Stick could feel his pulse hammering in his ears as Maria Leonhard’s voice sliced through the tense air.

  “You nearly killed my main tank.”

  Hirohiro, still on his knees, pressed his forehead deeper into the dirt. “We are so, so sorry!”

  Stick barely registered his desperate plea. His mind reeled, struggling to place the first time he’d heard that name—Maria Leonhard.

  She was imposing, effortlessly commanding. Her brunette waves cascaded over her shoulder, catching the soft light like strands of spun silk. Warm, honeyed skin complemented the golden lines of her armor, which gleamed with an almost sacred brilliance. Her lips, slightly parted, hinted at an unshaken confidence, while her dark, piercing eyes locked onto him, waiting—demanding—an answer for their group’s foolishness.

  “I don’t want an apology,” Leonhard said. “I want an explanation.”

  Hirohiro murmured under his breath, “This will be a national crisis…”

  “You’re Leonhard from B4!” Stick blurted out before he could stop himself.

  She crossed her arms. “And you are?”

  Her gaze flickered briefly over his Status. For just a second, Stick thought he saw something there—doubt? Recognition? But it was gone before he could tell. Instead, one eyebrow arched slightly. Maybe it was just his imagination…

  “Page Stick Arslan?” she asked.

  Page? Oh, right!

  The reminder hit him like a splash of cold water—his new reality, his new role.

  “Yes, ma’am!” Stick bowed, mirroring the way Gawain had done the day before. “Stick Arslan, Page of House Blitz.”

  “Oh ho!” A rough voice interrupted. “An aspirant knight!”

  A large man with short brown hair and a twirled mustache stepped up behind Leonhard, then dipped into a deep, exaggerated bow. “Sir Hector Morrigan of the Order of House Cavon.”

  Stick’s eyes widened. “You were a knight of the king?”

  “One of the last.”

  “That was so cool out there!” Stick practically yelled. “What was it? Iron Castle? Whoa!”

  Sir Morrigan twirled his mustache with a chuckle. “Yes, quite impressive, isn’t it?”

  “Thank you for saving us,” Big Man said softly.

  Sir Morrigan inclined his head. “You acted quickly. A man who can move in an emergency is a true man indeed.” He paused, as if debating his next words. “Though I wouldn’t underestimate the bravery and strength it took to shield you from the Mutant’s devastating attack.”

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  His gaze flicked toward Leonhard, perhaps seeking some confirmation, but she didn’t react. Instead, her eyes remained fixed on Stick’s Status. Something in Morrigan’s composure faltered—just for a second.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Sir Morrigan extended a hand, which Stick eagerly shook. “You’ve got quite the grip, boy. For a Blitz member, that is.”

  Stick frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing much.” Sir Morrigan smirked. “How’s Sir Frost’s hairline doing? Hohoho.”

  Before Stick could reply, another figure strode forward—a blue-eyed, blonde magician clad in pristine white robes. As he passed, he placed a hand on Leonhard’s shoulder in a brief, wordless exchange before turning his gaze to Stick.

  His expression hardened, shifting into something far more severe.

  “Don’t bother, I got this.” His tone was almost casual—until, with explosive fury, he roared:

  “Just what the fucking hell do you three idiots think you’re doing?!”

  The mage was suddenly in Stick’s face, a vein popping on his choleric forehead. Stick swallowed hard. Shit.

  “Is it really necessary to scream that loud, Dexter?” Sir Morrigan asked.

  “Oh?” Dexter turned sharply. “Don’t get me started on how bad you fucked up today!”

  Panzer’s knightly composure cracked. “Is that so?”

  “You’d think one would get used to climbing out of countless ditches. But today? You were slower than a crippled tortoise!”

  “You wanna go, pretty boy?” Panzer cracked his knuckles. “I can show you how much this armor weighs.”

  Dexter’s lips curled. “You know, as a surgeon, I can name every bone of yours that I’ll break.”

  Stick let out a small chuckle. He had seen something similar before—Cadmun and his squadmates, bickering like brothers. Not so much like knights, as their titles would suggest. It seemed that the chivalry of this world remained with those that lived without Player interference like Gawain. He chuckled again.

  Both men snapped their heads toward him. “What’s so funny?”

  “Enough!” Leonhard’s voice rang out.

  Everyone immediately stood at attention.

  “No more bickering. This isn’t elementary school.” Leonhard turned her gaze to Hirohiro. “And you. Stand up.”

  Hirohiro hesitated, but one glance at the ice in her eyes was enough to make him scramble to his feet.

  Leonhard’s attention snapped back to Stick. “Will somebody care to explain to me what an unaffiliated LVL 2 Player with no Origin is doing in the North Strip?”

  “LVL 2?” Dexter repeated, blinking. He checked Stick’s Status. “Jesus… How?”

  Sir Morrigan looked concerned. “LVL 2? That’s… not good, right? Didn’t you read the signs we put up, Page Arslan?”

  Hirohiro raised his hands defensively. “They tend to… not get read by us. But please, we were just looking for goblin camps. We didn’t mean any harm.”

  Dexter’s expression darkened. “Goblin camps? In the North Strip?”

  “As a Carnifex member, you should know better,” Leonhard said sharply. “Or is there another reason you crossed the border?”

  “Yeah, um…” Hirohiro hesitated. “It’s not like we’re spies or something…”

  Stick squared his shoulders. “We are looking for Lord Alastair Blitz.”

  Hirohiro slapped his forehead. “You idiot…”

  Dexter crossed his arms. “Lord Blitz?”

  “You know him?” Stick asked, hopeful.

  “Of course we know him,” Sir Morrigan said, though his tone carried an edge.

  “And do you know where he is?”

  Leonhard didn’t answer right away. There was something else in her eyes now—suspicion.

  “The question is,” she said coolly, “how do you know him? And why are you looking for him?”

  Stick opened his mouth, but Hirohiro grabbed his sleeve in alarm.

  “Stick, we should—” Hirohiro tried to say something, but was cut short when he saw something.

  Stick followed his gaze—

  And his stomach dropped.

  Behind the trio, more of B4’s warriors had gathered. Rows upon rows of soldiers, clad in varied but hardened armor, standing in perfect formation behind Leonhard. Their faces were obscured by stark white masks and eerie, glowing eyepatches. Their Status screens were mostly redacted, but one thing was clear. LVL 50. Every. Single. One of them.

  The strongest warriors in the world.

  The ones who had slain that minotaur-demon monster with ruthless efficiency.

  So this… is B4.

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