Server Change

Server Change.

By Shaddoth

Copyright © 2021 Shaddoth

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quota law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

First printing edition 2021.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1:

After placing the dishes in the sink, I returned outside to turn off the grill. Feeling down, I walked to my computer and hooked up the VR set. Hero World Online announced today that service was ending in thirty days after seven years of mostly flawless and enjoyable service.

Regretfully, only a few of my online friends remained until the end, and even I only played after work one hour a night before bed. Mostly, my online time was spent talking to friends from around the world with the occasional mission or raid thrown in for spice. My avatar had been pretty famous at its height and I still received daily requests to join random teams.

When I initially started playing, I had no idea that a Dark Fighter was a class that wasn’t well received. The concept was good, but the mechanics were a little difficult in VR, and what was worse was that the build was low damage for a fighter class. Even with its fast attack speed, it wasn’t the fastest of the frontline builds. Dark Melee came in second to the Ninja build when it came to attack speed. The accuracy debuff wasn’t high enough to be useful; even though that debuff stacked with successive attacks, the debuff became useful only against bosses who were the only ones that lasted long enough for it to count. But of those bosses, in the later stages of the game, some had skills to counter debuffs or remove them in their entirety as we progressed past level 40.

All other fighter types gained good defensive power sets. Even the next weakest fighter gained a passive that was good for a guaranteed dodge, or complete damage avoidance 10 to 20 percent of the time, depending on level, on a regular basis, or even a hundred percent for the highest levels against a planned single attack.

Dark Fighters only had increased regeneration, Regen. But they enjoyed the strongest status resistance of all classes, the sole saving grace of the Dark Fighter. Holds, immobilizations, slows, and petrifications were mostly ignored unless a Boss or greater was the one behind the attack. We didn’t have damage mitigation or avoidance at all, which is why 95% of the players that tried the class never lasted past level 21.

Because of the lack of damage mitigation or natural avoidance, I learned how to move in VR better than all my friends and associates, who tended to let their toon do all of the work. Even with the pain receptors set at a minimum, there was still some feedback, encouraging me to improve. Through sheer determination, ability, and skill, I was able to surpass my friends and Guildies, even though I played the worst class in the game.

All other classes received their ultimate attack at level 35: such as sniper shot for archers, high damage area of effect spells for mages, Thunder strikes for tanks, and alpha strikes for fighters and assassins. Dependent on the class, all of those attacks boosted the base damage of those skills between six to ten times. Even the healers received Overheal at 35. Unfortunately, the Dark fighters only received a fourth strong attack: Dark Crush.

Despite all the jeering for the lack of Alpha Strike, I was thrilled with it. An attack that did both physical and darkness element damage, which included a two second full Hold with a successful hit. It was a half-step Alpha, doing little more than quadruple base damage, plus the attack was combined with hold, the rarest player skill in the game. What was even more amazing was that the hold worked on everything and everyone every time.

Within a week of me getting that skill, the Hold duration was nerfed to a single second for Bosses and half second duration on Overbosses. Still, plenty of time to disrupt their actions.

What no one realized was that level 38 unlocked Dark Fighter’s lifeblood. A strong level, point blank area of effect (PbAoE) attack centered on the toon. Since I was the number one ranked Dark Fighter at that time, by over eight levels, though I wasn’t even ranked in the top 10000 server-wide, I, and I alone, unlocked the skill of Quickened Embrace. Dumb name, awesome skill. Quickened Embrace was a fifteen-foot-radius attack, centered on me, that stole health and transferred that health to me from each and every enemy the dark sphere touched. The skill damaged everyone not in my party and transferring the full amount of damage dealt in the form of health to myself.

A vampiric point blank AoE.

When I revealed my new skill to my Guild, they were outraged. It was the first and only true AoE skill that did real damage from a fighter class even if it was only a point-blank area of effect. The rest had short range cones or spot area AoE’s, such as the Ninja’s Poison Grenade, depending on the specific class.

What was even worse to my Guildies, on top of being a regeneration defensive set, if three or more foes were caught in the blast, which was a given unless I was fighting a Boss, that skill could instantly heal me completely regardless of the level of my health. Even then, almost all Bosses and every single Overboss spawned mobs when fighting them.

When the time came, I never added points to damage on that skill, just one to accuracy, and the rest went into recharge. As with all my other Dark Skills, the accuracy debuff was included. Thus, making it easier to survive masses of higher-level attackers at once, especially with my reckless playing style.

At level 41, my ultimate defensive skill was unlocked. I chose Godlike Regen, or SuperRegen, and never looked back. Once per five minutes, my regeneration rate skyrocketed by 1000%. I could be near invincible from that skill alone. The downside of that skill was immunity to all outside heals and buffs during its activation until thirty seconds after the skill ended. I had to be careful during Overboss fights, since my status effect resistance would completely disappear along with the buff immunity for fifteen seconds after the skill ended.

A small price to pay for being unkillable for thirty seconds.

SuperRegen had a short active duration of thirty seconds, which in long boss fights was minuscule. Some Overbosses could take up to twenty minutes to defeat with a full team of six players. By adding points at later levels, I brought the recharge rate down to three minutes by the time I was level forty-five. Precision timing and activation was necessary only for certain Overbosses by the time I became level fifty.

At level forty-six, I unlocked some odd skill choices, but since I felt pretty complete, I chose a fun one. Horror Touch. Extreme status strength and a very slow recharge rate. I felt it could be fun in the few PvP matches I played around in. By then, I mostly played against friends while killing time, waiting for someone to show when we ran team missions or boss hunts. Little did I realize that it was a cheat skill. For five full seconds the target was unable to activate any attack skill The target was restricted to passive defenses only. This usually ended up with the target trying to run away. Horror Touch even worked against Bosses for two seconds and Overbosses for one second.

At level fifty, I had a choice between increasing damage output or boosting my Regen. I chose a twenty percent passive bonus to all healing skills, along with a twenty percent bonus to stamina, both active and passive. I became nearly unkillable, outlasting all but the most skilled tanks in Overboss battles.

The day I hit level fifty, I jumped from unlisted in ranking to 100 in PvP server rankings. Not that I really cared about PvP, but I was goaded by my Guildmaster into destroying an unsuspecting rival Guildmaster. The forfeit was a server announcement stating that the other Guildmaster was ‘the best’, and paid for by the loosing GM. The server announcements weren’t that expensive with in-game currency. But bragging rights were golden.

Even knowing the final strength of the Dark Fighter, few followed my path. Hero World was mostly a pure fun game. There were no money warriors that played our game, just a standard monthly fee to play. Characters were even locked to the creator’s bio-signatures so the players were unable to give away their toons to someone else when they quit.

There was no real equipment in the game either, just drops to aid the functionality of the Guild or cosmetics, usually clothing. Both were extremely rare. In-game money, WorldBux, which could only be earned by doing quests, was used for food, clothes, informants, admission to special events, and other miscellaneous items like gifts or seasonal admission to activities. The format was explicitly stated to attract players with a mindset of cooperation in a less stressful environment compared to high intensity competitive VR games where professional leagues spawned.

Hero World was built for the casual gamer. Serious gamers never stayed long.

The in game atmosphere, while slightly competitive in some aspects, became more and more friendly as time passed. As long as one tried, everything other than quick leveling was available. When I first was introduced to HW, it was the best type of game at the time. I was a freshman in college and needed a diversion while my broken leg healed from an auto accident. Since my mobility was limited, I eagerly accepted a friend’s suggestion on joining for a pure fun distraction.

My parents didn’t object to the expenditure since I promised to deliver good grades. I kept my promises and they continued paying both my tuition and game fees. Even gifting me with a better VR console at Christmas in my junior year, when I made the Dean’s list.

…

After graduation I landed a job at Saussies, a manufacturer of generic candy. My job was to oversee production lines and regulate the ingredients of the end products. Candy. Since it was all monitored by computer anyway, I ended up monitoring the monitors. That, and mediate between the hotheads of the plant managerial staff and the sticks in the mud. I wasn’t considered management since I had no one under me, even with a dotted line, nor was I considered labor.

In no time at all, both blue and white collars used me unscrupulously to settle their disputes. Not that I minded since the added duties gave me something to do besides Solitaire. We all recognized that HR was comprised of a Shrew and her nepotism cronies. Miss Sauss, being the founder’s Great Granddaughter, made herself feel entitled to lording her relationship to the founder over everyone else.

Because of my unique position of having only one real boss, which was the plant manager, and no real underlings, the Shrew ignored me. The vacuum she created from lack of care for anyone outside of her HR department fell to me as the only acknowledged impartial person in the plant.

Last month, when the plant manager, a twenty-year member of the Saussies ‘team’, tried to ‘rearrange’ some extraneous personnel, half the plant took a sick day. My office with its bank of monitors became the impromptu meeting room for the two sides. A week later, three old-timers decided to take the offered buyout, and a floor supervisor, his nephew, and four of the kid’s buddies with now ‘un-fabricated’ attendance issues were released from employment. Not that it showed on their records, it was just the wording that made people happier.

