"In the chaos of battle, the unfaithful will turn on one another, for only the true follower holds his purpose clear. The faithful shall stand as stone while others crumble." — The Maker’s Code, Chapter 15, Line 8

"To seek control in a storm is to court ruin. Fortune favours those who embrace the swirl of chance, trusting not in strength but in the whimsy of fate." — The Tao of Idleness, Book 5, Verse 41

It probably says nothing good about my budding career as a military strategist that I was so thoroughly engrossed in watching the Rebels and the Crusaders beat ten shades of shit out of each other that I completely missed the Imperial army rolling straight through our defences.

In fact, I was so mesmerised by the scrap on my right—the fire, the screaming, the endless clash of swords—that I only noticed the Empire’s slow, inexorable advance when every single one of my abilities suddenly flared up at once.

First came the profoundly weird sensation of my whole body going red-hot as Borrowed Strength kicked in, gifting me a shiny 15% boost to my Agility. Not unwelcome, of course—more attributes are always welcome when you’re standing in the middle of a medieval bar fight with bonus fireballs—but it takes a beat to get used to.

Unfortunately, that ‘beat’ meant absolutely nothing to my body, which decided to interpret the sudden Agility boost as an invitation to go absolutely haywire. My muscles felt supercharged, like every nerve in my body was trying to fire at once, and it was all I could do to keep from flinging myself into the fray like an overeager puppy that had just downed a vat of espresso. The sensation was both empowering and completely unhinged; I was uber fast, but entirely unprepared for it.

The noise behind me—a combination of clanking armour, shouted orders, and the ominous rumble of hundreds of boots storming the gatehouse—made me spin around like a chicken attempting jazz hands.

My torso, unfortunately, overcompensated for the boost and my whole body whipped around with a speed that defied reason and sent my balance into full-on chaos mode.

I caught the flash of an incoming storm of arrows before my mind could even process what my body was doing, and like a very agile but entirely clueless deer in headlights, I somehow managed to side-step and nearly face-plant in the process.

The world tilted as my legs spun beneath me, my arms flailing in a desperate attempt to regain control, each seemingly on its own diverse trajectory. I was half a second from tumbling to the ground in a graceless heap when my reflexes finally caught up, dragging me back upright in an uncoordinated, slightly bewildered lurch.

My heart hammered, and I barely had time to take a breath before Opportunistic Luck kicked in, rearranging the universe around me with its usual slapstick finesse.

Fortunately – get used to seeing that word for a bit - my accidental spin to the ground meant that a whole volley of arrows aimed right at my head whizzed on over and above, hurtling straight into the mêlée between the Rebels and the Crusaders.

The effect was instant and explosive: the arrows slammed into both sides prompting a fresh chorus of screams as warriors on both sides stumbled backward in shock and pain.

This was like adding a fresh gallon of petrol to a bonfire.

Suddenly, the Crusaders and the Rebels weren’t just beating each other senseless—they were fully engaged in a bloodthirsty free-for-all, each side blaming the other for the new volley of arrows and responding with swords, spells, and whatever else they had on hand.

And the Freeloading didn’t stop there.

My clumsy attempt to push myself upright resulted in my elbow bashing against a stack of crates along the battlements. I barely had time to register the noise before the entire structure tumbled over the edge, like it had been waiting for this exact moment to fulfil its destiny.

With a series of spectacular, resounding thuds, the crates plummeted down onto a squad of Imperial knights trying to pry open our gate, landing squarely on their armoured heads and shoulders with a Kerrang!

There was an Original Batman-inspired pop-up graphic and everything.

The knights appeared not to appreciate the retro flashback and staggered, their shields clattering to the ground as they tried to disentangle themselves from the pile of splintered wood that had unexpectedly descended on them. The impact had knocked half of them off balance, and one knight, in his daze, swung his sword in a panic, slicing clean through a comrade’s shield strap.

Stolen story; please report.

This shield dropped to the ground and ‘fortunately’ triggered a small pile-up of armoured bodies and frantic curses as the each attempted to recover their footing. The scene was equal parts tragic and hilarious. A parade of tin soldiers who had suddenly lost all coordination.

Then – all together now ‘fortunately’ – a stray fireball from a Rebel mage intended for a Crusader went wildly off course and spun toward me like an incandescent comet. For a split second, I thought my luck had finally run dry. But in a brilliant twist, the fireball smashed into a discarded shield that had clattered to the ground during the crate-pocalypse.

With a deafening clang, it ricocheted off and veered to my left, where it exploded against the stunned knights who were still untangling themselves from the crate disaster.

