"Sometimes it’s not about winning. It’s about surviving long enough for the other guy to wonder if he’s bitten off more than he can chew." — The Tao of Idleness, Book 6, Verse 12.

The first sign that the Rebels were approaching was the blowing of a horn. Which was a nice, archaic touch, I thought. The noise was a low, discordant ‘moo’ like the rumble of a giant approaching bull but with a menacing undercurrent that made my teeth itch. It was the kind of sound that said something awful was on its way, and it wasn’t going to be in any hurry to clean up after itself. Which is quite a specific noise now I think about it.

Me? Well, I was hovering around in the shadow of the Medical Hut, praying that the last few percentages on Lia’s recovery bar would go much faster than any of the rest of it. Because that’s how these things always work out, right? No one honestly thinks I’m going to be facing these fuckers on my own, do they?

A group of archers emerged first - three of them - holding up on the edge of the clearing with shortbows held casually by their sides. They were dressed identically in ragged leather armour, faces smeared with grime and ash. The overall effect was to suggest that they’d crawled out of their graves and decided to take up archery as a second-life career. I could empathise with the instinct, but couldn’t help but wish they’d chosen to practice their new profession elsewhere. Behind them came three common-or-garden foot soldiers, heavy boots crunching against the ground in perfect unison: a more cynical soul than me might even suggest they were goosestepping . . .

But it was the mounted figures that really worried me. I mean, let’s be honest, I’m going to get absolutely fucking pounded by just one of these guys, so bringing out the cavalry felt somewhat like overkill. There were three of them – was three a default unit? - and each sat on horses that looked more dead than alive—massive, rotting things with patches of hair hanging loose from their skeletal frames. The riders wore thick, spiked armour and carried heavy warhammers slung across their backs. Awesome. I always loved me a Paladin. Flexible thinkers. Easy going. Chilled all-round entertainers.

And then Berker rode in to join them.

I’d thought he was terrifying the first time I saw him. That had been an understatement. Terrifying didn’t begin to cover it. This time, when he rode into my little village, he clearly meant business. His horse, on this occasion, was a beast that defied reason, its body a bloated mass of muscle and fat, barely able to support its own weight, let alone his corpulent bulk. Its legs were too thin, cracking under the strain as it staggered forward. Each step sent tremors through the ground, its hooves vanishing into the mud as it dragged itself along.

Berker slid off the thing and paced towards me, his enormous body slamming into the ground like a collapsing wall of lard. Sweat poured from every crevice of his body, his skin greasy and mottled like he’d been dipped in baby oil. His face . . . fuck, his face was fucking horrible. It was like he’d spent the last twenty-four hours specifically aiming to look even uglier and really committing to the bit. His skin hung loose, his lips barely visible under all the layers of fat. And then he grinned, his teeth blackened and rotting, and opened his mouth to speak. “So, Rogue of Eldhaven. Looking forward to round two? I fear we will not be playing games this day.”

I couldn’t respond. My throat had closed up, my body frozen in place as Berker lumbered forward. He jiggled and shifted with every step, his breath wheezing out in wet rasps. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. I wanted to wake back up in bed having missed my appointment with fucking Steve. But all I could do was stand there.

I was so fucked.

At an unseen gesture, the Rebel archers knocked their arrows, the foot soldiers gripped their shields tighter, the horsemen began circling the perimeter of the clearing, and Berker… Berker just kept grinning at me, his eyes gleaming.

I’d never felt so alone.

Idle Gains: +50 XP for not vomiting.

Great. Cheers. But I don’t think passive gains are going to cut it this time.

“Alright,” Berker wheezed, his tongue darting out to lick swollen lips. “Let’s not fuck about. You were warned. You were given a chance to leave this fucking place, and you turned us down. You’re showing as neutral with the Empire and . . . well, that doesn’t sit too well with us. You’re either with us or . . . ”

He looked at me expectantly.

“Against you?” I managed.

“Nah. You’re with us, or you’re fucking dead.”

