Nick stepped out from the barren circle of stones into the waving field of wheat.

  Returning visitor cataloged

  Level: 1

  Agility: 1

  Physicality: 1

  Endurance: 1

  Archetype: None

  Special Classification: None

  Welcome back

  “Happy to be back,” Nick said, squinting against the light. He meant it, too. To return so immediately only confirmed that his previous experience had been anything but a dream. He closed his eyes and slowly breathed in and out to gather himself. The dreamlike fog vanished from his memories of this place. He recognized Cataloger’s voice. The field of wheat, the jagged mountains, the strange black sun; it was all coming back to him.

  Including, of course, his unceremonious death.

  “All right, let’s take this slow,” he said, opening his eyes. Judging by the yellow sun, it looked to be late in the day. No one was in the field, not that he saw, but he knelt down to hide within the flowing ocean of grain just in case. Hands to the dirt, he forced his mind to push through the fog to remember the previous day. The med bay. The Artifact. His real life, separate, unique, different from…

  “Cataloger, where am I?” he asked.

  You are outside the village of Meadowtint, which is situated in the western province known as Vestor

  “I was hoping for a bit more information than that.”

  It is spring in Vestor, in the six hundred thirty-seventh Year of Vaan, seeing its second year of peace since Batal the Beast began his—

  Nick shook his head and grinned despite there being no one to see it.

  “Zoom out a little,” he said, interrupting her. “Where is here? This whole world I’m in?”

  Vestor is part of the world of Yensere, which is currently unified underneath the banner of the Alder Kingdom, ruled by God-King Vaan, Conqueror of Time and—

  “Cataloger,” Nick said, interrupting a second time and trying not to lose his patience. This would be information everyone on Station 79 would be dying for. “Please. Let’s try again. Not Meadowtint or Vestor or Yensere.” He gestured as broadly as he could, to the ground, the sky, the field of wheat, and the towering mountains to the west. “All of this. The entire world. What is it? It’s…it’s virtual, right? A re-creation, perhaps?”

  A very long pause.

  “Cataloger?”

  I cannot answer that

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  I cannot answer that

  Nick sighed but abandoned the topic. At least that was information, in a way. If this was a virtual world, it might be designed to not let its inhabitants know it was virtual. Granted, the little red and green bars in his vision and the voice of Cataloger seemed to give that away. Still, best not to make any assumptions while still getting his footing. Gathering himself, he looked to the blue sky above.

  It’s so similar to Taneth, he thought. A momentary spinning sensation overcame him. It’d been so long since he’d stood in wide-open spaces instead of the cramped corridors of Station 79. Even the wind against his skin was a half-forgotten feeling. To ground himself, he thought of his home planet, its lush fields a mixture of flowers and blooming fungi. Taneth was one of the earliest terraformed planets, verdant and pure. For most of his life, it had been his home, and he used its memories to push away the disequilibrium. He had lived in a place like this before, walked open lands, and felt the heat of the sun upon him. He would do so again and relish it.

  After about a minute, he felt significantly better. That he’d not experienced similar on his first trip into Yensere intrigued him. Did he need to clearly remember his real life for the difference to affect him?

  Putting the thought aside for now, he peered at the nearby village of Meadowtint. A few villagers wandered the street, slowly, lazily, as if lost in a daze. No one in the field. Perhaps everyone had gone home? There was, however, that strange lady in her rocking chair. He shuddered as he remembered the way she’d cowered from him and prayed with her black tongue to Vaan.

  The Conqueror of Time? An interesting title for her apparent god. Hopefully not someone Nick would run into anytime soon, especially if he was as friendly as these villagers.

  “Think this through,” Nick said aloud. “Pretend you’re Simon. You’re smart, confident, and actually know what you’re doing. So we’ll do what he would do, right?”

  I do not know the Simon you are referencing; therefore, I cannot judge if his actions would be beneficial or detrimental to your visit

  “I, uh, was talking to myself.”

  Understood

  Nick groaned. As useful as Cataloger was certainly going to be, she also needed some lessons on privacy and the concept of “thinking aloud.”

