“Don’t fucking move.”
With one powerful hand pressing on Max's chest and the other gripping the handle of that giant sword, the big warrior didn’t have to say it twice. The man must've easily weighed twice as much as Max's boyish frame, all height and corded muscle. He knelt above Max with his blade held diagonally over his scrawny neck, the tip resting in the dirt. The sword seemed an extension of the warrior himself, heavy and powerful. Max laid there still as a board, knowing that only a few centimeters was all that stood between his life and bleeding out in the dirt.
“Who are you?” growled the warrior. There was hardness in the man's bluish eyes, as well as a few small scars across his cheeks and neck. He had known battles, of this there was no doubt. "Are you with those guards?"
“No,” Max managed to squeak. That voice… where had he heard it before?
“What’s your name?” the man demanded. With the current nearness of their faces, Max could see the warrior had a somewhat boyish face. Bearded, yes, but there were bare patches on his cheeks. Despite his size, Max figured his attacker couldn’t have been too much older than himself.
“Max.”
“Don't fuck with me right now. You know what I mean! Your IGN.” To puncture his seriousness, the man increased the pressure on the sword ever so slightly. Max felt the sting of his skin beginning to split.
Though the warrior probably wouldn't have believed him, Max actually didn't know what he meant at first. In the mines, most everyone simply called each other by their real first names. Since nearly every miner in Brix was brought into the game solely to harvest gems, they hadn't gone through the normal character creation process. Except for a few outliers, everyone had been assigned default names—their first name followed by a series of numbers—which would have been tedious and impractical to repeat each time you addressed someone. For Max, referring to himself as 'Max' was just standard habit.
“Uh… Max... Max04428!” he finally choked out.
Surprisingly, when he’d said his in-game name, Max noticed the warrior’s features soften a little. Some of the hardness left his eyes. He exhaled through his nose, almost... amused? Relieved? The sword too, seemed to lighten; its sharp blade still grazed Max’s skin, but it no longer felt like the slightest twitch would cut his neck wide open.
“You with those guards?" The warrior asked again. "You work for Skole?”
“No,” said Max. “And no. Well, uh... not anymore,” he added, referring to the proprietor. Prompted to think of Skole and the mines, a memory suddenly flashed through his mind. Max was back in Brix, sitting at a table in Rilliard’s taphall. Brennan was in one of his dark moods, storming off after the adventurer chastised him… the adventurer! “You’re him! The warrior.”
“Be more specific.” The man lifted his sword and took a few steps back.
Max accepted this as an invitation to sit up. He did so slowly. Though he sensed his life was no longer in any immediate danger, the warrior still watched him warily, his fingers still tight around his weapon's grip. “In Brix. You were there with your party, going over a map. You spoke up. Never seen Brennan storm off like that before...”
“Ah. You’re a miner, then. Does that proprietor always send his miners out to spy?”
“Spy?" Max shook his head. "Like I said, I don’t work for him anymore. And never as a spy.”
“Why not?”
“I... retired.”
At this, the warrior laughed. “That so? I’ve never known a slaver to let their property go free so easily. You must’ve really done something to deserve it.”
“Yeah, you could say that,” said Max. Slaver? He glanced over to the dead bodies in the middle of the hamlet. The Brix guards had less than ten minutes on their death timers now. He thought twice about changing the subject, but it was worth the risk. Max needed to know what kind of person he was dealing with. “Was that you?” he asked, nodding at the carnage spread around the small hamlet.
“Some of it. They were bad people.”
Max assumed he was talking about the guards; on this, he couldn’t agree more. The dead NPCs must’ve been their handiwork, then. At this realization, more of Max’s fear left him. He was concerned he was dealing with a homicidal maniac, as he'd heard Alethia had more than a few on the loose. Death games always attracted the worst. Now, however, it appeared he and the warrior might not be so different from himself. If the man really was a homicidal maniac, well. At least they had some common ground.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“What happened to your party?” he asked. He remembered the others sitting at the table around a map, the mustached rogue and tall, black-haired mage.
