Jack rushed to the window to see what had exploded just outside, but Olric was already moving. The farmer blurred to the door and was outside into the fading light of dusk in less time than Jack had to stand up.

  He peered out of the foggy glass, but even with the obscured vision and poor lighting, it was obvious what had happened. A portion of the fence had exploded. How it had happened was a mystery to him, but he could see the smoldering edges of the long planks with little trouble. As he watched, figures started to appear from the cropline. It started with just two. They were short and hunched over, and moved with an awkward shamble that reminded Jack of how crabs walked.

  Then three more appeared. Then five.

  They moved quickly and were making a beeline for the fresh opening in Olric’s fence. A thin beam of sunlight caught the lead figure, and he finally got a good look at them.

  He cursed. Orcs.

  Orcs were raiding Olric’s farm.

  Jack counted fifteen total. His eyes darted to the shroud wall that acted as a backdrop to this evening’s raid. Had it gotten closer? He knew he’d been unconscious for the past few days, but surely it hadn’t moved in so short a time. To be fair, he had no frame of reference for its progress, and whether this was normal or not. Still, seeing it encroach on where humanity was surviving drove a hot stake of anger deep into his chest, and he felt his torso grow warm.

  Through the glass, he saw Olric waiting patiently for the fifteen orcs to approach, nothing but that thin knife he’d used to cut herbs and vegetables in his grip.

  Jack cursed again. The farmer might’ve been level 42—which was leagues higher than his own—but Jack didn’t care if he was level 100. He wasn’t about to leave anyone to face those monsters on their own. And what would he do? Watch from the windows and relative safety of the house while someone else risked their lives for him?

  Jack was moving before three seconds had passed.

  The mechanic from Earth steeled his nerves and rushed out the open door. He took a left around the corner of the lodge, moving quickly despite his bare feet and the chill bite to the air outside.

  “Character sheet,” Jack whispered quickly.

  The screen blinked to life instantly as he finished rounding the corner.

  Based on his current stats, he should lean into his strength and perception. He wasn’t going to be quick. Not yet. But he could fight smart. That wasn’t new. He’d always been slower than most of his sparring partners or the thugs his dad would bring home.

  I can do this. I can fix this.

  He would not leave Olric alone.

  He would face those nightmares, come what may.

  Jack turned the final corner and rushed to stand next to Olric. If the farmer was surprised to see him, he didn’t show it. All the old man gave him was a simple nod that seemed to accept Jack’s decision to fight, but gave nothing away as to his opinion.

  It honestly annoyed Jack a bit. He would’ve preferred a shout to get back inside, or a word of gratitude. Something! Instead, he got a nod from the stoic corn enthusiast.

  The pale lead orc stepped over the wrecked fence, which continued to smolder and fizzle with orange and blue light.

  That’s odd, Jack thought. Could it be a part of those wards Olric mentioned?

  He didn’t think now was a good time to ask.

  “Zharakek, thrakul! ‘Akor kro-lakhul zul kro-zharak Zul-Khor ‘akorl-eth vorgulkh. Grakek thulgar-gral!” the orc shouted in that guttural language they used.

  Olric tilted his head to one side and spat on the ground. The iron knife in his grip drank in what little light remained outside. Its edge looked sharp, but it was tiny compared to the cornucopia of rust-red weapons the orcs brought with them. He spotted spears, curved machetes, a few maces, and several flails.

  What is it with orcs and whips?! Jack wondered, feeling his throat grow dry.

  He unconsciously rubbed at his forearm, remembering what one such flail felt like when embedded in his skin.

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  Lean into strength and perception, he reminded himself. Watch them. Look for weaknesses.

  He studied his opponents. And then, with a thin flicker of light, he could see their levels and names, and he felt quite ridiculous for not using his new skill sooner.

  Right. I’m in a land of magic. Use the magic, Jack.

  [Orc Scout - Level 10]

  [Orc Tormentor - Level 11]

  [Orc Archer- Level 9]

  Jack studied each one, reading their red nameplates with the focus of a student the night before their big exam. He read the leader’s nameplate last, feeling a chill gnaw its way into his gut.

  [Orc sorcerer - Level 15]

  He cursed, earning a raised eyebrow from Olric. The average level of the orcs was about 10, but a level 15 magic user sounded like the worst sort of luck for him. Sure, Olric was a high-level, but he was just one man with a vegetable knife. Worse, he was a farmer! What could he do against a sorcerer?

  Jack knew this wasn’t some fairytale. People who worked with their hands all day might have some coordination, but that simply did not translate to combat finesse. He remembered watching one of his coworkers throw a punch. The man would’ve rivaled most bodybuilders and had the knack for cars like no one else he knew.

  But when he’d thrown that punch at the bar, it had been wide, sloppy, and slow.

  And that was just one example in a long line that Jack could think of. There was no substitute for good fighting technique.

