Dragging myself from the bed, I mobilised Pierre for the day’s activities. He kindly informed me that I’d rendered myself unconscious for the better part of an entire day, placing the time at about noon. My first night in town had been lost to oblivion, and I was again left to wonder what that would be like come the setting of the sun. It would come regardless, so the focus was on getting some things done today.

As we walked, I tested whether I could assign myself a title and get an attribute boost. Not to accept, of course, I wasn’t crazy. But I tried all sorts of names that would make me stronger, ‘Jacob the Juggernaut’, or even ‘Mighty Jacob’. No luck – the only thing that occurred was a system message stating that titles could not be conferred to me. What a loss.

For a few coppers, Pierre shouted us bread from Kurt in The Dour Mistress, who had a jolly old cackle as he recounted watching me attempt stew inhalation. Hilarious, for everyone else. There was a calculating look in his eye though, a few extra crinkles around the edges that told me he was thinking deeply about what exactly he’d witnessed. We took the bread and left, so as not to give him that extra time to ponder.

A part of me wanted to check in on Mary, but I knew where that conversation would end.

‘I think we’ve got two options then, Pierre. Get some experience so I can level up, or get some gold, so we can live?’

Pierre nodded. ‘Yes, we need to do both of these. Experience is important, but we need money to outfit ourselves. The better the equipment, the more the cost. Very many people are still making finer and finer equipment with better bonuses.’

Naturally. Everything good always cost an arm and a leg. ‘Will getting our stats up help?’

‘Of course. Attribute increases are a blessing.’

‘Your attributes… When you shared your information.’ For some reason, talking about someone’s information felt a little peculiar. Intimate, Pierre had said, and perhaps he was right with that thought. ‘You don’t have a lot of attribute bonuses for someone at Level 6.’

‘This is true,’ he replied. ‘One stat increase per level. There is a bonus for the first level up between one and two.’

‘That doesn’t seem like a lot.’

Pierre bit into his bread, chewing thoughtfully. ‘You could say that, yes. I believe many may see their statistics that way. But you need to find ah, perspective? I think that is the word.’

I motioned for him to continue, and he did after another bite of bread.

‘Every increase gives you something more, makes you greater than what you were. If I were to make a guess, it would be that a one-point increase makes you ten percent stronger at that attribute.’

‘If I had ten strength then, I’d have the strength of two men?’

‘Two strong men. But not quite. I say this delicately, but at Level 1, you are not yet a strong man… a little immature – or is it undeveloped? Perhaps at 2 or 3 strength, you will become a strong man – and ten levels more and you will have the strength of two men.’

I’ll admit, I was disheartened, and not solely for the reason Pierre had just described my musculature as childish. ‘That’s about twelve levels to get my strength up to two men – assuming I only focus on strength…’

Pierre laughed. ‘It is so. Now you may understand why four points in a title is so amazing, yes?’

That was true, and I told Pierre so.

‘But you still do not understand completely,’ Pierre continued with a fire in his voice. ‘The world is not the same as it was anymore. Here, now, I can have the strength of two men. If I was level forty, perhaps I could have the strength of four men. That is a dream, yes, but a dream you could achieve? Imagine four times the dexterity, or healing in a quarter of the usual time! What philosophies would the wisdom of Level 40 bring? I am desperate to know. The world holds such darkness, but my mind burns to find a way to bring hope back.’

There was wisdom in his words already, and clearly, I’d need to reconsider the way that I’d approach my newfound life. That wasn’t easy, having the accessible memory of a newborn. Yet there was nothing I could do with that – I could only move forward, plan, and try to get some things done. With few points I could allocate, I’d need to definitely plan an approach.

‘It’s part of the reason I’d like to work together. Against what we face, one man, by himself, can only do a little. But many, fighting together, with diverse strengths. That is something that fills my dreams.’

‘You’re attack orientated. Strength, speed, and constitution.’

‘You bolstered me quite significantly with your title, do not forget. I have taken a balanced approach, while I do not know of what skills I will develop. Many speak of this as the best way, even to a Frenchman.’

I scuffed at the ground for a moment, dragging patterns back and forth. Statistics then could do so much, but I’d need to work to gain the experience, particularly with the measly offerings coming from my quests so far. Gaining stats was going to take time and effort, that was for sure, which meant I’d need to think of other ways to approach the situation. ‘Do you use any weapons?’