  First things first: Based on his previous experience, it was probably best to assume everyone he met was a potential threat. That meant he was likely going to face a lot of threats, so he needed a method to defend himself. Violence wasn’t his favorite answer to conflict, but he certainly wasn’t keen to repeat the “death” he’d experienced last time. Dying from pitchfork wounds was both humiliating and horribly painful, and even if the pain was just psychosomatic, Simon had made it clear his physical body reacted negatively in the real world.

  Curious, Nick patted his overalls. Nothing useful in the empty pockets. None of the Meadowtint villagers were likely to lend him a knife or a hatchet, so Nick instead scanned the ground, spotting the tip of a rock through the packed soil. He dug it up with his bare hands, revealing a stone roughly the size of his fist.

  “At least it’s something,” he said, turning his attention to the village. The next question was, what to do? He could skirt its edges and make for the river, but the thing was, he didn’t know where he was going. He barely even knew why he should be going anywhere. Granted, maybe someone with him did.

  “Hey, Cataloger, is there a particular place I should be headed?”

  Visitors are meant to explore the breadth of Yensere and experience all of its wondrous environs

  “So…no?”

  Correct

  Nick was starting to think Cataloger was going to be the least helpful “helper” he’d ever met. He pinched his bottom lip, debating what to do about the villagers who seemed convinced he needed murdering.

  “I just want to walk up, say hello, and ask some questions,” he muttered. “Is that so terrible?”

  Apparently it was, since he resembled some sort of “demon” to them. Perhaps he did look like a monstrous creature. Frowning, he glanced about the field despite knowing it was hopeless. Still, maybe if it had recently rained…

  Are you seeking something? I may help you find it

  “A puddle,” Nick said. “Or even a mirror, if you’ve got one. I want to take a look at myself.”

  One moment

  A little sheet of statistics flashed before Nick’s eyes, neatly arrayed and matching what Cataloger had spoken to him upon returning to Yensere. In the top left corner beside his name, in a disturbingly accurate three-dimensional representation, was his own face. Nick stared at it, confirming nothing was out of the ordinary. Still had the same short brown hair, same long nose, same brown eyes his mother had referred to as her “two favorite pieces of amber.”

  Your eyes contain insufficient red and too much gold to be considered amber by most metrics—I would consider them hazel

  Nick clenched his jaw.

  “Cataloger?”

  Yes?

  “Please, stop reading my thoughts and respond only when I specifically address you. Can you do that?”

  I seek only to be helpful

  There was something almost plaintive in her voice, a shift in expression he had never heard from her before.

  Had…had he hurt her feelings?

  Nick tossed his rock up and down, catching it as if he were a pitcher in a ball game.

  “Sorry, Cataloger, it’s just a little strange having someone hear my thoughts.”

  Do not feel concerns for modesty, shame, or embarrassment—I am incapable of judgment

  “Right, because you seek only to help.”

  Correct

  Nick sighed. He had a helpful little voice in his head—so be it. As for the task at hand, he decided he needed supplies if he was to trek beyond the river in search of a civilization that would not try to murder him on sight.

  Of course, that raised an interesting question.

  “Do I need to eat?”

  Silence.

  Nick closed his eyes and felt a twinge of a headache as he approached the village.

  “Cataloger, do I need to eat while I’m here?”

  All living things must consume sustenance in some manner

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Are you upset with me, Cataloger?” he whispered upon reaching the edge of the wheat field. Though the black sun remained exactly where it had been, the yellow sun descended, casting long shadows across the village, sharp triangles stretching from thatched rooftops.

  My advice is not influenced by emotions

  “That’s not a no.”

  Another long pause.

  I seek only to help

  Nick figured that was as close as he was going to get to a yes. And he felt hungry, just as he’d felt while falling asleep in the med ward. So, it seemed he had his heading—find food, then leave Meadowtint with haste. He eyed the nearby home opposite the lady in the rocking chair. So far as he could tell, there was no sign of life within the decrepit building. As for the lady, she was so still Nick assumed she was asleep, and her head tilted so most of her face was hidden underneath her bonnet. Nick waited a moment longer, searching for anyone who might be watching. Once convinced he was alone, he crept out from the field to the nearby window.

