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“You must take your opponent into a deep, dark forest where 2+2=5, and the path leading out is only wide enough for one.”

— Mikhail Tal

The Eighth World Chess Champion

Identities are slippery things wrapped in roles and relationships. I called myself Apache and played my hardest to win this contest. The nickname served as a signature in this strange world, but it’s not my true essence. For my inner self, look at my actions, decisions, and convictions. Knowing them is to know me.

Many kids grew up with domestic friction or the fear of bullying, but most of my hangups came from fundamental things like not having a regular bed, hot meals, or shoes that fit. I resented anyone accusing my mother of being negligent or irresponsible. She was all I had, and the prospect of losing her frightened me. She and I constantly warred with the world, and it made me a defiant, aggressive child, manifesting in vandalization and petty theft.

Aside from whatever emotional baggage I carried, little of my upbringing, or lack thereof, mattered in Miros. Crimson’s keynote speaker clarified that The Book of Dungeons didn’t manipulate the thoughts of its players. We became whatever we brought with us.

Regarding the battle royale, I’ve been on autopilot for much of the contest. While protecting Hawkhurst and undoing the harm I’d caused over plundered gold cylinders, I’d made peace with this fantasy world. With my books balanced, I’m directing my sights on getting what I need—the quarter-million-dollar prize.

Protecting non-player characters and cleaning up Miros wasn’t my focus anymore, but it didn’t sit right with how I’d left Hawkhurst without saying goodbye.

Before my walk through the Orga River Valley, I rested on a rock outcropping and wrote a message to Ida to explain my disappearance. I still possessed a Switching Glove, and Commander Jourdain had the mind to wear one during my absence.

My letter included messages to the Sternways, the dwarves, and all the friends I’d made in The Book of Dungeons. After recounting how Yula got revenge on the emperor, I reassured them that the relics presented no danger. My formal retirement from governorship ended with a statement of support for whoever Ida chose for lieutenant governor.

With Earthquake and my trident, I no longer needed the Metamorphic Siege Hammer and told them it should stay with the settlement as it was the boon of the Aggression Mandate. I told Jourdain that he needn’t continue wearing the Switching Glove, for my return or need of anything from Hawkhurst was unlikely.

My character sheet still showed my affiliations. I remained a Hawkhurst citizen and elder of Forren.

Beaker settled by my side as I scribbled. The faint scratching on the parchment caught his interest. He cocked his head and watched but didn’t interfere by pecking at my stylus. He’d seen me scribble before, testing runes and making lists for the settlement. But writing outside was a novelty, and he wanted to make sure he wasn’t missing anything he hadn’t seen before in the manor.

After sending the letter, I continued my northward trek. I wore the Switching Glove an hour before a piece of parchment appeared in my hand.

Apache,

I will convey your kind words at the next town meeting. Thank you for your service and friendship. In accordance with municipal bylaws regarding the work-to-own policy, you have 14 days to petition for an extension on your claim to the manor. After which, you forfeit your accumulated 12.8% work-share ownership of parcel #0001.

Safe travels,

Ida

Ida’s brevity cracked me up. It wasn’t a mushy farewell, but knowing her workload for renewing the trade route, I appreciated her taking the time to respond.

At least I needn’t worry about hurting Hawkhurst’s citizens with Mendacium, my epic-level Life Leeching pendant. Taking a few hours here and there from random NPCs wouldn’t make me friends, but I planned to mix it up with other players anyway.

I traveled with my interface map open. The little dot representing Fabulosa on the contest map provided a sense of distance from my goal. Two other dots, Bircht and Duchess slowly inched toward me. I only needed to hook up with Fabulosa before they caught up to me.

Putting distance between myself and Hawkhurst would dissuade further assassins from giving them more trouble. The settlement deserved a little peace, and my absence only helped. While players appeared on maps, I couldn’t be sure NPCs wouldn’t appear, carrying out instructions from my competition.

Before she left, Fabulosa told me I didn’t enjoy being governor. That was true, but perhaps worrying about things fit my personality—something providence had burned into my hardware.

Darkstep had said something similar in the group chat. He said falling in love with another contestant had been a mistake and one he admitted to making. The comment seemed out of place. How had he known this? Charitybelle had been gone long before any of Darkstep’s Improved Eyes appeared. They’d almost certainly followed us from Marlibar. Even if Improved Eyes allowed eavesdropping, I’d rarely spoken of her, and when I did, it concerned practical matters in running the settlement.

