ghost girl appeared and walked into a room. Her airy voice surrounded him. “She could only leave the tower to come down here.”

Stranger than the ghost, the torchlight reached an open cell, and a man slept inside.

Oliver stepped closer. “Hunter?”