home

search

Chapter 35: Isolation - 14.09.2018

  Months drifted by since Montgomery vanished. No one knew his fate or eventual whereabouts. Initially, chatter suggested he might have been taken to the Slaughterhouse, but after Timmy reported it empty, that theory faded. None had been absent for so long, not even when Cadmun attacked Reacher with a sword he had hidden under the floorboard of a shanty house years ago. From snatched conversations during meals, he learned Reacher bled heavily that day. He pondered whether Cadmun might rival, if not surpass, Reacher’s strength. I must discern their LVLs. But I can’t just attack him.

  After weeks, the miners concluded that Montgomery had been killed by the Adventurers, likely to conserve rations, and blamed him for his demise. Hope for his survival dwindled. Even Cadmun stopped greeting or talking to him. Maybe, just maybe he might’ve escaped.

  Day in, day out he would follow the same routine: Get up, eat breakfast, greet the Lords, go mining, return for dinner. Pull your weight at work.

  Weeks would go by where he never talked to another person. The only other man that might hear him out was PP. Together in the mine’s depths, PP was the sole figure who bore no animosity. Both were disliked by Adventurers and slaves alike. Yet, his reflection in the wash water and the scar on his cheek were constant reminders of PP’s allegiance to the Adventurers, eroding trust. He adopted PP’s solitary lifestyle, speaking only when necessary. Don’t get in the way of the others.

  Weeks bled into months. His sole interaction he had with other people were the commands the Mace and the Sword barked at them. Sometimes they had to walk faster, other times they had to work harder. Hunger was his only companion. The quota had risen to six gems. It gnawed at him; some days he failed the quota, other days his appetite vanished. His forearms thinned to match his pickaxe handle. The numbness crept in—a hum beneath his skin that smoothed rough edges, dulled the ache of toil, and quieted his mind. Movement became mechanical, directed by orders, an odd relief in its simplicity. No questions, no choices—just action. The numbness, once an interloper, became a constant companion, a second skin. Initially, he clung to clarity, but resistance waned. The emptiness dulled the sting of commands, the endless march with no destination. Following orders became comforting, requiring no thought. Each day mirrored the last, the tasks repetitive echoes, until it was hard to recall what once drove him, what made him feel alive. He knew he was slipping, losing himself with each week. Fatigue settled in his mind. A distant awareness flickered, warning of his vanishing self. Yet reclaiming himself felt daunting; he nearly forgot what it meant to be vibrant, engaged. Surrender was easier than struggle, the fading thoughts a dark comfort he was reluctant to disturb. So he slipped further, month by month. And always do what the Adventurers say.

  One time he made the mistake of offering his meal to Varyan. On a random evening, he remembered their talk about Cassandra and the hope it gave him. Since he wasn’t going to eat anyway, he decided to thank Varyan with an extra serving and maybe make amends with the other miners at the same time. When Shadis saw him, however, he slapped the bowl out of his hands spilling the contents all over him.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Don’t you dare approach the lords again, Adventurer!” Shadis snapped.

  Is that how it is now? I’m an Adventurer? An enslaved Adventurer? A Player Slave? A lot of people don’t like that. Is this what you saw, Bonatelli? A torture without touch? The slaughter of the soul?

  Each night, he gazed at the mansion’s tower, pondering if the Baron observed, cursing him for his solitude. He had a clear view to one of the windows, as the trees covering the Baron’s view had all been felled by a saddened Varyan. They had to get their wood from outside the palisades now, so a couple of volunteers replaced Varyan as woodchucks, gathering more and more wood by the day to prepare for winter. Yet, he refused to wait for winter or its passing. He couldn’t endure any longer. How much more of this do we have to endure? I can’t wait for Cassandra. What if she never comes back?

  One day, he resolved to act. Dreaming of escape meant insufficient effort toward achieving it. He knew he couldn’t ask for help. The other slaves would just tell him that if he wanted to get out, then he’d just have to accept being an Adventurer and join Carnifex. He didn’t want that either, but he knew that embracing his Player side could provide him with a few advantages. Montgomery said so.

  He reaffirmed his choice when one day they got accompanied by a caravan full of supplies guarded by five armoured knights on their way to the mountains. They all wore the same bulky silver armour with golden glowing lines. It was a mighty display of strength. Impressive.

  “They must be high-LVL,” he murmured to himself.

  “When you go to the front lines, you’re the highest LVL.” Reacher had heard him. “Can’t you see their Status?”

  He was reluctant to engage with the Mace and risk further alienation, but he had to seize the opportunity to learn from a Player.

  “No, I don’t know how to do that.” His voice was rough after months of not speaking, and he had to clear his throat.

  “Well, most people have the UI always on, but if you want to do that without the UI constantly on,” Reacher paused for a moment, “then you’d have to really look at them.”

  He stared at Reacher. That didn’t help. At all.

  “What I mean is, when you don’t use the Menu, then…,” the Mace scratched his chin, “then you have to do the commands from the Menu with intent.”

  Once again, the explanation was lackluster.

  “What’s a Menu command?” he asked.

  Reacher frowned, visibly frustrated. One could see the cogs in his brain turn as he tried to come up with an explanation.

  “Try looking at them and say ‘inspect’,” Reacher advised, “but you have to really want to look at them. But not look at them like watching them. I mean look at them because you really want to see their Player Data.”

  He’s definitely not a teacher.

  He didn’t comment on the helpless explanation and instead tried to focus on what he thought he took away from it. He pictured PP’s Combat Status he saw months ago, his only reference to “Player Data” and fixed his gaze on the silver knight closest to them. The most present thought in his mind was that he definitely wanted to know the LVL of the knight.

  “Inspect!”

  https://www.patreon.com/IgLu_Books

Recommended Popular Novels