Jack couldn’t breathe.

  His eyes darted left to right, looking and hoping for something—anything—to take him out of this nightmare. He found nothing. Nothing save the pity of an old man.

  “Hey, breathe, Jack. Breathe,” Olric said soothingly.

  Jack didn’t know when the farmer had navigated across the room, but before he knew it, he was being directed by the shoulders to sit on the couch.

  “There ya go, kid. Relax. There ya go. That’s it.”

  Olric’s accent was thick with a rural twang, reminding Jack of a Texan he met when he was in high school.

  But unlike Olric, the guy had been a 65-year-old substitute teacher, forced out of retirement when he got scammed out of his Social Security.

  He’d always looked so sad to Jack. Even back then, he knew enough to know the man was living without any hope, just waiting to die. His name eluded him, but it had been something like Mr. Jameson.

  Jack felt like Mr. Jameson. Like the rug had been pulled out from beneath him, and sent reeling into a bleak future, absent all hope.

  Some part of his mind—the part that hadn’t been consumed with surviving his first few moments on Aethros—had just assumed he’d get help. A tutorial, a wizened old ranger to teach him the ropes, or even an appropriately mysterious wizard. Hell, he’d take an annoying fairy telling him to listen all the time.

  But no. Like Mr. Jameson, he had nothing to fall back on now, and all because some idiot screwed him over.

  Jack collected his breath.

  “How did he ruin everything?” Jack asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

  “Come again?” Olric asked.

  Jack leveled his red-rimmed eyes at the farmer. “You said the previous Banisher ruined everything. How? What did he do?”

  “Oh. That,” Olric replied, looking sheepish. “Well, it was about two hundred odd years ago, but he came like all you lot did. All bright-eyed and eager to set the world right again. Don’t know his name. It’s been scratched from all the history books—another gift from our dear friends, the Truthbinders.”

  Olric straightened up from his crouched position in front of Jack and sat on the edge of the side table. It creaked slightly under his weight, but otherwise held the tall man.

  “What I do know is that he sped through the early phases of his questline, using all manner of help from Kieheart and a few other nations.” Olric’s tone turned as cold and unforgiving as granite. “But when the bastard got to the fortress set in the deepest throws of the shroud, he was seen enterin’, then seen runnin’ right on out just an hour later. Didn’t even have the good sense to die at the hands of the foul king himself. Well, after that, the shroud advanced as it always does. But without the Banisher’s light, all we humans could do was delay it with our blood. With our deaths. Now, it’s nearly consumed every inch of Aethros. We’re a husk of what we once were, and it’s all that damned fool’s fault.”

  Jack digested the new information, feeling an echo of Olric’s bitterness ignite in his own chest. Curious about something the farmer said, he tilted his head to the side.

  “You mentioned a questline? And a king of the shroud? Is that common knowledge? Why not send an elite force to that fortress and kill the guy?” Jack asked.

  “Oh, kid, you think we didn’t try that?” Olric let out a mirthless chuckle. “Many went. Our best, save the Banisher, of course. None came back, and the shroud moved ever onward, swallowing home and hearth with equal abandon. But I guess you wouldn’t know why we haven’t tried since.”

  Olric cracked his knuckles and massaged his wrists, looking like he needed the distraction while he explained the next part. “There’s a king of the shroud, alright. He has many names, but I prefer his oldest one: the Blight King. Fits him, if ya ask me. He curses and corrupts all that he touches. Been humanity’s adversary since Ardent only knows, but without the Banisher, his shroud went largely unchecked. It’s how he gains powers, by our best guesses. And the main reason the Banisher is so damned important isn’t just for that fancy light only you got.”

  He pointed a finger at Jack’s chest. “No, sir. The Banishers are the only ones who get the unique quest for slaying the Blight King. Without that system-enforced progress, ain’t no way in the seven shades of hell to get close to the bastard, much less deprive his shoulders of that bony head of his.”

  “So, I have that quest? How do I check?” But before Olric could answer, Jack focused on that same sensation as pulling up his character sheet, except this time he focused on the idea of a quest page, or something similar.

  A sheet appeared before his eyes, identical in substance to the character sheet. But as he suspected, this one said, “QUESTS” in fancy lettering. There were several tabs too, but all but one were grayed out. He read them over quickly.

  [Banisher Unique Quest]

  [World Quests]

  [Class Quests]

  [Side Quests]

  He opened the one labeled ‘Banisher Unique Quest’ and read over the scrolling script. It was lined with golden filigree and odd detailing that screamed self-indulgent importance. But for Jack, all he could focus on were the three lines of text.

