“Wake up.”
Max found himself being prodded awake, the tip of a heavy boot digging into his ribs. He’d been in a deep, dreamless sleep, but seeing Entrails’ giant silhouette standing above him brought his memories back quickly.
“Come. You’ll want to see this.”
Max yawned and rose. How long had he been out? The sky seemed the same color as he remembered earlier in the evening, so it couldn’t have been long. As his senses returned, he heard a strange noise coming from the road. It beat with a regular rhythm, like a group of people marching in step. He felt his heart quicken, but there was no alarm in Entrails’ tone, so he figured there was no immediate danger.
Groggily, Max rolled over and rose, following Entrails to the edge of the rocky bluff. When the warrior first crouched, then stretched out prone, Max did the same. Both inched forward until their heads peeked over the lip of the overhang. As they laid there, the sound got louder and louder, obviously nearing their position, until finally the source came around the bend in the moonlit forest road.
What the…
A group of about 30 to 40 people came walking down the dirt road, men and women both, marching in nearly flawless synchronicity with each other. Their clothes were surprisingly plain, nothing more than simple tunics and breeches—even for the women.
“An army?” whispered Max.
At first he didn’t understand why Entrails snickered. “Not exactly,” came the warrior’s reply. “You’ll see.”
As the group moved closer, Max saw that each of the travelers carried something different. Some had pickaxes slung against their shoulders, others had large saws or woodcutter’s axes. Others still carried hammers or baskets of tools in their hands, while some wore heavy packs. As they neared, Max saw that none of them wielded any discernable weapons. Not one. No swords, no armor, no guards. Just simple clothes and what appeared to be an assortment of tools.
Though distance obscured most of their features, in the dim light their faces seemed impassive, almost blank. They said no words, didn’t so much as look at one another as far as Max could tell. Each walked with steady purpose, heads straight, marching like a regiment of the most well-trained soldiers, their footfalls beating a regular cadence.
Max opened his mouth to ask a question, but Entrails held up a hand. They silently watched the Builders pass underneath, then further along the road until they fell out of view around the next bend. The noise began to fall away, becoming quieter and quieter with each passing second. Only then did Entrails answer Max’s unsaid query.
“Builders,” Entrails said finally. “Traveling to another site.”
Max nodded slowly. That made sense. Just as a real world, Starsword Online featured completely destroyable environments. He knew Builders were NPCs who constructed, repaired, and demolished buildings across Alethia. He’d seen a few Builders come to Brix to construct a few small buildings, but what was confused him was that he’d never seen so many in one place before. Unlike the other NPCs, Builders were eerily inhuman. They wouldn’t even speak to you when working. Hardly spoke at all, in fact. They behaved closer to robots than real people.
“They never stop working,” said Entrails. “Probably heading to to repair that lumber village so NPCs can live there again.”
“Where do they come from?”
“Everywhere. Nowhere. I’ve heard of players following groups around, seeing if they ever rest or have a home base somewhere… but it seems they just travel from site to site, wherever they’re needed. Been here from the beginning. Could be thousands, tens of thousands out there. Nobody really knows for sure.”
Max shook his head in disbelief, then yawned. Thinking about it made him sleepy.
“I agree,” said Entrails, getting up. The sound of the marching Builders was far away now. “Better get some more rest before it gets light out. Lots of ground to make up tomorrow.”
***
The next morning, Entrails briefed Max over breakfast—oatmeal boiled over the campfire and two pears scavenged from the dead villagers back in the hamlet. The fruit wasn’t much, but Max wanted to contribute. Entrails, to his credit, took the pear with a slight nod of his head in thanks.
“The hex we’re entering is known for Brotherhood mobs. In other words, bandits,” the warrior was saying. “They like to camp close to the road, waiting for vulnerable victims. Sometimes they just want coin. Other times they don’t bother asking questions.”
“I…” Max began, “I won’t be much help.”
“Yeah, no shit. But you’re still an extra pair of eyes, and this will all go smoother if we can spot the bandits before they spot us.” Entrails’ tone shifted, more serious. “If we get into a fight, just stay out of my way and don’t get yourself killed. I won’t risk my life to save you. If you have to hide, do it. Got that?”
Max nodded, somberly. He wished he wasn't so... useless, but unless that stone turned itself into an item of death again, there was nothing he could do about it.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Good. We’ll probably have to deal with a few Brotherhood, but some of the lower level ones might decide to leave us alone if we’re two. To them, a single target represents an easier kill. Two? They’d reconsider. Bandits are cautious like that. The smart ones, anyway.”
As Max sat there, spooning the last of his oatmeal and listening to Entrails, he did his best to mentally prepare himself. After the night of mostly uninterrupted deep sleep, he felt rested, sure. But he couldn’t shake the sense that something else was amiss. Though each of his Hunger and Thirst bars were maxed, and his Fatigue nearly empty he felt… off. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but he found it hard to focus. He heard Entrails speaking, but the words took a moment to register. The food tasted more bland, but then again, it was oatmeal. It’d take more than a packet of seasoning to make food like that taste anything more than mush.