  “Mind if I use the knife?” Jack asked, rolling out his shoulders and getting into a low fighting stance.

  Olric finally looked at him in full—a fact the sorcerer did not seem to appreciate. The farmer raised the other eyebrow.

  “Well, I do mind, in fact. Know how to use one from that fancy planet of yours?” he asked, skepticism plain and loud in his tone.

  “Yes, actually,” Jack insisted, feeling some heat rise to his cheeks.

  Around them, the fifteen orcs growled and bit at the air, spreading out until they were entirely surrounded. Jack instinctively put his back to Olric, giving the man enough space to move without running the risk of tripping over each other once the fight started.

  “Well, normally, I’d be all for letting a young’un have at it. But seeing as they got themselves a wee little magic user, and you just woke up from nearly dying. How about I take the lion’s share this time ‘round?” Olric didn’t sound arrogant. Just tired.

  Still, his words worried him. He was way too calm for this. Was it his levels? Did that many levels really make up for so much of this man’s confidence?

  Olric addressed the orcs, his voice sharper than the knife he held. “I see you’ve gotten bolder since the last time we danced. You’ve finally made it past my wards, and are now hungry for blood, am I right? Well, let me make one thing abundantly clear, you slime-sucking dirtwards. You may have us surrounded, but trust me. You’re the ones that just got fenced in.”

  The old man raised a single hand and snapped his fingers. There was a crackle of energy in the air, and a blue shield buzzed to life around the entire house, boxing them inside with the orcs. It was painfully bright, but it seemed to be magnitudes worse for the orcs. They shrieked and raised arms and weapons to cover their eyes.

  Outside the shield, each fence post that circumferenced the farmhouse burned with an identical blue energy. Thin arcs of energy rode the wind in fraying beams to connect and compose the shield. The posts reminded Jack of tesla coils.

  But he didn’t let the spectacle of magic at work distract him too much. For the moment the shield exploded to life, so did Olric. He was in front of the sorcerer in that same blurring motion that he’d used to exit the house.

  Is that a skill he has, or is that just raw stats at work? Jack wondered while he too sprinted—considerably slower—to his first target. He picked out the weakest of the bunch: the level 9 archer.

  Strength. Perception.

  He knew how to employ the first. Hit harder. And with his resilience where it was, he hoped his skin and bones were durable enough to endure the damage his muscles could now likely do.

  But perception? Where did he start? Had he wasted a stat by investing into it?

  He worried for a grand total of two heartbeats. The moment he reached his target, and the orc attempted to swing his bow at him, he could feel the difference. The movement looked slower. Obvious. Telegraphed. He could see where it was going, and even got a gut-sense of how much the orc was committing to the wild strike, which was everything it had.

  If this is what perception offers, I’m going to have to invest a LOT. And if what Olric said is true and it scales with practice and perception, I’m going to seriously reconsider the build I usually go for.

  In video games, stats like perception were always a waste. They boosted the ability to see traps or hidden treasures, but you could find those same things with just a bit of effort and understanding of game design, so Jack had never bothered.

  But here? When it was his body getting enhanced?

  Jack couldn’t help it. He laughed.

  It was a wild and free sound, cutting through the manic shrieks of the monsters seeking their deaths.

  With next to no effort, he ducked under the horizontal blow. His first fist connected with the creature’s chin, rocking its head back with such force he could hear his teeth snap and fracture under the blow. His second rocketed forward with all the strength he could muster. It caved into the archer’s sternum, right where his diaphragm met his abdomen.

  The creature, for its part, seemed to have invested quite a bit in dexterity, as it did move out of the way. But with his surprise attack, the shield’s disorienting effect, and the sheer ease with which Jack read his movements, Jack had already adjusted his second fist accordingly.

  It wasn’t perfect, but it had been enough.

  The monster flew back, and Jack’s luck held strong as the archer had the misfortune of falling directly onto a squatting orc’s shortsword. It spluttered and coughed once. Twice.

  [Level 9 Orc Archer slain - 1,800 EXP gained]

  Unlike before, where these combat notifications were pale white text that floated and disappeared from his vision like subtitles. Out here, away from the shroud, the notification showed the standard pale blue screen. It was still minimalistic and didn’t distract him overly much, but it drew his attention just enough to notice the second, far more important notification.

  [Congratulations! You have reached Level 3! 5 AP gained.]

  A mace swung for his head, and it was all he could do to avoid the skull-splitting strike. He really wanted to pull up his character sheet then and there to invest his new AP, but knew in his bones that it would be a mistake. Not that it wouldn’t heavily benefit him, but that even a moment’s distraction in this fight could cost him his life. Recent success aside, he was still horribly underleveled for this fight.

  So, without letting the elation fog his mind too much, he chose his next target and decided the mace wielder who tried to kill him would be an excellent place to start.