The first volley of arrows came at me like a wall of death. I didn’t think. I didn’t have time to think. It was like my feet moved on their own as I tripped—literally tripped—over an unseen rock just as the arrows whizzed overhead, burying themselves into the dirt where I’d been standing a moment before.

Opportunistic Luck: Activated.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I half-scrambled, half-crab walked to my feet, heart hammering in my chest as I looked up to see one of the foot soldiers closing in. He was massive, clad in blackened armour, and his face was hidden behind a visor smeared with blood. I just had time to think how unnecessarily gothic his appearance looked when another wave of arrows whistled my way. However, this time, a gust of wind suddenly blew through the clearing, shifting their path and sending them thudding into the back of a big – very surprised - dude who had just become a very serviceable shield. The foot soldier dropped to the ground: the saddest-looking inverted porcupine in the shop.

I wasted precious seconds trying to pick up his sword – it was far, far too heavy for me – before legging around the back of the Village Hall to try to provide myself some protection against the Archers Three. As I went, I found myself pushing one of my workers forward to intercept a second foot soldier who’d circled round the opposite way to his accidentally slain fellow to catch me unawares. His sword smashed straight through my poor Pixel Worker, sending splintered coloured blocks flying in every direction.

I wasn’t going to last long like this. It would be different if I was working to a plan, but there were too many of them, and it wasn’t even like the Big Fat Bad hadn’t even lifted a finger yet. Eleven on one – well, ten now – was such ridiculous overkill in the circumstances of me being . . . well me. This whole ‘Rogue of Eldhaven’ thing had really come back to bit me in the arse, hadn’t it?

I hugged the wall of the Village Hall, but was quickly exposed by one of the horsemen appearing behind me, charging in, the beast’s rotting hooves pounding against the earth like Thor on a bad day. I, somehow, found myself hitting to the ground just in time as the rider swung his warhammer in a lazy arc, the impact smashing straight through my nice new building. It also obliterated a second of my Pixel Workers. Had the brave little cube-block pushed me out of the way . . .

Dodge Unlocked (Level 1).

The notification blinked in my vision, but I didn’t have time to process it. Another horseman was already bearing down on me from the other side, his lance aimed straight for my chest. I panicked, rolling sideways in what felt like the most awkward, uncoordinated Dodge of my life—but it appeared to work. The jutting lance missed, digging deep into the ground, and I just kept commando-rolling as – in a very strange confluence of physics, poor luck and dodgy equine handling - the attacking Paladin somehow found himself pole-vaulted off his ride and into the Medical Hut with a bone-breaking smash.

I didn’t have a moment to consider I was somehow 2-0 up, before the two foot soldiers were closing in again, swords looking pretty fucking sharp. My mind raced through all the possible options I had, but no amount of panic was going to change the fact that I was way out of my depth. Two nil up was lovely and all, but this was the very definition of ‘sudden death’. They only had to get on the scoresheet once.

Idle Gains: +25 Gold for not dying yet.

Yeah, that’s helpful. Thanks. I won’t spend it all at once.

Swords swung towards me, but just as the blades came down to bring things to an abrupt, bloody conclusion when a low, terrified whiny erupted from behind me—one of the remaining Paladins had cantered his horse too close to the damaged side of my Village Hall and the heavy thudding of the hooves appeared to have caused a cascade of wood as the building simply toppled down over him. As a fortunate consequence, as the Hall collapsed, part of it suddenly Catherine-Wheeled outwards to smash into the two guys about to chop me up. Being pissed off that I was going to need to get that building put back up again felt like a minor concern, but it’s funny the things you choose to care about in your last moments of life . . .

Berker’s eyes narrowed as he watched his men fuck up butchering an unarmed Rogue, his greasy lips curling into a sneer. “Lucky bastard,” he growled, stepping forward to deal with the issue himself. He was bearing a mace—an enormous, jagged thing that looked more like a piece of raw iron than a weapon. I have to say, I much preferred it when he came armed with a scroll . . .

I had nowhere left to go. The three archers were still positioned behind Berker, their aim trained on me. One of the foot soldiers was pulling himself out from under the collapsed building and was getting ready to attack again. He didn’t look best pleased with me. Not that I thought we were trying to make friends before.