Maybe I’m just not fully awake yet, he thought. It could be an effect of his Fatigue from the day before… or something to do with the stone? Max shuddered and shook the thought from his head. Maybe some air and exercise would clear his mind.
“Something wrong?” asked Entrails, an eyebrow cocked.
“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”
Entrails nodded and shrugged, but while Max was tying up his bedroll he could tell Entrails was watching him out of the corner of his eye.
Once the campsite and its accoutrements had been returned to its kit, the two companions picked and slid their way down the rocky hill and back to the road. It still held the impressions of bootprints from the Builders that had come through during the night. While their trail headed northwest, Max and Entrails went the opposite way, following the dirt path southeast through this next hex of the Valterre.
As they traveled, however, Max found the strange and persistent foggy-headedness would not abate. What was weirder, his body felt completely fine—energized, even—but he could not seem to direct his attention or corral his thoughts. It was like his mind kept floating away, taking every ounce of his concentration just to pull it back down again. Though he tried to keep his eyes peeled and focused towards the edge of the road, on the lookout for any Brotherhood bandits crouched in hiding, he could not help but space out.
Making matters even worse, Entrails would not shut up today. While the big warrior wasn’t exactly mute the day before, Max had done all the prompting. If he hadn’t asked any questions, he had gotten the feeling that Entrails would’ve been just as happy to go the whole day in silence. Whether from their increasing familiarity or something else, the man seemed keen on stuffing Max’s head with information, as if to prepare him for any situation that could arise ahead.
The more Entrails talked, the more irritated Max became.
“Crownbeak is at the center of this hex,” he was explaining. Like the previous day, Entrails walked with his broadsword flat against his muscled shoulder. “That’s Lady Crane’s keep. Once this road straightens out, it’ll head east and take us right past there.”
Max said nothing, hoping his silence would give Entrails the hint. He had a hard enough time watching the road without trying to concentrate on two things at once. Instead, the warrior seemed to take that as a sign to keep talking.
“The closer we get, the less bandits there’ll be. So that’s the good news… The bad news is Lady Crane’s soldiers will be patrolling the road. News of the Northern Alliance’s incursions will have them on edge, no doubt. You and I, we stick out. That could be a problem.”
“Why? Don’t tell me I’m supposed to be threatening.”
“You don’t get it. That’s exactly what’ll make them suspicious. Don’t underestimate the schemes of powerful landowners, especially those of the Alliance. Low-level slaves like you make the perfect spies. Unassuming, vulnerable, expendable. It’s not uncommon.”
There was the word again. Slaves. While Max had been willing to overlook being called a slave yesterday, today was different. Today he felt different. “Stop calling me that,” he said, lacing his words with venom.
“What?” Entrails seemed genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Slave. I’m not a slave.”
Entrails stopped walking and placed a large hand on Max’s shoulder. “Say your IGN. Out loud.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Just do it, Max. This is important.”
“Max04428,” he spat.
“That,” said Entrails, “is a fucking slave name. Do you understand? Nothing marks you out more than that. That’s how almost all free adventurers think of miners, loggers, oarsmen, and any mundane profession—slaves. You were brought into Starsword Online for one specific purpose. Labor. You’re like an NPC. No one will respect you. Some will even kill you for sport.” Entrails let go of Max’s shoulder and with the same hand smacked the back of his head for emphasis. “So get it through your skull. The sooner you understand that, the sooner you can leave that identity behind.”
Max, however, hadn’t really heard anything after Entrails’ smack had sent him stumbling forward a few steps. His mind was already a jumble and the unexpectedness of the blow seemed to only scramble his brain further. Maybe what Entrails was saying made sense; Max wouldn’t have known. The irritation had ignited into a fury. Whatever control he had over his thoughts was completely lost in the torrent boiling in his veins. He turned around with fists clenched and daggers in his eyes.
At this look, Entrails eyebrows raised, but that all-too-familiar smirk found his face a split second later. “Sorry, did I hurt your feelings? Is this our first disagreement?” He chuckled. “I’m doing you a favor, kid. I'm telling you what no one else will. You want to survive? Grow up, slave.”
Upon hearing the word once more, all rational thought dissipated. All Max was aware of was a burning rage, heating his blood, pounding in his ears. He didn’t consider the futility of attacking someone like Entrails, didn’t consider what might happen if he tried to fight someone in his own party. At that moment, all he saw was an enemy, and a growing voice in his head:
killhimkillhimkillhimkill—
Max tensed, and would have charged Entrails… if a large stone hadn’t whizzed by his face at that exact moment.
“Slingers!” Entrails shouted, readying his sword and turning towards the woods in one swift motion. “They’re in the woods, get d—”
But Max didn’t get to hear Entrails finish his sentence.
The next spinning missile had found his skull, and all he knew was darkness.