The Saturday morning before the event, I received a large reinforced package at home. A new, top of the line comp/VR unit arrived on my porch with a simple card attached, “Thanks for your hard work.” No signature. It wasn’t cash, so not taxable either. I enjoyed the appreciation and thought that went into the gift from the old man who everyone knew still had his pulse on the plant.

I calibrated the headset, gloves, booties, throat mic, and heart stickers, which monitored all the user’s vitals, and then logged into Hero World Online for the last time, even if I didn’t know it.

The feedback jolt was a great deal stronger than I was used to on the old system. When my eyes, still stinging from the sudden attack, refocused, I witnessed rows of trees before me instead of my quarters in the Ely Guild, my default spawn point and home away from home these last years in the Hero World. Turning three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, I viewed my surroundings. Forest to the east with the rising sun cresting the distant trees and wheat fields to the west as far as the eye could see.

Huh, did the authentication server send me to the wrong game? I was amazed by the difference in settings.

I had to admit that the graphics and tactile input were astonishingly realistic. I couldn’t even discern any pixilation nor image degradation at the furthest distances.

Was this CNGames new beta that everyone was talking about?

I even caught myself breathing and feeling the gentle breeze from the north.

Since I was here, I decided to wander around and experience the new game for a while. Both super speed and hovering were not listed on my skill bar when I brought it up. All of my other skills and abilities were there, though. Not really caring about the differences in the games, I activated all my passive and active defenses before jogging towards a small regular spot in the distance. Another difference in this game was that the slight greenish glow from my defensive powerset was not present. Something that had always accompanied the activation of my active defenses in Hero World.

Did I get ported to a test server accidentally? I don’t see anyone here.

My nose started tickling while I jogged to the slowly increasing dark square shape in the distance. Stopping, I smelled the flowers, dirt and wheat.

Wow!

I had never realized that VR had progressed this much in the newer games and that the senses were so significantly improved. More than just scent, touch and sight. The moist ground, the tickling of the nose, the horizon quality, all of it was too outstanding compared to HW. I hated to admit to myself that HW was ending for reasons other than declining sales. Even the bugs and birds looked and seemed real.

Bugs flew by and one landed on my arm. I reflexively brushed it off and Felt it! Both the insect landing on my arm and me brushing the annoying creature off.

This new game had a much higher sensory quality, I privately admitted to myself. Worriedly, I thought it was too high.

Way too high.

Disengaging first person view, I was curious to see the changes in my toon… Hmm, that option seemed to be not available in this game. The point of view remained in the first person. I could only look at the world through my toon’s eyes.

Looking my toon overly tight, burgundy leather pants, tucked into my buckled knee-high boots with a sleeveless ripped V-neck, black T, and black fingerless fighting gloves were all still equipped. My clothing choices were all the same as when I logged off, though the resolution did seem better. Too much better. Even the light hairs on my arms felt real when I brushed them, so too was the snug yet comfortable soft leather insides my boots and pants.

Lightly biting my arm, I felt the normal sensations of my teeth and lips, even the dampness of saliva that was never present in HW. A disturbing thought increased my consciousness. The fractal formation of a small group of birds at the tree line were overdone in my opinion. That a game needed single birds out of formation for extra realism, I thought, was a waste of processor power. The distinct bees, grasshoppers and other noisy insects were a great addition to the background noise, but again, excessively overboard.

The scenery was too perfect. Too realistic. Skin, touch, taste, smell, hairs, sights, and sounds, all were too perfect. A shiver of stark fear overcame me for a second or so at the thought that I was not in a VR.

Without an icon that could exit me from the simulation, or a help button, I headed out toward the square shadows in the distance.

Nearing the farmstead while lost in thought about the all too real game, IF it were even that, I made out three side buildings, possibly barns of some type, near a small house. Approaching the farmstead, I heard a strange barking in chorus. Hyenas?

Carefully peeking around the rear of the barn, I saw ten lion-sized, wolf-lion-hybrid creatures tearing apart something on the steps of the farmhouse. Pieces of entrails… I bent over, covering my mouth to hold back my vomit. The aftertaste of the acid remained while I silently choked.

Impossible… Bile?

After steeling myself, I braved another look. A person, maybe people, were was mostly ripped apart, there were even bits and pieces scattered in all directions. Two dark reddish-brown animals seemed to take turns guarding the area while the rest ate the shredded bodies. Bits of bloody brown cloth and viscera scattered the area.

Choking back another mouthful of bile, I checked the bottom left corner of my sight. My health and stamina indicators were absent, I guessed that I would have to rely on my own senses to determine my state of wellbeing. My skill tree was still available when I glanced at it, yet when all of my skill icons suddenly disappeared, I KNEW that the skills were all still with me and how to activate them.

I didn’t believe a few overlarge hyenas would be an issue.

No, I knew that the hyena-like beasts would be simple kills.

The two guardian hyenas crouched and growled warnings at my approach. Since I didn’t plan on stopping, a controlled sprint was the best option. The closest guardian hyena-hybrid met me half way, lunging at my head for the sure kill. A practiced twist to the left, followed by a Dark Jab, which was my weakest skill, but with an insanely fast recharge rate, turned the creature’s head into bloody mist. The rest of its body kept flying past without experiencing any of the kinetic force.

Dancing back, I gagged in disgust at the gore coating my arm. Two drops of blood even splashed on my face.

Eww… I had never been a fan of horror games or movies.

The rest of the overlarge hyenas stopped eating and singly started stalking and lunging at me, similar to wolves from the movies. Five more of the hyenas quickly died, each with pieces missing or gaps in their body’s showing for their failed efforts. The last four beasts fled at top speed when their leader with a silver striped mane fell as easily as the others to a single blow to the head.

As for myself, I was thoroughly disgusted by the smell, the blood, and pieces of flesh coating my gloves, arms and clothes.

The level of realism on this game was way too high!

Way too high. I was beyond worried.

I didn’t even want to imagine what my face looked like since my bodice was also lightly splattered with the gore.

The front door of the farmhouse opened revealing a club carrying middle-aged man with a teenaged boy behind him.

“Do you have a well around here that I can use to wash up?” I called out. I needed to get the grime washed off as soon as possible.

“Timmy, get the lass some soap and a bucket.” The kid disappeared. “Thank you for saving us, lass.” The farmer looked down in anguish at the bodies on the ground.

“Sorry that I wasn’t here earlier, sir.”

“Lass, I’m no knight,” he replied frowning. “Those damn Lords are good for nothing; we’ve complained for moons about those damn things and none set foot in this valley to aid us.”

The sixteen-year-old brick wall of a kid ran up to me with shining eyes, “Miss, here…” he ogled me before thrusting out the rough green soap and worn wooden bucket.

“Thanks, where can I find the well?”

“I’ll take you there,” the kid with creepy eyes said. Too eagerly.

“You will do no such thing. Get a blanket from ma and clean up Santo and Lynn. Lass, the stream is a quarter mile to the west.”

“Thanks, can I borrow a towel too?”

“Take a sheet off the line,” he gestured with his thumb over his left shoulder, all the while giving me odd looks. They weren’t the kind ‘that girl just killed a group of hyenas with her bare hands’ looks either. Definitely not the friendly type of farmer, even though I just saved his home.

With every passing second, this game was feeling less and less of a game. Once out of sight, I tried to logout again, unsuccessfully, still unable to find any icons. There weren’t even grayed out ones. The only icons I had left was my inventory and skill tree. No GM. No Help icons. Nothing besides supplementary icons…

Finding the stream was easy. Not trusting the people around me, I only took off my shirt and gloves while washing, with an eye on the farmstead. I did see a few people moving but they were too far away to discern.

Since I was washing, I checked out my body; HW was a PG game in practice. No naked bodies, no sex, only some cleaned up violence against cartoon-like over the top bad-guys. My skin was flawless, no blemishes, freckles, spots or discolorations. Even my hands were callous-free. The blood-red nail polish was perfect. Not even my ex ever had such an immaculate manicure. I understood right away, without looking, that the rest of me was similar.

Perfect.

That was expected from a game. Unless someone deliberately chose to be dirty, or add freckles, scars, or imperfections to their toon, the avatars would be as pretty as one could design or have one help them design. As a straight normal male, I preferred looking at female avatars in general. Watching a woman’s ass walk or run was much preferable to a man’s, from an isometric point of view from behind on a regular basis. That preference led me to play women in games since I was young.

I saw nothing wrong with looking at ladies’ butts while fighting villains.

Unless I ended up getting booted out on the eight-hour maximum government allowed time limit for VR games, I foresaw no way of ever returning to my real life. Unless a protagonist intentionally revealed themself.

I had seven more hours to play before being forced to admit that this was real. Or not. Experiencing this world might be fun until then. I could do with less gore though. Half-eaten corpses and exploding hyenas weren’t my cup of tea.

Still, I had a very bad feeling. This was no Virtual Reality that I had ever heard of.

+++

“Dad, she’s pretty. Even though she wears boys’ clothes. Can I have her?”

“Mudhead! That lass killed a wombums with a single strike. If you try her, she can do that to you.”