Then Berker was coming straight for me.

His form loomed closer, every footstep foretelling nothing good for me at all. The stench of rotting meat and sweat rolled off him in waves, and even despite everything else I had going on, it was this that made me gag, my stomach turning as he hefted that monstrous mace above his head and the full power of his BO hit me. I had seconds, maybe less, before he brought it down and turned me into goo.

I still couldn’t move. Fuck. I so wasn’t made for the thug life . . .

The mace swung down with considerable force, and my body – seemingly deciding it needed to take executive cntrol of the situation - moved again on pure instinct. I dove to the floor, crashing into a pile of Village Hall rubble, feeling the wind from Berker’s weapon whirl past me. Dirt and debris flew everywhere, the shockwave of my poor Village Hall being further marmalised, knocking me backwards.

Dodge (Level 1): Activated.

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But I wasn’t free and clear. The foot soldier was already on me, and I still had no weapon, no shield—just my trusty stick in hand and raw, blind panic in my heart. I swung the stick wildly, entirely expecting it to snap in two on impact, but something miraculous (again!) happened. The soldier slipped. His heavy boot caught on a loose stone, and he tumbled forward, sword flailing as he tried to regain his balance. Sadly – well for him - he never got the chance. His helmeted head slammed into a jagged rock with a sickening crunch, and he went limp, collapsing into the dirt like a sack of wet shit. I backed away, waving my stick like some kind of deranged magician at the approaching Paladin, but he was not to be put off. His eyes burned with anger at the felling of all his colleagues. He was going to enjoy getting a sweet, sweet slice of revenge.

That is, until an archer tried to sucker punch (Sucker shoot? Sucker loose?) me in the back with a crafty arrow. My lovely new Dodge Skill kicked in again, and I ducked out of pure reflex, the arrow missing me entirely and glancing off a broken piece of wood, ricocheted and flew straight into his eye. The man screamed, collapsing to the ground, clutching his face as blood poured out between his fingers.

The three remaining archers glanced at each other in confusion. How was I still alive? How had I taken down all of their comrades without even swinging a weapon? Why did they keep shooting their mates? Their grip on their bows loosened. They began creeping backwards into the trees.

“That’s right, you motherfuckers! You better run! You’re dealing with the Rogue of Eldhaven here!”

It took me a moment to locate the cause of that shout. It turned out to be me.

Berker, however, was far from impressed.

“You think you’re clever, do you, Rogue?” he said, dragging his massive mace behind him as he stalked towards me. “But your luck’s about to run out.”

He swung at me, the mace cleaving through the air like a guillotine. I dodged—just barely—and the weapon slammed into the remains of a wooden fence, obliterating it. I scrambled backwards, slipping in the mud as I tried to put some distance between us.

“You can’t keep dodging forever!” Berker roared, his fat jowls shaking as he closed in again.

A whistle cut through the air.

Another volley of arrows.

But this time, something in me clicked. My legs moved before I even registered the danger, and I darted to the side, avoiding the arrows with an almost unnatural fluidity. The world around me slowed for a second, and I felt the rush of adrenaline flood my system. Somehow, I wasn’t just dodging—I was dodging on purpose.

Dodge (Level 2): Rank Up.

I didn’t have time to celebrate. Berker was still on my arse. The archers were rallying, shaking off their momentary confusion and drawing knives to join their leader in hunting me down. I ran out of the clearing and into the shadows of the trees. The darkness of the canopy swallowed me whole, and I held my breath, praying they wouldn’t see me.

Boost Stealth? (Y/N)

I slammed “Yes” without thinking.

Stealth (Level 2): Rank Up.

Everything went quiet. The rebels paused, looking around as if I’d disappeared from the face of the earth. Even Berker seemed momentarily confused, his piggy eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement.

“Where is he?!” Berker spat, rage dripping from his voice. “Find him, you idiots!”

The archers spread out, daggers at the ready as they cautiously searched the trees where I was hiding. I held my breath, every muscle in my body tense. They couldn’t see me. They couldn’t see me. I was one with the trees, and the trees were one with me.