‘Back home, I trained with a rapier for so long. A part of me yearns for it again. But alas, I fight mostly with smaller swords or daggers. If I fight… that doesn’t happen a lot either, as I am a Guide. What weapon will you use?’

‘A gun, I think.’

‘It fits your coat at least.’

‘Exactly. Speaking of it, I need to find a trainer for the weapon – it’s part of a quest.’

‘Hmmm. I know a lady whose services I have obtained before. It is but a short walk. If you can gain some skills with the weapon, we should venture from the town and try to gain some experience.’

‘Sounds good. I still need a job though.’

‘Let me support you in this for now. I am not a man without means, and I have no doubt any cost I incur will be paid back tenfold.’

I shuffled awkwardly a little at his words. The sentiment was nice, if a little odd, but it did bring another level of pressure I wasn’t looking forward to. ‘I’ll get a job and pay you back. I still have a little money as well.’

Pierre nodded. ‘We are agreed then. Come, the wonderful Emily awaits us, although I secretly call her Amelié to remember me of my homeland.’

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Hadn’t he described Betty as ‘wonderful’ as well? ‘Guess you miss your home.’

‘Very much, but I miss a great many things today. Is this not the same for you?’

Pierre was clever, I’ll grant him that. He had a way of gently manoeuvring the conversation back to me, and I couldn’t help but think his intention was to find out more. I settled for a jerk of my head in agreement, and with a quirk of Pierre’s lip, we walked the town in companionable silence.

As we moved off the cobbled main street and into the dirt-trodden paths of the outer town, the lingering scent of smoke and meat filled the air. Outer, of course, meant only one street over. Large pits with stacked stone circles held the remnants of last night’s fires, huge bonfires by the amount of ash lingering. Metal posts had been erected where numerous animal carcasses slowly roasted over the dying embers. That was clever – light in the night and a way to cook food in the day. It’d take huge supplies of firewood, but the forests to the south and the west could likely supply it. At least that way took you from the canyon if that was the source of danger.

Pierre nudged me on the shoulder to get my attention, leading me towards another wooden house with an open industrial area attached to the side. Even for someone whose memory and brain were detached, I could work out exactly what I was looking at.

Before us lay a rudimentary blacksmith and possibly gunsmith workshop, judging by the various pieces of guns, weapons, and armour waiting to be completed. The air was thick with the scent of burning coal – the forge emitted a fiery glow as flames danced like restless spirits. An anvil, scarred from countless blows was nearby with numerous hammers strewn across log tables nearby, their worn handles testament to years of craftsmanship. Next to the house on a sturdy log workbench, a partially assembled firearm lay surrounded by various parts and tools. Yep, definitely a gunsmith then.

Emily stepped from the house as we approached - or so I assumed it was her, as with anyone higher level, no information wafted in the air above. Shorter, heavily muscled, with soot-stained hands attached to arms that looked like they could strangle an oxen. I mid-step halted momentarily, considering that she had an unconventional beauty, if you liked hard angles, strong features, and unfashionable overalls. But there was a strength in her face that matched that in her arms.

‘If you want to tumble, come back tonight, Frenchman. My bed will need warming then like my forge needs working now.’

‘Of course, ma amour, of course. But you wound my affections.’ He placed his hand on his heart and made a half-bowing motion – not that Emily noticed as she beelined the forge.

‘Don’t try your charm. It’s not working now.’ Her eyes flickered to me. ‘And who’s the sop? I told you, whatever that ménage trois thing you speak of, it’s not happening.’

House three? I scratched my head. While I could translate French, it seemed, that didn’t guarantee I knew what it meant.

‘My friend here,’ Pierre began. ‘He – ’

‘He can bloody well speak for himself, or he can get lost,’ Emily interrupted. ‘I’ve no time for either of you. What do you want?’

Blunt. Focused. I liked that. ‘To learn to shoot straight.’

‘That’s every fool’s dream. You don’t look like the type to me. Find something else to do before you wind up dead.’

‘I have to start somewhere. Apparently, that’s at the ‘sop’ level.’

Emily smirked a little. ‘Bit more bite than I expected. Interesting. Maybe I’ll like you once you get a level or two on your shoulders.’

‘That’s what I’m aiming for – but I need to learn how to shoot.’

‘It’s simple enough. But what makes you think I’ll want to teach you.’

‘Emily!’ Pierre interrupted. ‘Surely, for our shared affections – ’ A swift glare stopped Pierre in his tracks.

