Like most of the town, the house was a sorry sight. If cutting off the arm to save the leg could be visualised using a building, this would be it. The roof was completely missing, like a tornado had come through and lifted it off, squirreling it away into its pocket. My suspicion was that the roof had lit on fire, and it was ripped off and discarded before the rest of the place was engulfed.

I sat on a rooftop for a while, contemplating my approach. A guard rotation spanned the whole area, and although it wasn’t large, it was consistent. I’d also learned the hard way how fast the Asterians could mobilize.

One idea that crossed my mind was capturing a soldier and taking their armour and clothes. It was a fine plan to get past other players, but I didn’t know for sure that it would work on the NPC soldiers. Chances were they’d look past the familiar equipment and just see Oliver Matanor, Public Enemy Number One.

So, my {Acidic Breastplate} would stay on. After it saved me earlier, I wasn’t too keen on taking it off.

The most recent duo of guards rounded the bend, strolling away from the house. Assuming all else remained equal, and a second set didn’t round the corner looking to surprise me, now was the time to move.

I scurried down the side of the building, awfully encumbered by my shield and spear. I needed some way to ‘unequip’ them and put them in the endless pit of space called my Inventory, but the technique eluded me.

The street was broad, but with a well-timed [Dash] I covered it relatively inconspicuously. My javelin rattled in its sheath, the guards too far away to hear.

I rushed up the steps, staying close to the side to avoid creaking. The porch was covered in soot and some small holes where stray embers had found further fuel to gorge themselves on. The door was ajar, resting on its own tired weight.

Even though there was no other convenient way in, I felt foolish opening the door on a roofless house. It was like opening the gate to someone’s front yard when they didn’t even have a fence.

The inside was a dusty mess, with remaining bits of roofing material and something that could have been insulation. The stuff looked like dry palm leaves smushed together, but it created an awful mess and seemed extremely flammable.

I called out in a loud whisper, defeating the purpose.

“Hello?”

There was a groan from a room in the back. I crept through the house, taking care not to trip over the array of broken furniture and smashed crockery. There’d been a lot more than a fire going through here — evidence of the Asterians ransacking was everywhere.

The groan sounded again, more urgently this time. I eased open the bedroom door it had come from, peeking through.

Bill.

The room was completely empty, swept spotless and cleared out except for the town patriarch and the chair he was tied to. The grizzled old bloke looked more mad than he did afraid, though I noticed his shoulders slump when he realised it was a familiar face coming through the door.

“Bill, what did they do?”

He grunted again; his exasperation clear. I pulled out my javelin and sawed through the ropes. He coughed and spluttered, moving his tongue around his mouth and trying to find some kind of liquid.

“Can you walk? Let’s get you to Otto’s. We can grab you a beer to wet your gullet. Sound good?”

He finally swallowed, shaking his head.

“You gotta go, Ollie. They’ll be back in no time, you gotta go.”

“I can’t! Pilaf told me you could help me with the quest.”

“Help you? I’m a sixty-year-old farmer with back issues and a bung knee! How am I supposed to help with anything?”

I hushed him, expecting a guard to hear our chatter and stamp in to see what the fuss was about.

“I’m not sure, raise morale? Hand out pitchforks? I’m just doing what I was told.”

He contemplated for a moment, looking around his prison with his mouth agape.

“Fine. Sure, let’s see what this old fart can do. Probably shit all.”

I helped him to his feet and he grimaced, massaging the knee he’d mentioned. He slung an arm around my shoulders, and we stumbled out of the house.

I opened the front door, once again feeling ridiculous. Bill went first, and when I followed him out onto the porch, he stood stock still, barring my path.

“What’s u— Oh.”

Spears, swords and clubs surrounded the porch on all sides, all of them pointed at us. Bill sank to his knees, sitting himself down on the porch and leaning on the wall in defeat.

Strangely enough, the first thing to come to my mind was ‘Dang. I might be late for my lesson.’

Then the crowd split, and a horse trotted through the gap. There was someone astride the beast, their bowstring pulled back with an arrow trained directly on my skull. It really wasn’t required, there was no way I was making it out alive.

“Spear down!” called the rider.

I recognise that voice.

The spear remained in my hand and the rider stopped, dismounting without losing their aim. They wore ornate light armour, the blues and whites of Asteroth rippling over one another with a sheen granted only by enchantments. The bow had jade tips, with a string of ruby running through the wood like a demented display of Christmas colours.

Merry Christmas! Here’s an arrow to the face.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The glittering armour extended to an angular helmet placed over the archer’s head. Slowly releasing tension off the bow, they swung it around to their back, raised the helmet visor, then lifted it off. A spring of ginger hair burst from its metal prison, and I felt stupid for not recognising the voice immediately.

This wasn’t an [Archer], it was a [Huntress].

Claire.

“I’m sorry, Ollie. [Arrow Salvo!]”

She loosed her arrow, and it split into four identical projectiles.

I fell next to Bill, covering us both with my shield. One arrow went straight through, shattering the wood and burying its tip in my breastplate. Veins of ice crept out, extending their crackling fingers along the metal.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re sorry!” I yelled.

We rolled ourselves back inside as the first soldiers hit the steps.

“Back entrance! Find one or make one!”

Bill shuffled off, crying out when his knee hit a broken bench. The old guy was a trooper, but it would all be for naught if I couldn’t fend off the Asterians.

I placed my foot against the bottom of the door, which held them back for about two seconds before the mass of soldiers pressed forward, battering down the doorframe and parts of the wall beside it.

[Shield Wall]

The first ones through the door were thrown back into the blades of those behind them, causing havoc as they worked themselves out. I heard Claire yelling orders, demanding a path be cleared so she could get a clear shot.