It seemed a remote possibility Darkstep had overheard Fabulosa say something. But I doubted this explanation. Why would Fabulosa say anything about Charitybelle to NPCs? And doing so made Fabulosa uncomfortable after my girlfriend sacrificed herself to save her. Fabulosa was proud of her independence, and every day Fabulosa spent in Miros added to that debt.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Besides, falling in love didn’t seem like a mistake. It hardly put me in a bad strategic position. Aside from Fabulosa, or maybe Bircht or Toadkiller, I felt confident in my position in the contest. I’d risen to where I wasn’t a pushover.

Was Darkstep so obsessed with winning that he bean-counted every moment in the game? How many spy cameras could he watch at once? I couldn’t imagine a common spell allowing players to watch the entire continent simultaneously.

And Darkstep’s familiar tone bothered me, too. His words read like they came from an old friend or mentor. The forwardness felt rude, presumptuous, and invasive.

And why would he choose to help me knock out Toadkiller? If anyone, Fabulosa possessed better fighting skills, but not necessarily against a demon. Perhaps a demon-killing rune awaited, something I would activate from my sword. Fabulosa never picked up arcane magic and knew nothing of runes. The idea intrigued me.

But if any of that were true, wouldn’t Darkstep just tell me on the open channel? Playing coy with cloak-and-dagger hints only risked me not going to Oxum. And yet, he spoke as if he already knew I’d go. Could Darkstep have stumbled onto spells or magic items that let him see into the future? It didn’t seem possible. Contestants were free agents—something the PR woman at the keynote address made clear before we began playing. Magic reigned over the virtual world and its inhabitants, but I couldn’t see how anything could predict player behavior.

If there were such a thing as an anti-demon rune, I’d need help. Thus far, I’d only been able to use Compression Spheres, and I owed that much to Winterbyte’s runes. I’d copied and learned the rune governing the protection circle in the demon dungeon. Despite Read Magic’s inherent purpose to understand runes, I couldn’t manipulate or repurpose it for other things, and I’d exhausted myself trying. Maybe just having a copy of the protection circle made me special.

On the next outcropping of rock, I camped for the night. The Orga marked the eastern boundary of goblin country, but I didn’t anticipate trouble from them. Those who’d escaped from Hawkhurst would have spread the word of the human with the sword that wrote in the air. A fearsome reputation with their kin suited me.

I combed through the void bag’s inventory to ensure I wasn’t hauling anything Hawkhurst couldn’t easily replace. We’d built enough storerooms to operate a settlement, so I saw nothing they couldn’t live without. My void bag offered a broad menu of leftovers—meats, vegetables, bread, ale, and spices to last a lifetime. My campfire meals put others to shame.

Beaker relaxed by the firelight until the sun disappeared behind the Bluepeaks. In the valley, sunrise and sunset bracketed the afternoon, limiting the direct sunlight. In the late afternoon, Beaker screamed off his head, prematurely announcing the day’s end.

“Can it, you turkey! We have hours of light left.”

Beaker was having none of it. Lost in his instincts, he called in other griffons still hunting for food to return to their mountaintop nest. My pet’s calls echoed across the valley, a soloist trumpet determined to call everyone’s attention.

Shaking my head, I let him indulge. We earned the right to crow after defeating leaders on either side of the river.

After dinner, I activated Inscribe Rune to heat my metallic inks and made copies of the protection circle. Its mechanics prevented demons from crossing the circle’s boundaries but didn’t address ranged and magical attacks or powers. I could attain physical immunity from whatever Toadkiller commanded if it applied to all demons.

Both other players complained that Toadkiller’s demon had the power to banish. A protection circle couldn’t stop this. A demon sending contestants to its home plane of existence conjured worrying predicaments in my imagination. Other dimensions changed rules, like the gravity wells. Without moons hanging above me, I’d lose access to magic. Banishment presented problems of returning to Miros. Getting stuck wasn’t a challenge I wanted to face.

After empowering several protection circle runes, I drew my blade. “Hey, Gladdy, can I ask you something?”

The weapon vibrated in my grasp. “Of course, Wielder Apache. How may I assist you?”

Fanning out the parchments, I Imbued their metal scribblings to glow with power. “Here’s a few copies of this protection circle. I made more Compression Spheres, too.”