  No glass, no mesh, just open air blocked off by curtains fluttering in the evening breeze. A small patch of flowers grew underneath it. They looked like buttercups, their healthy yellow a stark contrast to the apparent lifelessness of the rest of Meadowtint. Nick paused by the windowsill to listen. No sounds within, no creaking floorboards, no rustle of feet. Feeling a bit more confident, he climbed through the window headfirst and collapsed onto the floor.

  The home was modest, to say the least. The floorboards were coated with a thin layer of dirt. Dust covered every inch of the walls and cupboards. To his left was a doorway blocked with a heavy curtain, and to his right, a sort of den leading to the front door. Nearby was a hearth, the fire currently out.

  For Nick’s purposes, the most exciting prospect was the closed cupboard nailed to the wall above a well-worn dining table. He hurried to it, wincing at his every footstep. It felt like the floorboards carried a vendetta against him, they made so much noise. Nick opened drawer after drawer, searching for anything edible.

  What he found was a collection of wood plates and forks, all of them in deep disrepair. Some of the plates looked ready to crack in half, while others sported long streaks of black mold. Even if he did find food, the idea of eating any of it was losing its appeal.

  The creak of the floorboard was his only warning before the sickle slashed his arm. Blood sprayed in a wide arc as the iron cut from shoulder to biceps. Nick choked down his scream with clenched teeth as his health bar flashed into view while also dropping by a quarter. He didn’t want to alert the rest of the village with a cry of pain. Instead, he retreated while turning to face his assailant.

  One of the villagers, an older man, his face covered with a white beard that stood in sharp contrast to the blackness of his tongue and emptiness in his eyes. He’d come from the room blocked off with the curtain, moving more quietly than Nick thought possible.

  “Demon,” the man said, his voice raspy and pained. He lifted the sickle for another strike. “Must you haunt us, demon?”

  Nick readied the rock, slightly bewildered. “You attacked me!”

  The old man charged at him. Nick had no combat training, so he leaned into what little he knew of defensive positioning. The sickle swung, but Nick was faster, easily dodging out of the way. But the villager was relentless, flailing with the sickle over and over again, so that Nick had to dodge again. In a panic, he swung the rock at his assailant, clubbing him across the jaw. A red bar appeared above him, similar to Nick’s, and then it shrank a tiny bit.

  The old villager staggered, blood trickling down his chin. Nick gave him no reprieve. He caught the man’s wrist the next time he swung the sickle, holding its iron edge up high. A tug, and the man stumbled closer, his balance uneven. Nick beat him across the head twice more with the stone. Blood gushed from his broken nose, and more trickled from his teeth and across his black tongue.

  Another pull, and the man fell to the ground. Nick dropped to his knees beside him, adrenaline taking over. He moved with a singular purpose. Teeth clenched, pain flaring from every movement of his injured arm, he smashed the rock into the man’s face, again and again and again.

  And then the bar was empty. No red left within it. No more movement. The old man lay still, breathless, limp, his face a mutilated mess. Nick collapsed onto his rear, the blood-soaked rock slipping from his fingers to roll across the dirt-covered floor.

  A white bar flashed across the center of his vision, a bold number 1 at the far-right end. The bar filled halfway, then vanished.

  “Not real,” Nick whispered as his hands started to shake. The body, void of life, seemed to mock the assertion. The detail, the vacant eyes, the broken bones, the smell of blood; it was so real. So vivid. He began to heave, though there was nothing in his stomach to relieve the feeling.

  Not real. Not real, not real.

  “Cataloger, what…what was that?” he asked as he sat there and waited for his heartbeat to calm. Maybe talking would help, get him distracted by anything other than the growing foul smell of blood and shit.

  Clarify

  “That white bar or line.”

  A visitor’s initial level and statistics are only an approximation—a more accurate assessment may be obtained through comparison with existing known entities

  Nick thought through the comment twice, piecing out the meaning.

  “So…by killing that man, I proved I’m stronger than him?”

  By comparison, yes—further improvements may also be made through lived experience to exemplify natural progression

  “And the white line?”

