“It’s a Status that appears when a Player engages in Combat,” the Baron explained. “What LVL am I?”

  Still trying to regain his composure, he hesitated. “I-… I think you’re 50.”

  The Baron smiled. “A correct answer. What a nice change of pace.”

  He wanted to retort, to silence the Baron’s smugness, but he felt too weak to say anything. Bonatelli let go of his face, leaving him dangling by the rope.

  “Now that we’ve confirmed you can see the game’s interface, let me ask again.” The Baron pressed the blade of his sword against the captive’s throat. “Are you an NPC or a Player?”

  “I am a Player,” he replied, the only logical choice.

  Admitting it felt like defeat, yet the Baron pushed on.

  “Then are you an Adventurer or a slave?”

  He paused. Players were supposed to be Adventurers. Why ask again? He’d already answered. Hadn’t he? What do you want to hear from me?

  “Well?” Bonatelli pressed.

  He met the Baron’s eyes, as artificial in their smile as his lips. Choosing his response carefully, knowing it might lead to deadly consequences, he faced the truth he felt within. Deep in his heart, he already knew what he wanted to say, and all he needed was the courage to speak it out loud. There was no turning back.

  In an act of defiance, he declared: “I’m a slave.”

  Bonatelli’s smile vanished as he lowered his sword. He swallowed. Was that the right choice?

  “A Player slave? An enslaved Adventurer?” Bonatelli queried, “is that what you are?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s what you choose to be?” the Baron questioned.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  He nodded again, slowly this time. He anticipated Bonatelli’s judgement. He could already hear the ‘wrong answer’ coming out of Bonatelli’s mouth. He braced for the worst.

  “A lot of people won’t like this,” the Baron remarked, “But I’m glad I could help you figure out the truth. We finally know what you are.”

  He glanced at the servant, ensuring Timmy was listening, then refocused on him.

  “If that’s your choice, so be it.”

  The Baron swung his sword wide. Fearing he’d be struck, he shut his eyes. He fell, scraping his chin on the floor. When he opened his eyes, he realised Bonatelli had severed the rope tethering him to the ceiling. His wrists, still bound, had left him unable to brace for the fall. Blood from his chin mingled with the dried stains on the floor. The Baron appeared amused. He felt deceived. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!

  “Let’s get one thing clear,” the Baron said, “just because you’re a Player, it does not mean that you’ll be treated differently. You’re still a low-life piece of trash slave who disrupted my operations. You will be punished. You have 30 hours left in this place, and if you act out again, I can easily make it 30 days. Am I understood?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Yes, what?” the Baron demanded.

  He lowered his head. “Yes, my Lord.”

  Bonatelli eased up a bit.

  “I’m doing you a favour here. If you leave the manor at LVL 1, you’ll be eaten by mobs the second you step outside,” the Baron said. “But who am I talking to here? You already know that from what I’ve heard.”

  A mix of guilt and shame welled up inside him. Yes, I know that.

  “The Starting Zone has become a fuckfest teeming with goblins. No single player can train there alone,” the Baron explained, “but even if you wanted to get stronger, the bastards from the Heavenly Union and B4 have occupied those territories.”

  The barrage of names confused him further, stirring anger and helplessness. He fought back tears.

  “It’s best you stay here and live a life of servitude. All I’m asking in return is for you to follow the rules. Don’t you think that that’s a good deal?”

  All he could manage was a quiet: “Yes.”

  The Baron leaned closer. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve heard you correctly. You have to speak up a bit. Yes, what?”

  He swallowed. “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Attaboy.”

  Bonatelli signalled the servant towards the door, and Timmy rushed to open it, letting sunlight flood the cabin once more.

  “Just remember: your life is in my hands,” the Baron said as he left, “it’s only through pity that you’ve survived your first day.”

  Timmy held the door as the Baron donned his sunglasses. Once outside, the Baron paused.

  “Oh, and one more thing.” Before the cabin door closed, he added: “Welcome to the game, Player.”

  The door shut with a loud clank. The sound, like the sunlight, vanished from the cabin, leaving him alone once more. As he lay on the filthy ground, bruised and broken, there was only one thing occupying his mind. What kind of game allows Players to act like this?

  Unable to hold back any longer, he began to cry.

  https://www.patreon.com/IgLu_Books