BOOK 2

  CHAPTER 4

  Burnt

  Bash woke up in agony, burnt to hell and back. One eye wasn’t working. Most of his skin wasn’t working either. He groaned, trying to call out, but most of his head was covered in bandages, including his mouth.

  Cracking open his one good eye, he glanced around, trying not to move his head. His vision was fuzzy, but he could still tell this wasn't the main medical tent. He was in a smaller tent, alone except for a cot and a small table with water and bandages.

  Why would they give him this courtesy? He should be with everyone else. Not some pampered lord getting special treatment.

  Bash tried to move, to stand, but every small movement caused fresh waves of suffering. Forcing himself to stay as still as possible, he carefully glanced at the blinking notification.

  The system really liked to reward murder. He looked at the free points, strongly considering dumping them all into Constitution. The pain was bad. Really bad. The kind that made you reconsider every life choice that led to getting fireballed in the face.

  Gritting his teeth, Bash mentally opened the stats screen and dumped ten free points instead. The effect was gradual. Dulling his fried nerves from screaming to a low, throbbing ache. Good. That helped.

  Before closing the menu, the village tab caught his eye. Bash hesitated looking at it, unsure if he could bear it.

  But he had to know. Needed to know. Clicking on the tab, Bash stared.

  There were fifty-six before the battle. That meant four people, four real people, were now gone. And that was only counting those who contracted. There could be more.

  Bash stared at the number until his vision blurred with tears. He closed his eye and let the guilt wash over him. They had died because he wasn’t strong enough. He could have moved sooner. Could have fought harder.

  No! That way led to spiraling. He'd spiral later when there wasn’t an army of a thousand sitting at the bottom of the pass.

  Reaching up, Bash pulled the bandages aside, tearing away skin. A prickling sensation spread across his face where he'd exposed it. He ignored the pain, calling out, his voice hoarse, "Shai? Are you there?"

  Silence for a moment. Then her voice came through the internal link.

  > “Your tactics were extremely effective, Bash. The enemy routed soon after you left the field. Anyways, forget that. I am much more concerned about the tan you got. Skin cancer is way more deadly than you’d think.”

  Bash let out a laugh. Then immediately regretted it. “Oh shit…” He moved into a fetal position, clutching his sides.

  Screw this. He pulled open his stats again and dumped every free point into Constitution. The relief was more immediate this time. He watched the blisters on his arms visibly shrink, the raw red skin fading to pink. His breathing came easier. The tightness across his chest loosened.

  Damn. Maybe he should have been investing more in Constitution all along. Even with the ten percent debuff from his race, this stat was legit.

  He took a careful breath, before speaking again. “Okay, Shai, seriously. How bad is it? We lost four?”

  > “Yes. And one more as well. One of the nurses who hadn't contracted with you yet. I am sorry, Bash.”

  Bash swallowed. The guilt came back, heavier this time. But underneath it, something else stirred. He had to win. Had to tear it all down. Bash it to pieces. “What about the rest of the army?”

  > “No updates. They are still holding at the base of the mountain pass.”

  That’s something at least, Bash thought, forcing himself to stand, everything still protesting. It was torture to move, but he ignored it and gingerly took a step towards the outside.

  Luis was sitting on a stump near the entrance. He saw Bash and jumped to his feet, eyes going wide.

  “Bash, stay inside.” His voice was low, urgent. “Nora told me to keep you in there.”

  Bash hesitated, “Why?”

  “Something about morale, dude. I don't know.” Luis glanced around nervously. “If they see their new lord all burnt to shit, it'll make people sad or whatever. Just go back.”

  Bash wanted to argue. Wanted to march over to the main tent and sit with his people and share in their suffering. But Luis looked genuinely worried. And if Nora had given the order, there wasn’t anything to do about it.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  He sighed. Fine. If he couldn't help out there, he'd at least make himself useful in here. Lying slowly back down, Bash pulled up his full stat sheet.

  He was close to max level again. Too close. They needed to finish the Village Hall soon so he could set his spawn point. Otherwise, his next Remort would slap him right back in Noob Town. Right back in the jaws of that 2-ton fox-dog.

  Switching to the construction menu, Bash started shuffling priorities for the millionth time.

  It still didn’t make any sense. How was any of this possible with everyone on the walls fighting for their lives. Where was the progress coming from? Who was actually building everything? System fuckery, he thought. Don't question it.

  Next, Bash looked through Active Quests. He lingered on Save the Backups. The system or at least something important had acknowledged it was possible.

  His eyes drifted to the other quest. Collect 10 Wolf Pelts. He was tempted. Really tempted. The dire wolves were right there. Big ones too. Pelts the size of blankets. But those fuckers could talk. And apparently had opinions.

  “Shai.” He rubbed his temples. “Hey. Questions. Lots of questions.”

  > “I'm listening.”

  “What the hell is with the talking dogs? And can I fly or what?”