She’d deceived me, and betrayed Bill’s Yard. I’d been blinded by hormones and circumstance, maybe a pretty smile and a disarming comment every now and then.

Pitiful.

I should’ve at least asked how she — the girl fighting measly [Darthogs] and helping NPCs in her spare time — had managed to acquire a complete set of pristine, sparkling equipment so quickly. In Parm, she’d worn spectacular blue and white armour, matching the Asterian colours, and I’d brushed it off.

Annette knew something was up when we were at Garters. I should’ve trusted her.

“They’re makin’ an entrance for me!” Bill yelled.

Sure enough, cudgels and axes were ripping into the wood right near Bill. Hands gripped the tops of the walls, either trying to vault over or bring the whole thing down.

As soldiers piled in, my attention was brought back to the front door. I thrust {The Glass Cannon} into the mass, skewering anything in blue and white until half the army was jammed in the doorframe and I could hold them back no longer. Soldiers were squeezing into the room like water seeping through a dam wall, and eventually, it broke.

The room filled nearly instantly; dozens of blades surrounding us yet again. I couldn’t risk a [Tsunami Strike], just in case it hurt Bill.

“Got a plan, young fella?”

“Maybe, give me a sec!”

I opened my Stat screen, willing it to the corner of my vision while I fended off stray blades. It was becoming too much, the soldiers only thwarted by fear of my armour. It had claimed some additional casualties in the melee.

Somewhere in the chaos, I’d levelled up, leaving four Stat Points at my disposal.

Attributable Stat Points: (0)(-4)

Strength (10) (+4)

Defence (10) (+0)

Vitality (5) (+0)

Affinity (0) (+0)

Restoration (0) (+0)

Endurance (4) (+0)

Agility (11) (+0)

With my Strength adequately buffed, I grabbed ahold of Bill, who’d been forced into the circle of death with me. He was light as a feather.

“Hang on!”

[Dash]

We launched out of the house, right through the ceiling that the Asterians had burnt down.

The [Dash] only got us to the unstable outer wall, but I managed to make a second leap using our momentum, propelling us to a low rooftop. The mob of soldiers pursued, wrapping around the house and trying to climb the walls and window shutters.

I laughed at them for a single moment before an arrow whizzed past, nearly taking out Bill. We covered our heads, the old man still jumping along in my arms, holding on for dear life. My spear was lodged between him and I, and with every jolt, the tip came dangerously close to whacking him.

The liberation of Bill’s Yard was happening in a very strange way.

Our escape continued in much the same way as my arrival. Where we could, we leapt between rooftops like I was a mother monkey with its young hanging from its back. When the onslaught of soldiers died down, I had to find a place I could lower Bill to the ground. He could make decent speed once his knee loosened up, and with a lot of careful planning and flattening ourselves in shadowy alleyways, we made it to Otto’s Pub.

Bill collapsed into a chair and a frothy tankard was placed in front of him. He drained it in a gulp, looking around for a second helping.

“Ollie, you’re a lunatic. Complete idiocy, boy.”

“No problem, Bill. Enjoy the ride?”

He raised his bushy eyebrows, shaking his head. I’m pretty sure he was grateful, but it was genuinely hard to tell. Maybe he was enjoying the alone time in his roofless cell.

Otto came up from the basement, saw Bill, and pulled down two dark bottles from his assortment of spirits.

“Never known you to be an ale man, Billy! You want the usual order? Dark and Stormy?”

“Just needed something to cure the dry throat, Otto. That’d do lovely, though go small on the lime — reckon it gives me indigestion.”

“Coming right up.”

I sat down, exhausted. We were lucky to be so far from the town centre, but with time, they’d come. It was a privilege to have a roof over this place, and being a pub, it was a natural meeting place. The Asterians wouldn’t be suspicious to see people going in an out.

Young Barney sat by the bar, and I went over.

“Hey Barney. Just wanted to ask, how might we get in contact with Bambuk, the fella you had me send that vial to? I was thinking that if he drank that stuff once, he might be happy to do it again, here.”

The ancient man curled a finger at me and jabbed my breastplate where my heart was. I flinched, worried he could activate the Poisoned effect.

“No such thung as a Bambuk now! His ‘eart became a wee tarnaydo, didn’t ut!”

“But the tornado dissipated, right? I saw it shrinking just before I left Cambree.”

“It did indeed,” he replied. “An’ Bambuk went with et. Good man, eh?”

Holy crap. Bambuk sacrificed himself. He knew the miners had no chance.

Since that time at the Cambree Mines, I’d struggled to work out if I disliked Bambuk, or if I just feared him, or if one resulted in the other. Now I just felt sorry for him, and thankful for his sacrifice.

That’s why, when a young Asterian soldier walked in, I almost didn’t stop Barney from throwing his tankard at him. In fact, I almost seized my spear and got a piece for myself.

However, we’d caused enough trouble for the day. I didn’t want to create a scene that would get this place targeted. For all I knew, Otto had already begun the resistance efforts downstairs, brewing up all kind of potions and ointments.

“A tankard of anything cheap, please,” asked the soldier.

My spear lay across a table in the corner, and Bill sat frozen in his chair, doing a terrible job of remaining inconspicuous. If this soldier took a half-decent look over his shoulder, we were done.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He was watching Otto, but talking out of the side of his mouth, intending for us all to hear. “Some of you know me. I used to live here. I want you to…I want you to know that I feel awful for what Asteroth has done. The new King just demands…no one can stop him.”

I had an idea of who this might be, but to confirm it, I’d have to ask him. My name was probably at the top of his hit-list, but I had to.

“Are you Marge’s son?” I called.

He turned, noticing for the first time who exactly he was in the room with. His hand flickered to the horn at his waist, but he didn’t remove it from the strap.

“I am.”