“It would be my pleasure! Do you anticipate infernal rivals in our future?”

“Possibly. But I’m not sure about this rune’s limits. Am I right in thinking it doesn’t prevent spells from harming or affecting anyone in the circle?”

“Quite right. The rune creates an aura that physically repulses demonkind. They may use spells or natural abilities on you freely, so long as their caster doesn’t cross the aura’s threshold.”

I grunted. “I suppose it wouldn’t have worked against a relic bearer.”

“It forbids melee assaults—if that’s your inquiry’s nature.”

I watched as my sword absorbed the protection circles. The parchments blossomed into flames with the loading over every copy.

“How often can you cast these protection circles? The rune doesn’t say.”

“I can cascade them in rapid sequence, but each replaces the one before it.”

“I can only have one protection circle at a time?”

“They’re mutually exclusive.”

After thanking him, I sheathed him and climbed into the Dark Room. Letting Beaker roam free seemed natural, for we were in the mountains, native to griffons, and he seemed happy enough to spend the night on his own.

I crawled into my bunk after a full day’s journey. Judging by my progress, I had at least two more days of hiking before clearing the Bluepeaks and goblin country. I could only fathom what lay north from Fabulosa’s vague impressions that undead meandering about—but I could only guess how far away they were.

It wouldn’t do to ask in the group chat. Every hint of information invited mayhem. I checked it throughout the day to see how everyone adjusted to seeing one another, but the discussion only recently kicked into gear. Of course, it all revolved around another mistake I’d made.

Audigger Hey, guys. What’s up with Apache? He disappeared from the contest map. Is he dead?

Flagboi I thought I was the only one who noticed that.

Duchess No. He’s still listed in the contest. Maybe he’s undead.

Duchess Back when we were newbs, a player named HoppyLite got knocked out from becoming a specter. Hoppy’s nameplate didn’t change, but he attacked us. When we killed him, we found all of his gear and a cracked core.

Audigger All undead have cracked cores. If you crack your core, you’re out of the contest.

Flagboi How do you know?

Bircht I looked into becoming a vampire. Cracking a player’s core knocks you out of the contest.

Flagboi And how did you find that out?

Bircht I experimented on another player. Anyway, I learned not all zombies have cracked cores.

Duchess Really? I thought all undead had them.

Bircht I think it has something to do with gradual change. If you’re bitten by a zombie, you slowly change, and your core doesn’t break. Maybe it’s like glass. If you heat or cool glass too fast, it cracks.

Flagboi That means one of us could be a zombie.

Bircht It’s not a smart move. It cuts your levels in half, and you lose power points in the reverse order you purchased them.

Flagboi It sounds like you found out a lot, Bircht. How many other players did you experiment on exactly?

Audigger Who cares about undead? I want to know what’s up with Apache.

Duchess Maybe Toad banished him.

Toadkiller Nope. I’m down here.

Bircht If Apache can transfer between dimensions, it might mean trouble for your banishments, eh T?

Toadkiller Possibly. But if he can phase away, that’s a heck of an escape mechanic. It spells trouble for you guys, too.

Duchess. Fab has a phasing power, too. Skullcaps and I exchanged messages with a magical bird before she killed him. He said she would avoid weapons by phasing out of reality. Maybe it has something to do with that.

Flagboi You see, they have an alliance! Fab and Apache are definitely a power couple. I told you guys.

The unabashed bluffing and posturing amused me, but I’d forgotten that the Dark Room removed me from Miros. Unfortunately, reappearing in the same location implied a cloaking device. If I used the Dark Room, it wouldn’t throw off opponents to my whereabouts. They’d simply outwait me—or worse, leave something so terrible waiting for me that escaping with the Dark Room did no good.

Prolonged isolation in the Dark Room might drive me crazy as Femmeny had been sitting on her gloomy throne. I’d entertained the idea of living off the grid early in the contest, but stagnation wasn’t a valid strategy. It made too much sense to keep moving and acquire whatever experience and loot along the way.

My contest map showed everyone’s position except mine. Fabulosa inched toward my position. The zoomed-out scale wouldn’t make her progress apparent until after days of travel. Bircht and Duchess were close enough to communicate outside of the chat group.

Fabulosa and I would meet about a hundred miles south of Oxum if everything went according to plan. Hopefully, she had intel on Darkstep and knew what awaited us.''