  Progress toward reassessment and improvement—please note visitors will receive accelerated experience growth for increased enjoyment and understanding

  It made some sort of sense. If this virtual world was trying to replicate a real one, then someone would expect to see improvements after consistent practice. If Nick took to tilling these fields, he suspected his physicality score would improve. Sprinting around the village a lot might increase his…what was it…agility?

  And it seemed if he wanted to become a stronger human, then he needed to kill.

  The thought was a troubling one, and he didn’t like the way it squirmed in his belly. Trying to put it out of his mind, he reached over the dead man’s body for his sickle. The fingers were locked in a death grip, forcing Nick to grab it with both hands and pull it free.

  “At least I have a real weapon now,” Nick said as he clutched the sickle to his chest. “Better than a rock, anyway.”

  Approximately one hundred twenty percent better

  Nick lifted an eyebrow. Though Cataloger was physically absent, it was hard not to imagine her hovering just to the side, able to see his every movement and expression.

  “That’s a weirdly specific percentage. You know this how?”

  In answer, a little sheet popped into existence just above his sickle.

  Item: Sickle

  Quality: Tier 1 (Poor)

  Classification: Farming Instrument

  A single-handed agricultural tool known for its curved blade, typically used by farmers to harvest crops from fields

  Nick reprimanded himself for being so ignorant. This was a digital simulation, after all. Of course there would be a statistical comparison in some manner between usable objects.

  “Is that how you convert health to that red bar?” he asked, glancing again at the body. It was unnerving being next to it, even if he kept telling himself it wasn’t a real person, but a simulation.

  To reduce computational stress, the consequences of battle, such as the effects on muscle groups, blood flow, balance, and motion, are made with simplified methods of wounding and overall health based on one’s physicality

  It was exactly what Nick expected and yet still took twice as long to say. It also helped explain why the wound on his arm felt strangely…nebulous. There was a lot of blood across his sleeve, and it certainly hurt, but even when he focused on the injury, he couldn’t quite tell how deep it went, nor see much beyond the surface of cut skin.

  “But why do you need to save computational stress?” he asked. “This whole world, it’s…it’s incredible.”

  I cannot answer that

  Nick shrugged in the fading light. “If you insist. But it also sounded like you admitted we are in a simulation, Cataloger.”

  A long, now familiar pause.

  I cannot discuss that

  Nick stood, sickle in hand, and looked once more to the corpse. The man was perfectly still, his eyes open, his black tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. Nick’s stomach tightened, but he refused to look away.

  “He’s not real, is he?”

  Clarify

  Nick tucked the handle of the sickle into one of the deep pockets of his overalls, suddenly feeling much better. The old man wasn’t real. None of this was real. It was a digital simulation, a fake world. This wasn’t killing. It was the temporary removal of 1s and 0s. The people didn’t die, no differently than how he didn’t die when he was assaulted in the river.

  Still, the way the man cried out, the way the blood flowed…

  Nick started for the front door and then changed his mind. He wanted out of Meadowtint entirely now, but now he knew that running through the heart of the town wasn’t going to make that happen. He peeked out the window and noted the forest in the distance beyond the stream he’d been “killed” in upon his first visit. That was probably as good a place as any to find some food, be it through foraging or hunting. He doubted he’d be any good at any of that, but perhaps Cataloger would have some tips on catching and cooking prey, if any of the fauna here were edible.

  Survival advice is limited as to not diminish the benefits of acquired skills in hunting and foraging

  “Well, never mind that,” Nick muttered. He cast one last look at the dead man, then shook his head.

  “Just a simulation,” he muttered, and crawled out the window. He landed atop the buttercups, smashing them underneath his feet.

  He forgot to look before doing so.

  “Demon!” screamed the old woman from her rocking chair. She pointed at him from across the street, her bonnet falling from her head to land at her feet. “The demon has returned!”

  “Happy to see you again, too,” Nick said, waving at the old woman as several villagers ran toward him, farming tools in hand. This wasn’t real. This was a game, one he could become stronger in. Perhaps that was even the expectation of visitors who came into the Artifact, like some sort of test? He didn’t know, but what he did know was that it hurt so damn much when their weapons raked his flesh. Gripping his sickle in both hands, he braced his feet and held his ground. No running. Time to see how well he could fight.