“But she is a girl. I not afraid of a girl.” Clang. The sound of cold forged iron reverberating off a too thick skull rang out from inside the two-story farm house. “Maa! What was that for?”

“Go to Hectors and fetch Mother Sang.”

“But ma…” Clang.

“Now.”

“K…” their youngest boy ran off, slamming the rear door behind him.

“And you, Thomas. Not a single ill thought from your muddle head either. That girl did us a good deed. Give her a coin or two and see her off.”

Humph… “Women in menswear. Disgusting. Even nobles would not do such a thing.”

+++

What am I going to do about money? I don’t think they would accept WorldBux. What was worse was that this stream was too realistic. The dynamic way that the fluid flowed was impossibly too realistic. Even the bits and pieces on me were too much. That level of gore on a non-horror game was unheard of. Those were just big hyenas, not even zombie ones…

My worry had grown into a sharp pang of fear.

Will I ever be able to log off…

Two girls in their early teens were using an odd broom/rake combo to clean up the courtyard. Both wore mid-calf length, short-sleeved peasant dresses with rope wrapped high waist. Even at their young age, the sun already started aging them from the time in the fields. Their overly tanned faces revealed the beginnings of dryness and parching. Sun weathering. A stark contrast from what I could see of my slightly tanned healthy arms.

Live hard, age fast, die young. Just like the old west…

The same older man, probably the farmstead patriarch, stood cross-armed on the house steps. “Hamlin is a four hour walk north. This is a token of the Honell’s gratitude.”

He tossed, short of throwing at me, a small leather pouch. Effortlessly catching the pouch while ignoring his inhospitably and the attitude of unwelcome, I pulled open the drawstrings and looked inside. The farmer’s back disappeared inside his house with the door closing behind the man even before I could look up and give my thanks.

Not having any other viable options, I took my sole monetary possession of this game, which felt less and less like one, of five copper coins the size of a dime with a 5mm hole centered, and headed north in search of this ‘Hamlin’. The pouch and coins disappeared into a one of my free inventory slots. A few of the others were filled with clothes, probably even less suitable for this world than the ones I was wearing, and Grape juice. It was a long-standing joke that no one could even buy the juice for the first two years of the game since the name wouldn’t pass the censors. Then it jokingly became a player’s favorite. The watery liquid even had a mildly dark grape taste.

Unlike in Hero World, the glass bottle of grape juice that I drank on the way to Hamlin did not disappear once consumed or taste mostly of water. Worrying about the bleak future, I recapped the half-consumed twelve-ounce bottle and stored it, only to refill it with water at the next stream after I tasted it for freshness.

I fervently hoped that when my eight hours were up the VR unit inside of my house would auto-disconnect me. In this world too much was inconsistent compared to other games. I didn’t like it at all. Everything was all too real.

Shuddering in fear, yet again, I refused to even think about my missing equipment.

Coming across a path with two deep grooves four feet apart, I stepped between them and continued jogging on the crown of a cart path to where I hoped to find Hamlin.

Three hours later, scores of buildings began appearing behind a six-foot wooden fence, which seemingly appeared over the warm hazy horizon. That the day’s temperatures kept increasing as the sun rose to its zenith, further increased my fears. The mirage-like emergence stunned me, but considering the temperature and the two-foot-tall wheat that stretched on for miles in every direction, I guessed it was normal –just not to a late twenty-first century city dweller. Maybe the urbanites used to the smog surrounding the cities in the earlier centuries would recognize the effects, before fusion and the banning of burning fossil-fuels came about in the late twenty-first century.

A dirty guard in dirty leather armor donning a dirty leather studded hat sat next to the entrance, with a spear leaning over his shoulder. He even chewed a yellowed grass stalk. Inwardly chuckling, I approached the man of cliché. The guard’s brown eyes gleamed with avarice and desire. Much more so than the big kid at the farm.

“What do we have here?” he leered.

“A traveler.” I went to pass him but his spear blocked me. It seemed the weapon wasn’t just for show.

“Where are you going, Missy? Stay and chat with me. I can show you a good time.” Even from three feet away his breath was worse than his body odor.

How cliché.

“Eh, if you have concerns, my guards are an hour behind me. They were having fun with a few dozen of those hyena beasts. They were boring, so I went on ahead,” I lied.

“Wombums?” he looked and acted unsure…

“We passed by the Hansels, Hormels, Homos… something like that. Killed a few dozen or so.

“Hornells?” He clarified, instantly recognizing the name and suddenly becoming serious.

“Yeah, them. Son is a big kid, the father is mostly bald.”

“There were wombums there? How many?”

“A dozen or so when I arrived. After, not so many.”

“You say there were more?”

“No clue. My men were having fun, I left it to them,” I lied again.

The guard took off running into the center of the small village. I had no idea how to judge its size or importance.

Within the first hundred feet of entering the village proper, I knew I had to find a change of clothes. None of the looks I received from the women were at all friendly, and the men all looked either disgusted, or lustful. Some both at the same time.

Every single girl or woman wore the same style dress similar to the girls from the farm – a high-waisted calf-length dresses made of simple woolen material. Where the men wore high-waisted pants and coarse, long-sleeved button-down-shirts. Browns, tans, sands. Those were the only color choices. Shoes were noticeable by the lack on the women and closed heel sandals on the men. Boots were rare. On top of that, everyone was dirty. I prayed that the weekly bath day was tonight.

An odd feeling of being called a whore and worse overcame me as I continued my exploration of the village. It wasn’t until later that I discovered that a quarter of the men had a sheathed dagger in the middle of their backs. No other weapons were visible on anyone besides the single guard that ran away.

Disregarding the insults, I kept searching for something that stood out.

Found him.

On a porch, with an actual wooden awning, sat a sixty-ish man rocking in his chair. His wide brimmed hat was cocked half over his face while he rocked back and forth at a slow even pace. What was the clincher, his shirt was clean and his hat seemed new, if you ignored the fading blue-band wrapped around the raised rounded section.

There was even a hanging sign with a slice of cheese carved out in relief. At worst he should have been able to point me in the right direction. Not that I had any idea on what direction I needed to head.

“Excuse me, but I think you are the one I should speak with.” I stepped before the older half-asleep gent.

The single bright blue eye regarded me from under his sombrero-like hat. “Is that right…” he replied with a statement, not a question.

Seating myself on the whitewashed firm backed chair with the embroidered cushion next to the elderly gent, I replied, “Definitely.”

Just then six horsemen galloped down the street, followed by the wretch of a guard. The last of them called out, “She’s there.”

“Friends of yours?”

He snorted in reply.

“You, come with us,” demanded the youngest with a palm sized silver leaf on his right breast of his almost clean leathers.

“Looks like you are popular, mister,” I joked to the elderly man to my left.

He guffawed. I chose the right person, it seemed.

“Don’t ignore me, whore. Get here.”

I took out a juice, sipping it. “Do you think anyone would mind if I killed everyone that called me a whore today?”

“Might be messy…” he commented. Not directly responding. Somehow it felt like he was having a conversation with someone else, it just happened to sound like we were conversing.

“Ugh. I already had to wash blood off once today. I’d hate to do it again.” My face scrunched remembering the odor. And the gunk.

“Wombats have been pestering the outer homesteads.” The elderly man next to me commented to the porch.

“Don’t just stand there, oaf, bring her along,” shouted the same self-important, still mounted, dirty-blonde leader.

“I’ll need to search the whore; I hear they steal things,” the pikeman grinned with no fear. A chuckle from the horsemen seemingly encouraged that belief.

“Mister, you might want to cover your ears.” I heard the old man’s jaw pop before I gently extended my hand to the guard. The pikeman reached out with excitement in his eyes. My palm snapped against his hand while I activated Horror Touch.

His scream of terror echoed throughout the village. A misty black skull superimposed his head – for that much needed special effect. The guardsman curled up into a ball with a yellow stain on his cotton trousers rapidly spreading, followed by a distinct ripe and unpleasant odor. Over the next nine seconds the guard screamed himself hoarse while everyone else backed off in fear. They were staring at the man, not me – except for the old man, he evenly regarded me without pausing his casual rocking. The horses were still unsettled even after the hoarse screaming stopped. The men riding them fumbled for their swords, yet were fearful to approach me.

Once the Terror effect wore off, the guard half stumbled to his feet and ran straight into a horse, bounced off and kept running, his spear remained on the old man’s porch along with the stains.

A woman, at least a decade older than the man on the rocker, exited the mercantile. “What’s all the racket? What happened to Sam?” I believed she meant the guard who took off running for his life.

“Ma’am,” I nodded my head to her, taking credit for ‘Sam’.

She gave me a non-hostile, appraising look. The others weren’t so fortunate. “Stan, are you causing trouble again?”

“Father sent me to get the wh…” I waved my finger back and forth catching his attention. “Her.” The young horseman ended lamely by gesturing at me.

“So, our esteemed mayor sent the five of you to grab a pretty girl off the streets. How bold.”

I felt like applauding.

“You stand there and be quiet.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I knew better than cross my new ally, obediently remaining in place.

“According to you, any woman not in a dress in public is a whore. Is that correct, Stan?”