One of the archers got too close, his boot scraping against gnarly roots. I shifted slightly, trying to blend further into the shadows, but as I did, my foot crunched on some twigs, and they rolled across the ground, his eyes snapped to the sound.

“There!” he shouted, pointing straight at me.

I bolted, sprinting out of the shadows just as his knife came crashing down. The blade missed me by inches, but the chase was on again. I could hear Berker laughing in the distance. “We’ve got you now, Rogue!” he bellowed, stomping after me like some kind of nightmarish ogre.

I ran as fast as I could, but there was, in reality, nowhere to go.

A heavy thud sounded behind me, followed by the sickening crunch of bones breaking. I whipped around, expecting the worst, but instead, I saw one of the archers lying on the ground. Somehow, he had tripped on the uneven ground, flying headfirst into a massive tree. That dude wasn’t getting back up.

The remaining two archers stared at me in disbelief. To them, it must have looked like I’d done that. Like I’d planned the whole thing and was picking them off like some sort of reverse horror movie. One of them shouted something I couldn’t hear over the noise, and then they were fumbling with their arrows again, clearly rattled.

“Fuck’s sake! Berker screamed, his voice trembling with fury. “He’s just one man! He can’t keep—”

He was cut off by the twang of a bowstring.

An arrow whistled through the air and embedded itself in the throat of the archer to Berker’s right. The fat fuck froze, his eyes widening as he watched his man collapse, screaming.

Dema.

She dropped to the ground, bow drawn, a feral grin on her face.

“Took you long enough,” I gasped, still trying to catch my breath.

Dema winked. “Wouldn’t want you to have all the fun.”

Her eyes locked on Berker, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze. The last remaining rebel hesitated, glancing between his leader and the nightmare figures who had, somehow, taken out all of their friends.

Berker snarled. “You think one little Huntress is going to stop me?”

Dema smirked, drawing another arrow from her quiver. “Me, not so much. But him?” She nodded toward me, still panting and clutching my broken stick. “Eleven on one is now two on two. He’s the fucking Rogue of Eldhaven. Me, I’m just here to watch.”

I gave a half-hearted wave, still catching my breath. “Yeah, what she said. Who’s your daddy?”

The dark pits of Berker’s eyes flickering between us. He seemed to be weighing his options, trying to calculate how this little uno-reverso could have happened. The truth, of course, was that I had stumbled into every victory like a drunk falling into open manholes, but Berker didn’t need to know that. As far as he was concerned, I was some sort of god-tier Rogue, and Dema was my deadly, and entirely unnecessary, backup.

“Enough!” Berker roared, spittle flying from his bloated lips. “Reinforcements! Kill them both!”

I mean, this seemed pretty fucking unfair. Are other people allowed to use Abilities? A purple portal shimmered into existence at his shout, and two new Paladins spurred their skeletal mounts through it, a new couple of foot soldiers appeared to our right, and a second archer joined the last survivor of the massacre.

“Hold them off for as long as you can,” Dema said under her breath, her voice suddenly serious. “I’ve got a plan.”

“A plan? Now would be a great time to share,” I wheezed, dodging an incoming arrow as I flailed my stick around like a lunatic.

“Just keep doing what you’ve been doing,” Dema said with a grin, loosing an arrow that found its mark in the chest of an advancing Paladin. The man toppled from his mount, crashing into the mud as his horse stumbled and collapsed. Then the rest of them were on us, their swords and warhammers swinging wildly. Dema, though, moved like a blur, ducking under strikes and firing arrows faster than I could possibly track. As far as I could tell, her ‘plan’ was ‘I will fuck all these wankers up’. So spectacular was the slaughter that my attention was entirely on her impressive heroics, when a heavy sword slammed down toward me, and I flinched, raising my arms in a pathetic attempt to block. The blade slammed into the ground next to me, missing my foot by mere inches. I stumbled backwards.

Dodge (Level 2): Activated.

“Okay, great,” I gasped, “but I don’t think I have many of these left in me . . .”