  ╔══════════════════════════════╗

  ║ QUEST OBJECTIVES          ║

  ╠══════════════════════════════╣

  ║                    ║

  ║ ? Discover the secret fortress       ║

  ║ of the orcs within the           ║

  ║ nearby voidlands. [0/1]          ║

  ║                   ║

  ║ ? Kill a majority of the Orc Army [3/350]   ║

  ║                    ║

  ║ ? Slay the Orc General Flakerash [0/1]    ║

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  ║                    ║

  ╚══════════════════════════════╝

  Jack sat down and leaned heavily into the couch’s worn cushions.

  “Well, shit,” Jack muttered under his breath.

  All the anger and adrenaline he’d built up faded in a single sigh.

  “That bad, huh? What’s the difficulty at now?” Olric asked conversationally.

  “The what?” Jack said, his eyes unfocused.

  “The quest difficulty. It should be right past the objectives. I know it scales with your level, but I can’t imagine it’s anything less than Veteran right now,” Olric stated.

  He glanced out of one of the farmhouse’s many windows. It was getting late, as the sun was casting longer and longer shadows through the warm lodge.

  Jack barely heard him, but some part of him stirred with idle curiosity. When he read the text just beneath the quest objectives, his heart stopped.

  [Quest Difficulty: INFERNAL]

  [Quest Rewards: Legendary Item, 200,000 EXP, 1,000 Gold, Character Unique Skill]

  “It says infernal,” Jack said numbly. “Is that the highest?”

  Olric let out another short bark of a laugh. “Blood and boil me, kid, that’s bad. Really bad.” He drew out the final two words like they were taffy. “But technically, no. ‘Hellfire’ is the worst. Then, working in reverse order, it’s infernal, veteran, hard, medium, easy, and mundane.”

  The farmer continued to stare out of the window, his attention split between their life-crushing conversation and something outside. The last bit of sunset was fading behind a distant hill. There was a hiss of water coming into contact with flame, and Olric cursed. He moved quickly to his cauldron, which was bubbling over with a repulsive purple liquid. He calmly moved the cauldron off the stove fire with his bare hands and settled it into a metallic cradle by the sink.

  “What are the objectives and rewards, then? Let’s hear ‘em. Been dyin’ to know what the system thinks is most important to start savin’ us from total annihilation,” the weathered man commented dryly while he dried off the edges of the simmering cauldron with a brown cloth.

  “I’ve got to find the orc fortress, kill 350 of them, and then slay the orc general, Flakerash,” Jack explained quietly, his thoughts static and mud all at once in his head. “But I’ll apparently get a legendary item, a crap ton of EXP, a small treasure trove, and something called a ‘character unique skill.’”

  Olric hadn’t reacted much to the objectives or reward until Jack listed the final one. His head whipped toward Jack, and he stood up so suddenly the frostmint wobbled in its pot.

  “Say that again,” Olric demanded.

  “What’s so good about a character-unique skill? I mean, I can infer it’s probably rare, but how is that going to help me right now?” Jack answered sullenly.

  “So good? So…” Olric bit off what he was about to say. “Lad, that is, by far, the most generous quest reward I’ve ever heard of. As in, I’ve never heard of a quest reward like that. Character unique skills are the most powerful rewards to ever come from the system. They are perfectly aligned with one’s progress and potential. A class can get close, but they’re categories for a reason. They can never fully encompass who you are and what you are becoming. But a unique skill like that… It’s catered directly to you. And they’re usually overpowered as the seven hells, to boot!”

  “So… They’re good?” Jack asked, feeling a faint smile return to his face.

  “Yeah,” Olric exclaimed. “They’re good, alright.”

  “Okay, but how do I manage all of the objectives? I’m going to need weapons, armor, and anything enchanted this town can spare. How hard is it to get that stuff out here? I’ll work for it, obviously, but I’ll need at least something decent before going out in that hellhole again.” Jack was feeling a little better.

  He had a goal. It was a ridiculously impossible goal, but a direction to move toward nevertheless. And with that, he could subdivide the issue into manageable parts.

  Get gear.

  Get stronger.

  Level up.

  Find the fortress.

  Whittle down the orc horde numbers.

  Find a way to kill their general.