A small-town ass he might have been, but he wasn’t stupid enough to fall in that trap. “Lars reported a…” he looked at the both of us in fear, her more than me… “She came to town saying wombums were at the Honells and father wanted to question her.”

The formidable woman looked at me for conformation.

“When I arrived, ten beasts had already killed two people. Four beasts lived to run away.” After confirming that I was telling the truth, the mercantile matron returned her attention to the morons on horseback.

“I see, Stan came to give you the bounty of a silver per hide. Do you have the hides with you, dear?” she turned to me.

“I didn’t have a good way of carrying them. Besides, Mr. Honell wasn’t too welcoming.”

“I imagine, he probably wanted the bounty for himself. Did the good man at least give you a reward?” there was a distinct edge to that question.

I handed her the pouch from my inventory.

“As expected of an elder. Five whole coppers for six pelts.”

“I’m not positive but I believe one was the alpha. He had a silver stripe across his forehead. Had.” It was a bloody mess now.

Patting my hand, “You best hold on to your generous reward, Dear.” She glared at the people silently assembled after handing me back my coin pouch.

“Is there anything else you wanted to ask, Stan? Did you want to personally test her fighting power? If not, shouldn’t you be on your way to the Hornells to make sure that the family is hale?”

“Come’n,” he called to his friends. All of whom spurred their horses and headed out of town.

“Would you like some lemonade, Dear?” the elderly woman asked me.

“It would be my pleasure, Ma’am.” I followed my hostess into her store, paying little attention to the dispersing watchers.

Once inside the mercantile, she closed the open door, motioning for me to bend my head to her. Plucking a few dried bits of gore out of my hair, she clucked in disapproval. Leading me to a small high-sided wooden tub, the elderly woman chanted for a few seconds with her hands in a ‘V’ with crossed thumbs. Warm water poured out of her palms, filling the tub in no time.

Very cool.

The white-haired matron helped me to unbuckle my boots, unzip my pants and remove the form-fitted outfit. Looking me over, Martha frowned. She even held my hand, subtly feeling it while I entered the warm water. After handing me a peach scented soap ball, a comb and a thick cloth, the grandmotherly lady left with my clothes. Hopefully to clean and return them.

Heh, my toenails were painted blood-red to match my fingernails. I even had a little violet landing strip which matched my hair. The pit stop on the way to this shitty town was very unsettling though. A TP substitute would definitely be needed and needed soon. That would take time to adapt to. Unless I was completely wrong and this was VR. I no longer had ANY hopes for that though. The computing power for just this town alone should have exceed all of HW at its peak.

Martha was right, I did have a few more bits and pieces of hyena grizzle in my hair. That was another odd thing. I always kept Cynthia’s hair shoulder length. Now my dark violet hair was at least four inches longer in the back, if not more. The drapes matched the curtains, the color had to be permanent.

I sank into the wooden tub afraid. It was one thing to play a girl in a game and to watch them move. But I was a twenty-seven-year-old man. Not a sixteen-year-old super hero girl in a fantasy world.

At least my skills still worked.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2:

+++

“Old fool, trouble landed on our steps.”

“Send her to the plains.” The wife had long been accustomed to her husband’s meanings.

“There isn’t a blemish, mark, or sunline on that girl.”

“Royalty.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?”

“Followers.”

“Clean this and I will ask.” Martha thrust the wicker basket of clothes at her husband of thirty-two-years. A short chant later, the one-eyed man passed the container back to his wife before heading back outside to sit watch on the porch.

+++

While wiping myself down with a clean towel, which was a long cry from burlap, but too close for my tastes, I looked at my reflection in the six-by-eight-inch mirror which rested on the tall thin dresser next to the tub.

Shit… No wonder everyone’s reactions are so extreme. My Avatar went from pretty to flawless. A hint of rose on my lightly tanned cheeks, sparkling blue eyes, and enough red on my lips to be genuine. Only in a the most expensive renders had I seen anything close to this face.

Was it my Regeneration that cleaned and perfected my skin, or just the game transfer? This would be troublesome. Pretty was one thing, perfect was another.

“Dear, can I come in?”

“Sure.” I opened the curtain for my benefactress.

The boots weren’t that bad to get on, but the tight leather pants were another story. No wonder why my ex-girlfriend wiggled to such an extent when getting into those painted-on jeans of hers.

“Would you care to stay for supper?” the white-haired elderly woman asked. I noticed a touch of worry for the first time since meeting her.

“Martha,” I asked in that mid ranged teenaged sultry voice that I had chosen for this toon, “will me staying here cause you or your family problems?” I paused and waited for an answer before accepting her kind offer.

She had been the only one nice to me so far. And though I planned on getting information from her, I would not do so at her expense.

Pursing her lips. “Not from any of them,” she replied in disapproval, referring to the townsfolk. “What about your family?”

Ah, a girl alone. I understood. “I don’t believe anyone is pursuing me or seeking me out. If there were, I wouldn’t stay here.”

Even though she didn’t hear a lie, she didn’t believe me on the second part of being sought out. The first was iffy. I did believe that Martha had a way of discerning the truth, a built-in lie detector of sorts, either magical, or from age and experience.

After a slight pause, she led me to a small oaken kitchen table and encouraged me to sit while she finished dinner preparations. Her questions were mostly innocent, asking about my family and why I was so far away from home.

I spoke politely about my parents who were good people. On the matter of why I was so far away from home… “I sat down to play a game with a friend when a bright light disoriented me; the next thing I knew I was on the border of a forest and a wheat field.”

“Where are you from, dear?” she asked while removing the bread from the oven.

“Springfield.”

“Isn’t that across the southern sea? Getting home will not be easy for you.”

“That I know. I might never make it back, that isn’t to say I can’t try. Does it?” I smiled a strained smile.

A quick glance at me sitting there with a determined grim smile sparked a worry for those that tried to oppose me. I even noticed a fraction of a shiver, which led me to consider that my perceptions had probably improved.

“Martha, since I left home unprepared, I need a way to make some money. Do you have any suggestions?” Clang. I had no idea what thoughts of hers caused that reaction, and suspected I really didn’t want to know.

“What type of work were you thinking of?”

Was the concept of me working so outlandish to her? This had to have been a medieval agronomic society. With magic. Enough magic that she could fill a tub with water casually. The only jobs I was qualified for were civil engineer, scholar, soldier, mercenary or adventurer. Unless I could convince a warband that I could design siege machines. That was not excluding that they don’t already have them. I could also be a tutor in the maths and sciences. But those subjects only.

I was damn lucky that I spoke the same language. That, I had already admitted that to myself. As for the local literature, I had no clue on this world; geography the same. Hell, I’d never used a quill and ink before. Writing might be an issue too, that was if they even used a quill and not some magical counterpart of a pen.

“Adventurer would be my first choice. Mercenary the second.” Clang. The ladle bounced off the stone floor again.

“Lady Cynthia…” I had told her my name earlier. But she added the Lady herself.

“Cynthia please. Do you have a better suggestion?”

“I am an acquainted with the Duchess of Danbury. A recommendation letter would get you an audience.”

“That might help, but I’ve had enough of petty politics lately. Besides, if an adventurer gets out of hand and I break his head, only a few of his friends will get riled. Nobility, not so much.”

Watching her translate my remark, the only thing I could think of was interface translation error. “Martha, if the nobility here are anything like I expect, I would be subjected to unwanted advances. Do you disagree?”

Remembering her time adventuring, she recounted, “Some are probably worse. But not all are of them bad. Duchess Laine’s line had always enjoyed a good reputation. Her Grandfather was a renowned adventurer. We even traveled with him when we were young.”

She and I spent the next fifteen minutes arguing the pros and cons of the nobility sheltering me. Pros from her and cons from my end. Seeing that I wasn’t going to budge, “Old fool, come and eat,” Martha called out in the end.

The veggie stew and fresh bread smelled wonderful, not eating all day besides the two juices had given me a headache. As much as I wanted more, I kept my portions moderate.

Knock, knock! “Martha! Quit hiding that girl.”

Martha looked at me for approval.

“I don’t mind,” I responded, “besides this is your house.” I shrugged, which caused an interesting sway under my shirt. A movement that even jogging all day hadn’t prepared me for.

She let the loud intruder in. Dollars to doughnuts he was a politician.

“Who are you? Girl, I summoned you and yet you are hiding with these people.”

“Who am I? Someone like you doesn’t have the qualifications to know.” I read that somewhere when I was young and always wanted to use that line once.

“You!” He had his hands on his sword hilt. His deeply tanned face with a few days’ worth of stubble reddened.

“Would you be the mayor of this…” I waved my spoon unable to think of a derogatory enough term.

“Lord Mayor to you, girl!”

“Then it would be your son that called me a whore. Ten lashes and his next thirty days pay distributed to the poor will suffice.”

“How dare you! Who do you think you are?” his sword cleared the sheath.

“Unless, of course, you want me to inform father. I can just imagine his reaction.” I shuddered at the thought of dad’s laughter at my situation. “Believe me, there would be no leniency from him on this matter. Ever.” He would tease me about this for the rest of his life.