Dema, though, was more than holding her own, scything down soldiers like ripe corn, but even for her the fucking cheating overwhelming new numbers were proving too much. The second Paladin swung at her, and she twisted out of the way, but the force of parrying the blow knocked her off balance. She stumbled, her bow flying from her grasp.

Before I could react, one of the foot soldiers was grappling with her. Without thinking, I lunged forward, swinging my stick for all it was worth. I might not have been likely to be called up for the Ashes, but I could still slog for the fences with the best of them. The stick connected with the soldier’s head, and the impact was more than enough to knock his attack off course. His swinging sword whistled past Dema’s head.

The soldier snarled and turned toward me, eyes not exactly filled with affection. I had about two seconds to realise how bad of an idea getting his attention had been before he ran straight at me. I backed away, tripping over my own feet, and he lunged—only to slip on the slick mud and go sprawling into the ground face-first – impaling himself on a coincidentally viciously placed tree branch.

Dema was back on her feet in a flash, firing off another arrow that hit the second Paladin square in the throat. He gurgled, collapsing from his mount as blood sprayed from the wound. But even with her being extremely kick-ass, we were losing ground. The remaining archers were circling around us, their arrows nocked and ready to fire.

“Get behind me!” Dema shouted, picking her bow out of the dirt.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I ducked behind her just as the archers loosed their volley. Dema’s bow twanged in response, and one of her arrows intercepted the nearest shaft, sending it spinning into the dirt. But the second was still coming. It hit her in the leg and she dropped to the ground, clutching the spouting wound. There was no way we were getting out of this without a miracle . . .

Lazy Aura: Activated.

And then it happened.

One of the archers hesitated. He blinked, lowering his bow slightly as if suddenly disinterested in the whole affair. The other one glanced at him in confusion, and in that moment of hesitation, Dema fired, even from her prone position, her arrow finding its mark: the unconfused archer dropped.

Berker was done with this bullshit.

With a deafening roar, he charged forward, his massive mace raised high. The earth shook as he barrelled toward us, his eyes wild with fury. Dema tried to fire at him, but the arrow bounced off his thick armour, doing little more than annoying him. He was too close, too fast.

“Dema, we need to go!” I shouted, trying to pull her to her feet. But, once she was stood – blood still flowing freely down her leg - she didn’t move to follow me. She simply stood her ground, her jaw set in grim determination.

“Run,” she said quietly. “I’ll hold him off.”

“What? No way! You can’t—”

But it was too late. Berker was upon us.

Dema drew her knife, a wickedly sharp thing that gleamed in the dim light. She ducked under Berker’s first swing, the massive mace crashing into the ground with enough force to send chunks of dirt flying. Her knife flashed, slicing across Berker’s exposed arm, but it barely left a mark.

Berker laughed, a deep, guttural sound that made my stomach turn. “Is that all you’ve got, Huntress?”

Dema didn’t respond. Even wounded, she was fucking fast, and she darted around him, slashing at his legs, but Berker was too strong, too fast. His mace came down again, and this time, it connected.

Dema flew backward, crashing into a tree with a sickening thud. She didn’t move.

“No!” I screamed, but my voice was drowned out by Berker’s maniacal laughter.

He turned toward me, his eyes gleaming with sadistic glee. “You were warned, Rogue. I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

I backed away, but in a half-hearted way. This was it. I was done. There was no more running, no more dodging. Berker was going to kill me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Berker raised his mace high, grinning down at me with a look of pure triumph. “Any last words, Rogue?”

I opened my mouth to try to come up with something pithy, but no sound emerged. My legs felt like lead, my body frozen in place as I stared up at the massive weapon. This was it. This was how I died. Again.

And then, everything stopped.

A shadow fell over us.

Berker froze, his grin faltering as he looked around up. I followed his gaze, my heart skipping a beat as I saw her.

Lia.

She stood on the edge of the woods, fully healed, her armour gleaming in the fading light. Her eyes were locked on Berker, her face an unreadable mask of calm fury.

“I was having the most relaxing nap,” she said, raising her giant blade.