Flames erupted, and within seconds, every nearby Imperial soldier zeroed in on the blaze, their confusion quickly morphing into panic as they struggled to make sense of this unexpected barrage.

As the flames danced and crackled, the Rebels and Crusaders forces turned, momentarily united in their shared bewilderment as they tried to pinpoint the source of the carnage.

We had ourselves a full-blown three-army free-for-all.

Just as the Rebels and Crusaders turned part of their attention to Imperial forces who had – as far as they could tell – inexplicably shot them in the back, Lazy Aura flared up in a wide, almost lazy ripple. It sent out a lethargic pulse of sloth that washed over the nearest Imperial soldiers, slowing their movements to an awkward crawl. Knights stumbled over their own feet, their faces twisted in frustration as they tried to move forward, only to be thwarted by the inexplicable force holding them back. Their attack faltered, and, for the first time since this whole circus started, Lazytown had a precious few seconds to breathe and regroup.

I caught sight of Scar on the wall, rallying his Unmerry Men with a fierce cry. He pointed to the Imperials, then to the Rebels, then to the Crusaders, and from the determined glint in his eye, I knew he was using this brief window to pull our ragtag defence into some semblance of order.

Thanks to the repeated triggering of my Passive Assistance, the Unmerry Men moved with surprising precision, their strength bolstered, their footing a little steadier, and their confidence visibly restored.

Somehow, in the midst of the swirling, ludicrous chaos, my skills were actually helping. Every time one of the Unmerry Men landed a blow, I could feel the effect of my buffs guiding their strikes, pushing their weapons just a little faster, a little harder, and I could see it in the way they fended off advancing knights, holding the line with a resilience that surprised even them.

Meanwhile, Loot Leech was in full scavenger mode, a relentless vacuum sucking up anything remotely useful or valuable from the battlefield. My notifications were piling up in a dizzying array of minor treasures.

I caught sight of the messages flashing across my vision: “one broken spear,” “two shredded banners,” “a dented helmet,” and even “three odd-looking talismans”—all neatly added to my inventory. Every item, every scrap, seemed to boost my abilities in tiny increments, and I could feel the energy coursing through me like a weird, adrenaline-fueled scavenger hunt.

And just when I thought things couldn’t get more absurd, Freeloader’s Escape kicked in with its usual chaotic charm. I felt an inexplicable urge to take two steps to the left, and without even thinking, I obeyed.

Not half a second later, an arrow zipped right through the space where my head had been, embedding itself in the wall beside me with a dull thunk. My instincts pulled me to the right again, just in time to avoid another blade from an Imperial knight who had managed to scale the battlements, and before I knew it, I was weaving through attacks like some sort of uncoordinated combat savant – a true Rogue of Eldhaven anyone? – dodging and ducking in a way that was equal parts absurd and effective.

It was then that the real cascade of notifications began.

Icons flashed across my vision in a relentless stream, each one shouting my unexpected triumphs back at me as I danced through the carnage.

- Lucky Bystander Activated: Level Up!

- Lazy Aura Activated: Level Up!

- Loot Leech Triggered: Collecting Battlefield Debris…

- Borrowed Strength: Level Up!

- Passive Assistance Activated: Buffing Allies…

- Opportunistic Luck: Level Up!

- Freeloader’s Escape Activated: Level Up!

By the time I processed the flood of alerts, my vision was practically drowning in icons, warnings, and blinking upgrades. It was like a slot machine of mayhem, each new upgrade adding another layer to the swirling chaos around me.

The field had become a full-blown battleground with no clear sides, a three-way war where no one could keep track of who was fighting whom. The Crusaders and Rebels were hammering each other, the Imperial knights were split between attempting to subdue Lazytown and trying to hold their own in the madness, and in the middle of it all, I was somehow still standing, deflecting arrows, dodging swords, and stumbling into good fortune like the world’s luckiest, most clueless General.

But the problem with relying on luck is that, when it runs out, it runs out hard.

I was just beginning to think that we might actually get out of this in one piece when the sheer weight of enemy numbers told and Lazytown’s gates collapsed under the pressure.

I mean, when all is said and done, it was basically fifteen of us against at least a couple of thousand – even if most of them were kicking lumps out of each other.

I’m as big a fan of ‘Zulu’ as the next guy, but I didn’t think we were going to get out of this by singing Men of Harlech.

And I imagine things would have been looking pretty damn spicy for us.

Had, when the dust cleared, a single figure not stood bathed in a glinting spotlight.

Lia was all geared up and ready to throw down.

“Ha,” I yelled down to no one in particular. “Now you fuckers are for it!”