“Not a word that she said has been a lie, Bertrand.” Martha added her two cents to the wavering politician.

Defeated, the Mayor sheathed his sword. “Who are you… Lady?” The title, he added reluctantly.

“Did you barge into this Goodman’s house just to ask my identity? Tisk, such manners.” I took another small spoonful of the delicious soup. “This is excellent, Martha. Is it possible to share the recipe?”

A single tear dripped down the old man’s cheek across from me. I wondered what that was about.

“Lady, forgive me, I was over excited on hearing wombums attacking. Would you share your findings?” he asked with oil. Seriously, how cliché? The writers should be slapped.

“A pack of those creatures attacked a small farm. Four ran away after I soiled my hands while disposing of the rest of the vermin. If that is all, you are dismissed.” I took another spoonful of soup, trying not to remember the gore from earlier. Knowing he was dismissed without a recourse or an excuse of staying, unless he wanted a fight, the so-called Lord Mayor of this tiny village clumsily bowed and went to leave.

“Remember, Mayor. Ten and thirty. Sunset at the latest.” The smarmy politician completely slumped while fuming, leaving us wordlessly.

“Was that wise? Bertrand does have an official position.”

“That coward? This town must have done a great evil to get him as mayor.” He was worse than the slime of an assistant plant manager I routinely dealt with. The complaints against that pig were near endless.

“He’s married to Lord Lynn’s second youngest daughter.”

“Nepotism to the detriment of everyone else. I am quite familiar with that,” I grimaced. “Martha, I am sorry for causing a disturbance.”

“Janie’s red cloak,” came from the odd old man. This time a wavering emotion showed in his speech.

“Len!” Martha ran over to the old man and embraced him. I didn’t even try to understand the subtleties. Sipping the weak apple ale, I moved outside to give them space. Seeing that they were comforting each other for some unknown reason, I quietly left the table. Behind the combined mercantile and house, I found a sturdy, odor-free outhouse. More magic I surmised. Inside was a wooden paper dispenser. I removed a sheet of brown fast-food quality napkins and grimaced. It would have to make do. Although, I appreciated the covered bucket and handy soap.

The whole fenced in yard had rows of plants. Probably spices, since this was prime agriculture land. Basic meals would not be an issue for hundreds of miles. Sitting in the shade, I watched the clouds pass by the single yellow sun, which seemed smaller than the one I was used to. My eight hours would be up soon, and I knew in my heart that I would not be returning to my old life.

My poor mom and dad…

I’m SO screwed…

+++

Smack. “What did Porto say happened?”

“Fuck, why did you hit me?” Smack.

“What did he say?” Mayor Bertrand demanded of his son.

“A barely dressed girl, even younger than Tim, killed the beasts. One hit each on the six. She suffered not a scratch. After washing up she left. That was it, I swear,” Bertrand’s son squirmed under his father’s glare.

“She told me to flog you. Did you call her a whore?”

“Look how she is dressed. How was I supposed to know she was an adventurer?” The younger man wasn’t worried about the flogging. His grandfather was a Lord.

“Go, see your mother’s father and seek clemency. Pray he can get you forgiveness.”

“Father, what?”

“Leave now!” The mayor roared in frustration. Anyone that could kill strong beasts at such a young age with a single punch had backing higher than his father-in-law.

+++

My auto logout time passed quietly. I guessed that this was my Karmic punishment for only making pretty, young avatars to play in games. Now I was doomed to be stuck as one permanently. Thankfully, my clothes were all extremely comfortable. Even my boots breathed easily and felt natural. The pants, amazingly, were even more comfortable than my favorite sweats. I had five of the smallest coins, no food, no job, no house. I couldn’t stay here. This small village held no opportunities for me.

Strangely, although I thought of my parents and worried about them missing me, I felt little loss of my old life. I had few close friends left and my parents lived four states away after dad’s latest transfer.

Exploring this world was my only option, thus I needed to become an adventurer. I certainly wasn’t going to play house with a Guy, even if he offered me a million bucks and a trip home.

NOPE, NADA, Not happening.

NO FUKING WAY IN HELL!

The door opened for Martha. “You have a lovely garden,” I volunteered, as she entered her yard.

“Thank you,” she responded pleasantly to my non sequitur.

“Will your husband be alright?” I ventured.

“It’s an old wound.” She didn’t elaborate and I didn’t press. “Come inside, Dear. I found a map.”

After brushing myself off, I followed my hostess inside. At best, the map on the old table was what I considered a sketchy hand-drawn map of the region. Sitting at their dining room table, she drew a line with her finger, showing me the safest route to get to the Crystal Plains. Duchess Laine’s city was located in the heart of Devon Fields, which encompassed a large region.

On either side of the Duchess’s castle, the Plains claimed two lower-level dungeons, meant for younger or beginning adventurers. A day’s walk west of those two was the most famous high-class dungeon on the continent. A dungeon meant for only the most experienced groups and considered too dangerous for the typical mid-level teams. The three dungeons together were very popular, even outside of the Kingdom, with the adventurer’s Guild controlling access to all three.

Because of the placement of the dungeons, Crystal Fields was the second largest and most populous region in the kingdom.

“Dear, you can buy most everything there. But not everyone you will deal with is trustworthy.”

“Thanks for the warning, Martha, I am familiar with untrustworthy.”

“Talk to Laine, she will help you,” Martha reminded me. A Duchess…

Continuing her overview, Martha, unfortunately, made it sound like it would take four months walking to get to my destination.

She went in detail over the dangers of the forests in the regions in between, Emphasizing the danger of bandits and animals. Two legged creatures were the foremost danger.

“Mankind has always been our own worst enemy,” I said in reply to her warnings.

Hours later, after I got a better feel for the areas on the map, she folded it up and handed me the makeshift map. In no position to refuse, I gladly accepted the gift. Martha joined her husband in their bedroom an hour after darkness overtook the night sky. I sat outside deep in thought for a few hours before making my way to the small immaculate room to rest on the cot that was offered to me while I was here. Sleep avoided me for the most part of the night with my mind and emotions racing uncontrolled.

I awoke to an unfamiliar bed and a knock on the door. I had never fallen asleep in VR before. Once a user did, the automatic safeties kicked in, logging that user out. Two auto logouts in a seven-day period rendered the unit locked for twenty-four hours.

A simple oatmeal breakfast along with the same light apple ale from last night was served. The old man seemed smaller than the night before. But that could have been my imagination.

“Are you sure about leaving today, Cynthia?”

“I think it’s for the best. Me staying here would only cause problems. Besides, I have a map now,” I smiled. She wasn’t buying it.

“We made a travel pack for you.” Again, I was in no position to refuse and thanked them for their generosity. Martha went over the contents individually; I asked the prices of each, so I wouldn’t get scammed on my travels. Thankfully, they didn’t splurge. medium priced dried fruits and hardtack. Neither were foreign to me from my time spent hiking with my old roommate, his wife and his friends.

The two large water skins would go a long way. My inventory slots would aid in lessening the weight as anything placed in my inventory added no burden to me in any way. The small pouch of coins made me raise an eyebrow, but her “hush” sealed the deal. Honestly, I understood that what they gifted me was not all that expensive monetarily, but they knew I wouldn’t accept more. They had already given me too much.

The toiletry kit was the most valuable to me, and I think she knew that, while brushing aside my heartfelt thanks.

If I wasn’t in such dire straits… But I was.

“The old fool has a something for you.” Her eyes pleaded with me. Not that I understood the meaning behind them. Just that I had no choice but to accept and it would not be a small gesture.

From inside a plain wooden box, he brought out a beautiful red leather hooded cloak. It was a lighter color than my current outfit, not that I had anything to complain about in the slightest. It even came with a small, ivory or bone, rose carved clasp. I directly put it on and fastened it.

“Thank you, Old Fool.” I accepted his gift sincerely and gave him a big hug, which felt weird. Not that I minded hugging a grandfather-like figure. It was on my end. In the real world, I wasn’t all that large at 5′ 10″ 170 pounds (178cm, 77kg), but at least I was average sized AND male. Now 5′ 2″ 115 (157cm, 52kg) with unfettered B’s, slim waist and moderately small hips. My body felt completely different.

My firm breasts were squished between us in my energetic hug. The weirdness factor almost blew my mind. I could only put that aside until after I left their house.

That, more than anything previously, including the trips to the bathroom, hammered in my new situation. I gave Martha a second unrestrained hug in parting.

“Thank you and take care. One day soon, I plan on repaying your kindness.” I bowed formally as I had seen people do in the movies and started jogging north. Word must have spread, since no one that was out commented, nor tried to bar my way. I found the mayor’s residence, entered his yard, dropped to a knee next to a large apple tree and activated my strongest punch, creating a fist sized indention in the trunk. Two more hits in the same place broke through the back of the tree. He stood in the doorway not speaking, just impotently fuming.

“I know you sent your son to hide. If I ever hear that word again from any resident in this area, that fate will be yours and your sons, your horses and your dogs. I don’t care if every one of you run to your relatives and hide under their skirts like cowards, I will find you. Is that understood, Bertie?”