  > “If you bothered to use your skills, you could figure it out on your own. You know, you tend to forget stuff that you learned and then never mention it again for some reason.”

  He hated when she was right. Focusing, he activated Investigator and peered through the tent walls. The skill let him see tags and metadata floating above everyone in range.

  Bash stopped, and backed up. “They aren't even wolves!” He sputtered. “They're werewolves!”

  Scanning again, he checked to make sure. Yup, there they were. Werewolf. Werewolf. Werewolf. At least a dozen of them scattered around the camp, some walking on four legs, others two, like it was normal. Which, apparently, it was. “Why didn't anyone tell me?!”

  > “Welcome to today, Bash. Glad you finally made it. How was two weeks ago?”

  “Two weeks ago, you were a toaster! And my life was a lot better!” . . . Silence.

  “Oh no.” Bash grimaced. “I'm sorry. That one was bad. Like really bad.” . . . The tent remained quiet.

  ***

  Bash lay there, stewing in guilt staring at the canvas ceiling. He was getting bored. And antsy. Waiting in this tent while his people suffered without him was driving him crazy.

  He checked his skin again. The blisters were gone, replaced by fresh pink tissue. He peeled back the bandage on his side where the arrow had punched through. A puckered scar, still tender, but closed. The one on his shoulder was the same, this one raised and ugly, but healed.

  Cool scars, he thought. At least he'd have something to show for it.

  Pulling up the menu, he scrolled. Nothing useful. Pulled up skills. Read descriptions he'd already memorized. Closed it. Opened it again. Looked at the village interface, nothing has changed since the last ten times he had looked.

  God, he was bored.

  Bash could hear sounds from outside. Footsteps. Voices. A child was crying. The smell of smoke drifted through the tent flap. His people were out there, hurting, and he was stuck in here like a kid grounded in his room.

  Screw this, I’ve waited long enough. Bash stood, unwrapping the bandages and dropping them into a pile. Throwing open the flap to his tent he strode out.

  Luis turned around, already talking. “Seriously, man, Nora told you to stay…” He trailed off, jaw hanging open. “Sweet Mary! How the hell?!”

  Bash walked past him. “Remember. I'm a badass.”

  Luis scrambled to catch up as Bash headed straight for the large medical tent. He could hear it before he saw it. Shouting. Moaning. Someone screaming in a way that made his stomach clench.

  Stopping outside the entrance, Bash gulped. The last time he'd tried to help, he'd made it worse. Burned a man, killed a woman by moving her.

  Good intentions, terrible results. His entire life story.

  This time he'd follow orders. Do exactly what he was told. Nothing more. He squared his shoulders and marched in, leaving Luis standing outside.

  The smell hit him first. Blood and sweat and something burnt. The tent was chaos. Cots everywhere, packed too close together. Nurses running between them. Beastmasters holding down thrashing patients while others worked.

  Some people turned to look at him. Gawking. Whispering. Bash ignored them and found the nearest nurse. “Put me to work.”

  She just stared at him.

  “Put me to work. Please.” He repeated, more gently.

  She nodded and led him to a cot near the back. A Beastmaster lay there, face pale, teeth gritted, a leather strap between his jaws. His left leg was a mangled mess below the knee. Two nurses held him down while a third prepared a saw. “Hold him,” the nurse said.

  Bash moved into position and pressed down on the man's shoulders. The Beastmaster's eyes were wild, darting everywhere.

  “Hey.” Bash locked eyes with him. “Stay strong. What's your name?”

  The man spat out the leather strap. “Daniel,” he whimpered.

  “Tell me about yourself, Daniel. You have kids?”

  “Yes.” His voice cracked. “My family. They're still alive. Still in the real world. Outside.”

  “Think about them.” Bash spoke gently. “Think about seeing them again. Picture their faces. You hear me?”

  Daniel nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks. The saw bit into bone and he screamed into the leather strap. Bash held him down and didn't look away.

  When it was done, Bash moved on. He helped a nurse clean blood off the floor with rags and a bucket of water that turned red within minutes. He held another patient down while they dug an arrowhead out of his shoulder. He sat with a young Beastmaster who couldn't have been older than sixteen, talking to him about nothing while the kid shook and cried.

  He learned names. Heard stories. A man named Thomas who used to be a chef before his upload. A teenager named Finn who had never even kissed a girl. Real people. All of them.

  After a while, Nora appeared at his side. “I need you, Bash.” Her voice was flat. Exhausted. “Come with me.”

  He nodded and followed her outside.

  She stopped a few feet from the tent entrance and turned to face him. Without a word, she placed her hands on either side of his face and cast a spell. Green light flowed from her palms, scanning him.

  She stepped back. Her expression shifted from tired to confused to something else entirely. “How?”

  Bash shrugged. “I spent points on Constitution. Apparently it's a really good stat.”

  She slapped him, hard, before walking back into the tent without another word.

  Would you have slapped Bash if you were Nora?