  He could do that. Yeah! He could manage all of that, given a few months. He could–

  “Ain’t going to be that simple, kid,” Olric said. “Don’t matter how earnest ya are about workin’ for them either. You don’t get the whole picture yet.” He took a steadying breath and folded his arms over his thick torso. “The Red Knights are the only ones allowed by law to carry weapons of any kind. Anything bigger than a knife or rarer than ‘uncommon’ is confiscated by their armies, and the one caught wielding or dealing is usually strung up.”

  “How do I level up, then? Is there another way to get EXP besides killing stuff?” Jack inquired.

  “Well, you can always level up skills. Won’t give ya more attributes usually, but skill levels are what really separate the wheat from the chaff. But no, there’s no other way besides quests to gain levels. Side quests, I guess, but no one wants to take those,” Olric added with a small wave of his hand.

  Jack leaned back again and rested the back of his head against the rim of the couch. He let out a long, deep sigh.

  Eyes clenched shut, he said, “So, you’re telling me that the Red Knights are the only military force left? All the remaining kingdoms just let them run rampant, trusting them to do what? Stop the shroud? How well is that going for them? And what about the townsfolk? Are they just supposed to wait and hope the Red Knights benevolently rescue them while they wallow about in the low levels? What kind of messed-up world is this?!”

  “A desperate one, boy! And it’s the only one we’ve got! We aren’t so blessed to have another one to run back to should this one burn.” Olric spoke with an angry, yet controlled, clip. “The Red Knights came about as a response to your kind giving up on us. No, it ain’t perfect, and they got their fair share of bastards, but at least they’re trying. They fight and bleed and die so that we can live on just a little bit longer.”

  Jack remembered Derrick’s war cry. ‘Bleed for the fallen. Bleed for the free.’

  He opened his eyes and took in Olric for what felt like the first time. The man was proud. Not blindly so, but he stood tall as he spoke. After a long moment, Jack nodded his head in silent apology. Some of Olric’s tension evaporated, and he returned the nod from where he stood by the kitchen.

  The mechanic still wasn’t convinced the Red Knights were good. Hell, save for Barnaby, he’d had only horrible interactions with them. Myrtle’s swinging corpse flashed in his mind.

  No, he wasn’t about to be their fans anytime…ever.

  But he understood a bit where the farmer was coming from. They’d been abandoned, and did the best they could with a bad situation. He knew the feeling. It didn’t justify their behavior, but he understood it now. Still, the part about confiscating all weapons bothered him. It sounded eerily similar to what the Germans did during the Third Reich, just before they started their nightmarish crusade.

  “Okay. So, I can’t get proper gear,” Jack said, but he was mostly talking to himself. Still, Olric nodded along as he worked out this new information. “Not without getting shanked for illegal weapon bearing. I can’t gain levels without combat or questing. I can’t complete this main quest without gear. I can work on my skills, so that might be a good place to start. But I’ll still be eaten alive by those more powerful orcs if I’m stuck at level 2.”

  He furrowed his brows. “Hey, how’d you know I was level 2, anyway? For that matter, how is it people seem to know levels and names and stuff like that?”

  Olric chuckled and shook his head. “Right. You’re a babe when it comes to Aethrian knowledge. Nothin’ to be ashamed of. It’s a simple skill, really. Just focus on me and squint your eyes a bit. Focus on who I am and try to imagine my name, level, and anything else you might glean from a glance. The skill scales with your perception stat and practice, of course. But it’s somethin’ we all get as toddlers, so it should come naturally.”

  “Thanks,” Jack retorted with a grin. “I’ll try to outdo my competition.”

  He studied Olric, who waited patiently. He focused his attention and thoughts on him—on who he was, what his level might be, his name, and anything else about him. It took nearly a full minute of dedicated squinting, but then his vision buzzed at the same moment he received a notification.

  [Skill learned: Inspect]

  [Inspect: Level 1. Rank: Novice]

  When the fuzziness faded from his vision, he could clearly and plainly read a line of text hovering over Olric’s head.

  [Olric Stormbrow - Level 42]

  The moment he turned away, it disappeared, and it took a few seconds of concerted effort to bring it back up again. That was good. Jack didn’t know if he could take people seriously in a conversation if he was constantly glancing up at their names and levels.

  Still, this made a world of difference.

  “42? That’s insane! How’d you manage that? Turnips turn rogue, or did someone repeatedly destroy your cabbages?” Jack asked.

  “Good. It works. You’re officially on par with a three-year-old,” Olric said, ignoring the question. “Now, you mentioned leveling up your skills, which means ya got some. Which ones ya got so far?”

  Before Jack could answer, an explosion rocked the house.