“You have my word, your ladyship.” He got out from clenched teeth.

“Good boy. See ya later.” Vaulting the five-foot wooden fence in one go, I jogged off. Asshole…

Strangely, the copper coins pouch fit in one in one inventory slot, but the mixed coin pouch would not. Eventually I figured out that one metal per slot was allowed, even if they were grouped in separate pouches. Pretty damn inconvenient if you asked me.

I was allowed to also place both water skins in one slot and all my full and empty juice jars in another. That night, I played with the clothes slots. My pants and skirt would go into one inventory slot and the two tops in another. My sixteen inventory spaces had rules. I had the feeling that quantity mattered little, only classification. That would be a test for later.

I kept busy on my trek, hoping to keep my mind away from my new unwanted circumstance.

 

 

Chapter 3:

The next five days was worse than hiking through Kansas; not that I ever did, but I imagined just how boring endless corn and wheat fields could be. Wheat, corn, more wheat, and even more corn. The occasional roadside farmstead was the only distraction. There weren’t even many people on the road, just slow-moving horse drawn carts with single drivers who frequently walked alongside their steeds. Thank god for my sunglasses. The clouds remained infrequent as my tireless jogging pace ate up the miles. Bypassing the first few villages, which were even smaller than Hamlin, I slept in unlikely spots. Normally with my back against trees.

Of course, my internal comment on rain caused a gale force deluge that lasted two full days and nights. Only on the third day did it show signs of lessening.

While my clothes did not stain, that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t get dirty. Or wet. Streams, lakes and rivers all became targets during my travels, extending my journey by an unknown amount. One of my target destinations was a couple full days travel out of my way to the north of a major intersection. Besides bypassing a ‘notorious’, Martha warned, small city, my goal was to head to the forest and do some experimentation.

Since I took the occasional detour, my travel speed varied. Even so, I knew I was jogging faster than my best run speed in high school. That, and I was able to keep it up for countless hours, which surprised me. My near infinite endurance had to be a side effect of my regeneration defense power set.

Martha told me that up to Klawson City, bandits would be ‘few and far between’. Maybe an individual or a two-person team might prey on the solo merchant. The reason being, that there was nothing worth stealing in this area of the kingdom. This was considered the breadbasket, my word – not hers, of the kingdom. Once I passed Klawson, the threat of bandits and marauders would increase. Adventurers and Mercenaries, if chanced upon, were also not to be trusted as there was little reason for them to venture this far east other than for criminal activities.

The main reason I sought out the forest to the north of Klawson was for training. I had not been able to adjust the power of my attacks. Each skill had a fixed power level and would do no more and no less. I was actually afraid of my two strongest attacks. Hell, even against the hyena-like beasts I only used my lightest attack, which blew chunks off or out of them.

Narrowly avoiding a mounted patrol of ten men, I dove headfirst onto the ground, letting the wheat mask my presence. For some reason, whenever I saw a group of mounted men, I thought of the mayor’s son and cronies. It might well have been my imagination, but I felt no need to test the local waters just yet.

A mile into the dense forest that had been my target for the last day or so, I paused and looked around. Most of the trees in this area were older, but there were some younger ones interspersed. Starting with a two-foot diameter maple, I began practicing my unskilled boxing against the rough bark. While I never seriously took any martial arts or boxing classes, my lengthy time in VR playing this character and earlier ones in my teens, refined my moves. I didn’t even have to think about activating a skill or making a non-powered attack, they had become automatic over the seven years of wielding this toon in Hero World.

Using all non-skill attacks, I kept at that pace for an hour. Then I swapped to moving around, only taking imaginary attacks of opportunity against the trees. The last week and a half showed me that there was a huge difference between VR and this body. Although my reaction time was slower, I had greater potential of precise control of my maneuverability and strikes. This body had a much greater mass than the VR version and I realized that I wasn’t using a game system’s approximation any longer.

My kicks didn’t have anywhere near the power of my fists, though they too made solid sounds on contact with the trees. After half a day of beating the hell out of the trees, I ate lunch and checked on my hands. No damage whatsoever. The pain was light, comparable to hitting a punching bag and similar to extended use though VR in the game. Even the pain faded within minutes of me resting after the set attacks.

What was unlike the game was what happened with me being injured anywhere else besides my hands. The slash I received across my exposed arm two days ago hurt and itched like hell at the time. Some sort of thorny vine had infiltrated the wheat field I was passing through. The sharp vine ripped a four-inch section of flesh along my forearm. I rinsed it out with some water from the water-skin and watched the skin heal completely over the next few minutes. I didn’t have to activate SuperRegen for not even the slightest scar was left.

The pain was real, just like as if it happened on a hiking trip back in the real world. But the pain, like the wound, was short lived.

I would need to get some upper body armor before I did any real adventuring. After the second hour of jogging away from Hamlin the first day, I swapped tops to my second favorite one. The deep-red laced-corset was the original match for my current pants and boots. The extra support was greatly needed for running or any prolonged movement, especially fighting and shadow boxing. It was too bad that the matching jacket was in my Guild room’s closet with the rest of my HW apparel. The sole other piece of clothing I brought with me was a miniskirt that was a very close match to my primary set in color and material that I very much liked, but I acknowledged its impracticality in this world.

Once I finished lunch, I started with skill attacks. The lightest attacks first. Eerily, the concussions were noticeably audible, each hit sounded like a sledgehammer crashing against the trees. The damage was notable too, chunks of bark and wood were destroyed or removed with each attack. I continued on in that vein for a while before upgrading to my next attack. Each one stronger, louder and more effective than the last.

Dark Crush chased away the birds, making a low boom that had to have echoed forever in the quiet forest. The damage to the trunk of that oak tree was significant. Four of those attacks alone caused the older oak to wobble. I had to finish with a fifth strike, knocking the hundred-year-old tree down for my safety, so it didn’t fall on me later.

Horror Touch had no visible effects on the local vegetation. Though besides a raging forest fire, I doubted that the trees feared much. Besides I saw the skill’s effect on that wretch of a guardsman in Hamlin and knew that it worked quite well.

Setting up knocked down trees, I continued working on finding a method of easing my skills attack strength. Starting with Dark Jab, or just Jab, my lightest attack, I continued experimenting with it for the rest of the day. Admitting defeat, I rested when I no longer could see from the darkness.

+++

“Warden, warden!” shouted a lumberjack while running into the base camp.

“What is it, Branstad?” Questioned an older man with a long gray and red beard, who sat with his underlings around the cook fire.

“There is a cloaked man in the forest to the south, destroying trees.” The young lumberjack got out after catching his breath from the wild sprint through the forest.

“Destroying trees? How and where? Show me.” The seven other men in the camp stood up, grabbing their axes, and wordlessly followed their leader.

“He’s at the border of the maples and oaks. And he’s punching them.”

The group stopped and started laughing at the joke that the youngest of them just played on their boss. The warden was a good man and could laugh with the rest of them.

After the laughter and the jokes settled, the young man insisted. “The intruder is using some magic skill, each of his punches takes a chunk out of a tree. There are over twenty trees felled already.”

“Twenty!” That was serious. Logging was strictly regulated in the Lord’s forest. “How many are with him? Did you see any carts?”

“No Warden, just the one man. I didn’t stay long. Anyone that can fell a tree with a fist… well…”

“You did right lad. Let go see this poacher.” The group of experienced woodsmen moved at a pace that normal men could not hope to keep up with in the canopied darkened forest.

Each lumberjack carried a limited use magic fireless torch, since fire in a forest, regardless of the season, was asking for trouble. After nearing the area where the criminal was felling the Lords trees, the group paused. Only Branstad and Warden Wills stealthily approached the criminal, concealing themselves with experienced practice. Using gestures and pointing, the woodsmen made out a hunched figure resting against a pair of crossed trees over a shattered four-foot stump. Surveying the damage, the good-natured warden silently groaned. The Lord would have someone’s head if he could not capture the villain. Each of the felled trees were over a hundred years old. What was worse was that they were not cut from the bottom but three or four feet up at that.

The two returned to their fellows and made plans. After an hour of waiting to be sure that the cloaked man was indeed asleep, they surrounded the mage with weapons ready. At his shout of, “Now!” the nine men charged with their axes foremost.

A feminine voice gave out a startled “Fuck!” and ran between two men faster than they had a chance to react. Even with their great wood skills, they were unable to keep up with the fleeing woman. She never seemed to get tired. Two hours later they gave up pursuit. Even the warden admitted that the mage was too far away and following in the darkened forest at that pace was too hazardous.

+++

“Damn bandits…” I ran for three hours before taking a break, a sliver of light through the canopy revealed a natural depression for me to hide in. It also provided good cover from rear sneak attacks. Besides I was mentally exhausted and desperately needed sleep.

The fitful sleep that night and the next didn’t help to speed up my journey. Bypassing the first city was indeed a good idea of Martha’s. If bandits were this close, then the city itself was indeed lawless.