I watched Emily for a few heartbeats, pondering what it would take to convince her. It wasn’t hard; everyone in his place wanted something, it seemed. A title might work, but I had no idea how to make that happen without killing myself. The question was, what did Emily want that I could give?

‘Time. You say you have none. I can give you some back. I’ll repay the time you give to me in labour twice over.’

Emily nodded. ‘Clever, but thrice over.’

‘Agreed.’

Pierre made to protest, but I waved him away.

Quest Completion:

* Find a trainer.

You have been awarded 3 experience for evolving the skill of finding people who do not want to know you.

I ran a quick eye over my character information to check my progress.

CHARACTER INFORMATION: JACOB BOSMA

Class: Unknown

Level: 1

Experience: 59/100

Health: 10/10

Essence: Unknown

Statistics:

· Strength – 1

· Dexterity – 1

· Constitution – 2 (+1)

· Wisdom – 2

· Charisma – 0

Titles:

Traits:

· Outcast (-1 to charisma while trait is active)

Skills:

Bonuses:

· Sunbather – You have ritualistically tanned your skin in the midday sun. +1 to constitution when fighting in direct sunlight.

59 experience. That had jumped a fair bit closer than I anticipated, mostly due to my pre-passing out activities, which had brought a mass of experience. In one title granted to Pierre, I had gained a third of a level. What that meant was startlingly clear – doing quests related to my skill granted the greatest rewards. Titling things was my way forward.

‘Rude to read your stats during a conversation.’ Oops. Even Pierre was giving me an odd look.

‘Apologies. I’m still new to this, and the… etiquette?’

Emily laughed. ‘Got nothing to do with the stats, you fool. How do you think it looks when you stare off into space like a slack-jawed yokel?’

‘I was not open-mouthed,’ I replied adamantly. Pierre gave me a shrugging motion implying that might not be true. Thanks, Pierre – leave a brother hanging.

‘You are so easy to bait. Working you to death will be fun.’

‘I’m sure it will,’ I replied.

‘What’s your name then, Sop?’

‘Jacob.’

‘Sop seems so much nicer. I’m Emily.’

I nodded. ‘Can we do this now?’

Emily sighed. ‘Guess so. You’ll waste my time, but I’ll catch it up later today and on the morrow. Pierre – go away.’

‘Of course, Mademoiselle.’

‘But come back tonight.’

Pierre’s smile brightened. Had I joined forces with the town whore?

‘Sop, come over here.’ That name was going to be unrelentingly applied, it seemed. ‘You know anything about guns? No, no, don’t answer. There’s no way you’ve experienced the outdoors with that pale complexion – even if you’ve tried to hide it behind red-raw skin. You the captive of a library? Or was it a nunnery? That’d make for interesting times…’

‘I fired a gun once,’ I defended. Literally once.

‘How’d that go for you?’

I shrugged, answering even though she was being sarcastic. ‘Missed to the left, by a few feet from 30 paces. The rabbit lived.’

’30 paces and 3 feet. Maybe there is some hope for you yet. Come here.’ Moving over to the log table, she grabbed a revolver and with the precision of a practised hand, pulled it apart. ‘This is the hammer. Half cock it and slide open the loading gate. From there, load the chamber with black powder – not too much though, you want to use it sparingly. Add the lead to bullets and then close the gate until it clicks, then tamp down the bullet and powder with this device on the underside of the barrel.’ Emily’s movements were swift and assured as she armed the gun with four bullets.

‘Seems straightforward enough.’ If I remembered everything.

‘It will take some learning. We aren’t even dealing with keeping the bore clean to maintain your accuracy. But we can progress to that later. We’re focusing on the essentials because if you get those wrong, death awaits. Mostly, you end up pointing the gun at something you want to kill – and it’s a feeling that’s reciprocated. There is no good time for a misfire, and gun preparation is essential to avoid them. If the gun is well-made, you treat it like a lover long cared for, and you load it properly… that reduces the risk of misfires and reduces the chance of you bleeding out on the ground.’

That was solid advice. I was eager to learn any ideas that would help me not be dead.

‘You have a gun, Sop?’

I hesitated, then nodded. What harm could it do?

‘Show me.’

Reaching into my duster, I pulled the revolver from my pocket and turned to hold it up.

A cold cylinder of metal pressed against my temple, as the click of a hammer rang in my ears.