The warrior grunted, apparently not interested in answering any more questions. “Stand up,” he said. Max did so, brushing the dirt off his clothes. The man watched him curiously, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. “How’d you survive this far away from the camp?”
“Don’t know.” Max shrugged. “Lucky, I guess.”
“Heh, lucky. Okay. And now what? What’s your plan?”
“I need to get to Tiann City.”
The man fell silent, brows furrowed in thought. “You've got campsites?” he asked a moment later.
“Campsites?” Max didn’t know what those were.
“Yeah. To rest.”
Well, Max hadn’t thought about that... For sleep, he and Alby had planned to keep watch over one another during the journey, and just logout at the nearest village. Since the proprietor had caught them stealing, Max really hadn’t had the time or wits to consider how he’d make it all the way to Tiann solo. Now that he was being questioned, he suddenly felt quite stupid.
His face must’ve showed his growing concern, because the warrior scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head. The man brought his giant sword back up to rest against his shoulder and turned around. He then began mumbling, his free hand moved this way and that. Though Max couldn't make out any distinct words, it sounded as if he were having a spirited argument with himself.
After a minute or two, the warrior stopped mumbling. He nodded with finality, seeming to come to a decision about something. The man then started walking down the road. Through it all, he hadn’t said one word to Max. It was like he forgot about him completely, or determined that the poor, unprepared boy was just worth no more time and consideration.
For some reason, that angered Max. Though he'd grown used to being tossed aside his whole life and barely registered being beneath notice any longer, rage boiled within him. The warrior could snap him like a dry bone if he wanted to, but Max wasn't about to let him walk away without saying something.
“Hey! Where are you going?” yelled Max.
“Tiann.” The man didn’t even bother looking back. If he'd heard the implicit challenge in Max's tone, he didn't notice or care.
Max opened his mouth to say something more… but decided against it. He knew he’d just be a burden to anyone high enough level to travel these zones. What did he expect? That the adventurer would offer to be his bodyguard the entire road to Tiann? That their shared dislike of both Skole and his guards would make them instant friends? It was silly. Besides, he didn’t know the man. If he dispatched the Brix guards so violently, who knows what else he might be capable of? Still… pairing up might be Max’s best chance of survival.
The warrior was nearly at the edge of the hamlet when he stopped and turned around.
“You coming or not, Max04428?” he shouted, before turning back to the road and continuing on his way.
Well, it was a chance Max would have to take. He dragged his fatigue-laden body forward until he had caught up. He fell into step with the man's long, purposeful strides. “You know my name,” he said. “Only fair I get yours now, too.”
The warrior narrowed his eyes, but the slightest smirk found the corner of his mouth. Still, the man said nothing, and Max decided not to press his luck further. That he'd been invited along was a godsend and it wasn't worth ruining over a name. However, a few minutes later, Max's new companion brought up his menu window without warning. He pressed a few buttons before swiping the window away, as nonchalantly as he'd brought it up.
Immediately, Max received a message. He opened it:
You've received an invitation to join Entrails' party. Accept?
Max did so at once. He didn't even have to think twice. "It's almost hard to believe you were about to kill me five minutes ago." Max impulsively rubbed at the small stinging cut on his neck, dried blood flaking away.
"Precautions. Now you can't stab me in my sleep," said the warrior.
"Entrails?" asked Max. "That's really your IGN?"
"Yep," said Entrails, smirking once again. "You probably wouldn't get it." The big man picked up his pace. "C'mon. I want to make it to the next hex before sundown."
Max trailed behind for a moment, unsure of what he'd just gotten himself into. Entrails, he thought to himself. What kind of person chooses that alias willingly? Max shook his head. It seemed his only choices at the moment was trying to survive another night without a campfire, or following a murdering hulk of a man named after intestines.
Well, at least his companion wasn't called Childkiller. Or Bloody Rectum. Or I Worship Demons...
"Hey, wait up!" he said, running after Entrails.
All things considered, Entrails wasn't so bad.