If the Warden could only hear my thoughts or I his…

The next three weeks were spent hiking through the low grasses, avoiding patrols and any organized groups of travelers. The few times I was ambushed by bandits, I easily avoided them by full out sprinting before continuing in my ground eating jog. I even outran the ones on horseback, not that they pursued for long.

Only once did I receive a light scratch on my right arm from a bandit’s arrow, which healed quickly without a trace. Even with my frequent trials in the vast wooded areas, I failed to modify my lowest tier attack. That meant I had to be very careful not to insta-kill any of my opponents.

Weeks passed with travel and forced survival skills training. At one point I found a broken knife, which I gladly used as often as I could. It beat fingernails.

When hundreds of the hyena-hybrids ran by me one afternoon, I thought I was in for a fight. When they didn’t even lunge or stop to growl at me, I Knew I was in trouble. Slowing down, I watched multiple flocks of birds launch themselves from the nearby forest canopy. Even more foreboding was that they all headed in my direction, away from something quite large and quite scary.

A giant lizard with a strange green and red feathered crown pounced out of the woods, chomping a straggler hyena beast in half. A mottled sickly-green-scaled mutated iguana the size of a train box-car, with the mouth capable of holding an elephant in its entirety, stood dozens of feet away, keeping an eye on me while it chewed on the lion sized beast.

I was unsure if running or standing still was the better options with reptiles. It even had webbed feet - wouldn’t that make it an amphibian? I knew that alligators could burst run up to twenty-five miles per hour on land. One that size had to be faster. Right?

If I made a single mistake while fighting it, I would get chomped in half just like the hyena, or trampled by those car-sized feet. Suddenly the crest opened and the monster hissed loudly at me and charged.

Shit. It was fast!

I dove to the side and struck its leg with Crush. Stopping that leg’s motion for a second, giving me a chance to regain my footing and strike with Strike. Each hit of mine knocked scales off the monster, causing a pain filled hiss.

Oddly, the Hold, which was a byproduct of Dark Crush, only worked on the leg. And for a second at that. The same length of time as an Overboss from Hero world.

After two minutes of pacing while focusing on its rear right leg, the feathered iguana changed tactics and whipped its tail at me. I didn’t get out of the way in time and was batted twenty yards in the air. The tail wallop hurt like hell and damn well near killed me. Even as I landed, rolled away, and bounded to my feet, the creature caught up with me and breathed a grayish fog at me which was accompanied by a bone chilling shriek.

I felt myself slowing down and my exposed arms were turning gray. The pain was beyond anything I ever experienced before. My arms were feeling as if they were being crushed by a giant hand while lit on fire. Activating SuperRegen, a Pure green and white Aura lit up the area even in the bright midday sun. Before its mouth could close on me, I tucked and dove under the monster’s fifty-foot-long body, rolling out to its right. That rear leg was bleeding heavily from my earlier attacks. I hoped that continued attacks would cripple the appendage.

The creature wasn’t very bright, and could only attack with its mouth or tail. I had already figured out by its pattern that the tail sweep was a blind attack. The tail even had an easy to read tell - the head would look away from me before sweeping. The creature needed to be able to twist its body completely to get the most of its rear tail sweep. After jumping over the tail for the third time and refocusing on the same front leg, the iguana breathed at me again. That time I only took the scattered edges of the breath weapon and not the full hit, so I remained unaffected.

I was familiar with petrification attacks in Hero World. One of the five main Overbosses could randomly use it three times per battle. Glancing hits from the power didn’t affect me, while its eye beams turned to stone every other class besides the Stone Tanks. Only direct hits would petrify me for thirty seconds unless I activated SuperRegen or the healer Purified me. Anyone that wasn’t purified within five seconds was normally killed as they were vulnerable to one of the Overboss’s’ smash attacks, which sent the toon to the map respawn area.

Finally, the creature’s leg lost support when I changed my target to the upper tendon. The creature had a weak spot that I discovered late. It was a foot-wide tendon on the inside upper part of the leg. I didn’t know what to call it and didn’t spend any time pondering the issue of its anatomy. Once I focused on that area, the leg collapsed shortly after, greatly affecting the giant lizard’s maneuverability. Dragging its right rear, the beast slowed down enough to give me more breathing room.

Not that I let up my vigilance, I had no idea if the monster had other special attacks yet unused. The front right leg gave out after a few minutes, I vaulted over its wriggling body as it tried to escape and disabled the other two legs in quick succession. At least it seemed quick, I knew it wasn’t.

I saved the back of the head for last, since I was afraid of its breath weapon. I jumped on its head before the crest and proceeded to alternate between my various attacks, yet the skull took longer to penetrate than I had expected. His thick bone plate behind the eyes just didn’t want to crack.

With a loud snap that had to reverberate for miles, my fist punctured the trapezoidal bone between and behind the giant creature’s eyes, killing it instantly.

Covered in blood and withdrawing my fist, I collapsed on its truck sized head panting. I so-oo didn’t want to move anymore that day, or even that week. A twenty-five-minute boss solo was just too exhausting without VR’s assistance. Hearing horses nearby, I wearily glanced in their direction. I hadn’t noticed their arrival. Or the men riding them.

Forty horsemen in metal armor, lances raised, all stood stock still one hundred fifty feet away.

Groan.

There was no way I could fight another battle. Taking a long swig of lukewarm water from my wine skin, I washed off my arms and doused my head with the rest of the flask. I felt sick even though I was hungry enough to eat a whole cow.

A handful of dried apples helped replenish my energy. Not enough to move though. To my chagrin, two of the horsemen started trotting forward.

“Go away, I am too tired to fight again right now.” I gasped out. Half-hour fights in VR were DEFINITELY not the same as in real life. Even with regen.

I heard a rueful laugh from the knight on the right. “Lady, may I get your name?” called the knight on the left.

“You can call m..e…”

…

I awoke to crickets chirping. In a tent. I felt bandages on my hands, torso and arms, but they were unrestricted. My face also had wraps covering it.

I sat up wearing a sheet and a sheet only. My clothes were folded on the ground next to me. Thankfully, the knights didn’t have any hostile intent.

Since I felt no pain anywhere, I peeled off the bandage on my left arm first. There was a foul-smelling gel but no scars. Since I didn’t know the purpose of the gel, I rewrapped the bandage and dressed. My struggling with the freakishly tight pants alerted the people outside that I was awake. What was worse, my hands were shaking from fatigue and lack of food.

A light scratching on the tent entrance was followed by a female voice, one that I thought I had heard before somewhere. “One minute, I am almost dressed.” The tent flap was hurriedly opened and a broad-shouldered blonde knight rushed in.

“Lady, please lay back down. You were poisoned by the Basilisk. A most potent poison. The Priestess treated you. But you must rest or you will die,” she informed me.

Not dying sounded good. “Food and water please. How long was I out?”

“It’s only been a few hours. Priestess Mave said you won’t wake for weeks.” the ‘If ever’ went unspoken. “You need to rest,” the knight pleaded.

I obliged and laid back down… not that it took much convincing.

“Food, soup is better, please,” I couldn’t stop shaking, “and bread,” I asked overtired.

“Get Priestess Mave and some stew for the lady.” The woman, not much older than the real me, called out to her subordinates. Then she offered me her wine flask that held a strong warm beer. Not to my liking, but definitely in need.

A woman the same age as the knight peeked in. Giving me a once over, she stated, “You aren’t dead?” After asking me some questions that I didn’t answer, the Priestess shook her head and left. I missed the knight’s return and forced open my eyes for the food she brought with her.

When I woke next, someone handed the blonde knight a bowl of soup and she mothered me by spoon feeding it to me. I kept asking for more and after three and a half bowls and a full wineskin of beer, I stopped shaking.

“Thanks I nee…”

…

Rustling outside the tent woke me. This time I finished dressing and exited the tent without anyone stopping me. “Lieutenant!” Though there was that…

An older man with a good-natured smile approached. “I am going behind that tree and you can’t come with me. I promise I won’t run away.”

He just laughed. I headed to the tree to do the necessity, glancing at the ugly beast not too far away. Fucking tight ass pants…that mini skirt was looking better all the time.

Feeling human, I returned to the camp. I still wasn’t sure if I had the energy to escape if I had to. Now that it was dead, I headed over to the hulking body of the ugly thing. The knights could wait. Each of the beast’s four claws extended over a foot. The eye teeth were almost as bad at two feet plus. What was worse was that the obvious hollow tips on the monstrous fangs.

Thank god it didn’t bite me, that volume of poison would have stopped my heart instantly. Hell, it would have probably melted it and everything else inside of my chest.

The fans of its plume were pretty cool. Huge, but cool. They spread out to make an interesting pattern that my college roommate’s wife would have gone gaga over. Looking over the damage to the monster, despite all my efforts, it remained in near perfect condition. Except the one leg, the rest of it was pretty much intact other than the main tendon/joint area of its upper legs. The head was caved in and the hole dead center was a little over the top. It looked like someone shot it with a bazooka. Twice. Maybe five times, and in the same spot.

I did that!???

Hell, the head alone was the size of a full sized SUV. Just looking at it made me tired. I had attracted a gathering. Again. Damn, that twelve-inch-thick skull plate had been insanely durable. I wouldn’t want to do that again.