  A villager in ragged clothes and with ashen hair was the first to reach him, the man wielding a similarly old sickle. He slashed wildly, using frantic movements as if he were trying to strike a fly out of the air. Nick retreated several steps, waiting for an opening, and then seized it. He dashed in, striking with his own sickle directly into the man’s chest.

  The man screamed, and blood splashed across Nick’s hand, wet and warm. A red bar appeared above, then immediately dissolved half of itself. As the villager staggered, Nick swung again, burying his weapon in the man’s neck to release a bloody spray.

  The man dropped, his own sickle falling to the dirt. Again Nick’s white bar appeared, sliding from left to right to fill up and touch the bold 1. A surge of exhilaration filled Nick as that 1 became a 2, and the white bar emptied.

  Reassessment

  Level: 2 (+1)

  Statistical Improvements:

  Agility: 1

  Physicality: 2 (+1)

  Endurance: 2 (+1)

  Archetype Changed—New Categorization: Vagrant

  Nick’s health bar extended, and weirdly, the sickle felt a little less heavy in his grip.

  “Holy shit,” he whispered. His body buzzed with excitement. It reminded him of when he and Simon had celebrated his eighteenth birthday with glasses of homegrown Station 79 beer made from fermented mushrooms. He’d been so giddy then that he’d challenged Simon to climb the entire rock wall in the station gymnasium without a harness, and despite his brother’s slurred caution, Nick got halfway up before falling to the thick foam pad below, cackling all the while.

  He grinned at the next two villagers hurrying toward him, their mouths open and their black tongues hanging low. The woman had a knife, and the man, a long shepherd’s staff. Nick rushed them, abandoning any defense. He slashed at the man, except instead of hitting flesh, his weapon chunked into the staff. As Nick pulled his weapon back for another hit, the woman’s knife cut across his left arm. He held back a scream as blood sprayed across them both.

  His health shrank accordingly, dipping downward. Nick shifted his attention to her, swinging an overhead chop directly at her forehead. Her eyes widened, and though she tried to dodge, it took her much too long, her movements deeply sluggish. The curved end of the sickle buried in her forehead, pushing down through bone. Her health bar never even appeared. The instant death denied her a scream, but no such thing stopped the man with the staff.

  “Clara!” he shrieked, the horror in his voice washing over Nick.

  Don’t think on it, he told himself as he ripped the sickle out of her body, feeling a little out of breath while doing so. His green stamina bar was shrinking.

  “Come on,” he said, swinging at the staff. It hit the wood twice more, and now that he was aware of it, Nick saw little chits of green stamina dissolve with his every attack. Not good. He had to finish this man off quickly. The entire village was coming. Already he saw the giant man with the pitchfork leading a squad of five toward him. All the while, the woman in the rocking chair howled out her warning.

  “Demon! Demon! The demon returns! Vaan save us!”

  Finally the man abandoned his defensive posture, his rage overwhelming him as he swung wide for Nick’s waist. Nick did not try to block it, instead swiping for the man’s neck in an exchange of hits. The wood struck, and he gasped as his health dropped, but it was nothing compared to what he did in return. His sickle raked across the man’s throat, gashing him. The man gasped with wide eyes at the hit, then pulled his staff back for another strike. Nick was faster, his sickle cutting twice more across the chest.

  The body dropped. Nick’s white experience bar filled by another third.

  “That’s right,” he said. His heart thumped, and his exhaustion was more pronounced. There were so many of them now, approaching with their crude weapons held high. Too many to fend off by himself. Death was inevitable at this point, but he was going to go down swinging.

  “Send all of you!”

  He charged right into the center of them, his sickle flailing wildly. He clipped two of them, thin grooves into pale skin. Not enough to kill. Not enough to thin the numbers. A knife plunged into his abdomen. A hatchet smashed into his collarbone and buried deep down in his chest, releasing a stream of red blood. Last was the pitchfork, its teeth aimed straight for his eyes. He saw the metal, saw the grin on the face of the big man wielding it, and then saw only darkness.

  Health: 0

  Visit terminated