After hopping down from the monster’s head, I walked to the older knight. “What’s next?”

Hand to his heart. He bowed for a count of five, straightened and lost his smile, “Thank you, lady. Your actions saved many a soul. If I, Sir Lakewood, can ever be of service in the future, do not hesitate to ask.”

He wasn’t blowing smoke. Poison, Petrification, and a near impenetrable hide. And even stronger bones. Don’t forget the body size of two double decker buses side by side and twice as long

“What do we do with that?” I gestured over my shoulder.

“Since it was killed on Baron’s lands, he is entitled to twenty percent. For the rest, I would recommend selling the carcass to the Mages’ Guild or the Merchants’ Guild after you take the teeth.

“You and the blonde can each have a tooth, you did save me. I want the plumes. Those are just too cool.” I stood staring at the colored fan like things.

“Lady, you surely jest. Sir Xera and I did little. Aiding you was our honor.”

“Tough, big guy. I would have died and we both know it. Take a tooth and say thanks.”

Resignation, not greed, made him acquiesce.

“Can I lean on you to ask if either Guild wants that. Highest bidder by sunset.”

“Assuredly, Lady.” He called out two names. Hopefully I didn’t have to learn those too…

I believed it was time for me to sit down again. Ignoring everyone, I made my way to the tent loaned to me, staggering my way inside.

Hours later I woke with an older woman with a displeased expression hovering over me, “How are you still alive?”

“Are you somehow upset that I didn’t die?” I asked incredulously.

“The blood of the Basilisk is fatal without potions and spells. No one saw you consume a potion in your fight and you had enough blood over you to kill a hundred men.”

“The gods love me,” was my flippant response. The deepening scowl demonstrated how much the woman disliked my retort.

Exiting my borrowed tent while unwinding the bandages that I realized were doing nothing for me, I rolled each up and handed it back to the bitch. She refused to talk to me further or even accept the soiled bandages, since I wouldn’t respond to her questions regarding my abilities nor skills. I didn’t see her after that. It seemed that my lack of obedience caused her to leave the camp.

The stares from the troops had me reconsider the wisdom of removing the bandages so soon. I personally never experienced true AWE before, even directed at others. Now I had, and that awe was even directed at me.

At the nearby shallow river, two female knights stood guard while I washed off the healer’s gunk. The cold water helped refresh me.

I was still tired. And famished.

Taking a Martha provided bowl from inventory, I helped myself to more stew on return to camp. Unlike my recent diet, theirs had plenty of meat. In fact, it was mostly meat with little green and brown veggies added for spice. The thick flour base had to be compliments of the thousands of miles of wheat I had passed on the way to this area.

Since I was in public, I tried to eat slower with smaller bites. The headache was fading, albeit slowly, which helped. After eating I visited another tree, washed up, and sought out the knight. Both he and the blonde leader type knight were talking to a fortyish woman in a red robe and deep black hair. With sparklies. And a magic staff.

“This is the child that you claim slew the Basilisk by herself?”

Not a good self intro, lady…

“Who is the sparklie chick?” “Ooh, that is the first time I saw real smoke come out of someone’s ears. Do you do other tricks?”

The blonde knight grimaced as if in pain, while the older knight coughed in his hand. Twice.

Not obvious at all, Laughing Boy.

“This is Guildmaster Clair from the Mages’ Guild, Lady,” Sir Lakewood introduced us.

“Charmed, I’m sure. Look all you want, no touchie though.” I waved my finger at her, “No hocus pocus either. Sir Lakewood, would you escort the mage, please?” To him I was nice.

The Sparklie chick’s gaze was completely non-hostile, possibly even friendly, irrespective of her earlier comment. Hmm…

Less than ten minutes later, a carriage came in sight. Guildmaster Trent of the merchant’s Guild arrived with no pomp, asked to see the carcass, and after a quick introduction headed off with Sir Xera in tow.

I strolled over to the two of them, who were conversing in low tones. “The fan and the teeth I claim, I understand that twenty percent needs to go to the baron. That is your concern to cover. You two give me a decent bid. I care less if it is combined or joint.” Quick shared glances confirmed my suspicion. “Although if the price is not what I consider decent, then I will sell it to the knights order which aided me, for a lesser amount.” The mage frowned where the merchant remained passive.

“Since you are both here, I will give you thirty minutes to decide.” I walked off, letting them figure out what the minimum number that I would consider fair was.

Carrot, carrot, BIG stick… been there, done that, got the cookie.

“I have no idea what I should ask. How low of an offer should I take?” I asked Blondie, while the two Guildmasters were inspecting the remains. Still forgetting her name, I hoped that someone would call out to the female leader of the knight company so I could relearn it.

“Nothing less than seventy gold,” she whispered back to me.

All I knew of this world was that that sounded like a huge sum. Since I was hiding my true identity, I didn’t want to admit that I was ignorant of money.

Ten minutes later Trent, followed by the mage, offered ninety-five gold. I instructed them to put it in writing. One eye tooth to be delivered to the blonde, Sir Xera, the other and the plume were to be delivered to Sir Lakewood, who agreed to hold it for me until I needed it. I knew that there was a secondary agreement between the two Guildmasters, but I didn’t care. Nothing I could do about it anyway, and this way we were all happy.

After receiving the gold pouch, I asked Sir Xera to assemble the men. Earlier, I was mildly surprised to find that although almost a decade younger than Sir Laughing Boy, she was higher ranked of the two. I bowed to the assembled knights, “Thank you all for your efforts in this matter. Accept this token and be proud of your actions.”

Cheesy… but not over the top…

Walking up and down the line I handed each knight a gold. A year’s wages for most professions. I bowed to them again, “Thank you.”

Ignoring the frowns of the two officers, I headed to my tent. I was still under the weather. Read - tired and hungry. That poison kicked my ass. Or was it the petrification. Or was it activating SuperRegen three times…

Hands behind my head, I stretched out, touching both sides of the tent - it was smaller than expected, and relaxed. I had enough money to last me a while now, which lessened my secondary concern. The remaining fifty-five golds went in the pouch that Martha gave me and then straight into my inventory. That amount of money was too much to not secure.

Minutes later, a scratching on the tent flap interrupted my musings; without even waiting for a response, Sir Xera entered. Unhappy.

“Are you trying to buy my men?” she demanded.

“It was a gift, similar to the one I gave to you and Sir Lakewood. I wasn’t buying you, so why would you believe I was buying them?” I replied from my reposed position.

“Why would you be so generous?” her mood flopped to an even more suspicious one.

This woman was quicksilver, I thought. “If you and your troops hadn’t shown, I would have died. I do not value my life cheaply.”

She fumed before warning me away from her men, leaving me to rest. An hour later, the commotion outside of my tent drew me to investigate.

Carts, wagons, men and horses started gathering around the campsite. Sir Lakewood and two of his men approached. “Lady, may I have a few minutes of your time?” After my nod of agreement, he led me to the beast and asked why I attacked only certain spots on its legs.

“I discovered that right there was the main tendon of its leg. By destroying the tendon, it was unable to put any support on that leg, making it easier to immobilize the creature to finish it off.”

“Tendon?” he asked, the other two knights with him looked blank at the word.

I lifted my heel and used my fingertip to outline where one was on the top of my heel. “Just like the one here. You do know that if it is severed your opponent will not be able to walk correctly.”

“Oh, so that was it. I thank you for sharing your understanding, Lady.”

“No problem. If you have time, speaking to a sage or someone that studies animals or beasts might help you figure out easier ways to deal with them. With the right plan, it might even be possible to lead them off instead of fighting and risk losing lives.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening watching the butchers along with the soldiers take apart the beast. Quite a few mages were also involved in the process of gathering and storing. Initially I thought that two of the crates that the workers brought were cloth for packaging. It turned out that they were magical versions of hazmat suits.

Everything, from its blood, to its scales, even its eyes and connecting tissues, were individually placed in large casks before sealing. The meat was separated and dumped aside as unusable, it was not edible and too poisonous to touch. Even the flies that tried it died. The bones were carted away last and soon nothing was left. The whole time Sir Lakewood or Sir Xera shadowed me, asking me questions.

When I asked how the knights planned on dealing with it if I wasn’t here, he grimaced and explained that they would charge in groups of two, stabbing a single side while the rest kept its attention. Repeated attacks would create a hole where they could penetrate to attack the Rock Sack in its chest.

The Rock Sack was the name of the magical organ that allowed the Basilisk to turn its foes to stone, via breath weapon. Once that was ruptured, the Basilisk’s blood would petrify, killing the creature in seconds. According to my guides, besides the brain, this was the first intact one of its kind ever found. Getting the Rock Sack intact was also a first in his memory.

The sack, the blood, the eyes, fangs, teeth, claws, and scales were all in high demand because of their scarcity. His words led me to believe that the two Guilds seriously underbid. Since I came out of the battle alive and made a profit, I pretty much felt I had no room to complain. Mostly.

That was a preview of Server Change. To read the rest purchase the book.

Add «Server Change» to Cart