I pull my skinning knife from my belt and squat down, silently cutting the ropes and gag binding the trembling farmer.
"Calm down. We're here to help," I say firmly.
"Please—don't hurt me! I have nothing left to give! Just don't tell Ivan the Fearless!" she pleads, her voice raw with panic.
Ivan the Fearless? Haven't heard that name before. A bandit leader, maybe?
Her eyes dart to something behind me. I glance over my shoulder—shattered mirror. My reflection stares back in broken shards. Blood-splattered armor, punk aesthetic, messy black mohawk fade. Scarred eyebrow slit, slightly bent nose. No wonder she's terrified.
For a second, I wonder—why does my body still look the same? It's been a month. Shouldn't there be changes? A glitch, or just part of the game's design?
Farmer Annie's breath shudders. She's still frozen, staring at me. Right. Focus.
"We are here to protect you and rebuild your farm. Do not be afraid," Brynjolf says, his deep voice steady and reassuring.
Annie hesitates, then slowly regains her composure. "Oh, thank goodness... I-I thought you were one of them!"
She explains. The stolen crates? Just a test. A trial run for Ivan the Fearless, a gang leader terrorizing the outskirts of Graywatch. Rumor has it the Coridian Explorer League's navigation system was hacked—that explains the scout at the crossroads, desperate to recruit adventurers. The Knights of the Six were supposed to guard the farms... but they never came. Waypoints disabled. No reinforcements. No help.
If I explore this entire region and turn my map and compass into the Explorer League… maybe I can restore the navigation system. Another incentive to fully clear the map.
"We'll try to fix this," I declare.
Brynjolf glances at me, hesitant, then nods. "...But first, let us rebuild this farm to its former glory."
We step outside. Gore. Everywhere.
Blood splattered across the gardens and pathways. I'm surprised Annie hasn't puked.
"Sorry for the mess," I say.
"Oh, don't you worry 'bout it, sweetheart. They'll make good fertilizer," Annie replies, her voice creeping back into its usual cheer.
I blink. Wait. Did she just—?
Brynjolf stares at the field of wurm carcasses, then turns to me with a sheepish smile. "Brother Marcus—"
"Nope. Clean up your own mess, you dick," I cut in.
He sighs, and we both get to work. We dig graves, burying the bandits and wurm remains, then draw water from the well to soak the ground before re-tilling the soil.
Next, we summon our mounts—his great white wolf scares off the scattered cows, while I herd them back with my ox. After refilling their troughs and tossing out fresh hay, we reinforce the pens, hammering in loose nails. Just as Brynjolf secures the gate, my compass vibrates.
I pull it out alongside my map. A golden heart icon flashes—quest complete. My experience bar fills up to halfway. The waypoint on the map pulses blue.
At the farm's entrance, the actual waypoint—a massive gray cube etched with intricate patterns—splits in half. A ray of blue light passes through.
Then, people step out.
Knights of the Six... and the Guardian.
The Guardian, flanked by knights, rushes toward Annie. Brynjolf and I follow out of curiosity.
"...Farmer Annie..." the Guardian pants through her Armet helmet. After a moment, she pulls it off—golden locks spill free, big green eyes darting around the farm, lips pressed in concern.
"We're so sorry—the waypoint was malfunctioning. We've been trying for weeks to reach all the requests—"
"It's fine. Already taken care of, thanks to these two," Annie interjects.
The Guardian turns to us. Her eyes land on me.
Then, she double-takes.
"It's YOU! Hero of Graywatch—well, technically, we were both the heroes—but it's you!"
"Uh… hey. Nice to see you again," I reply casually.
Brynjolf turns to me. "Do you know her, brother?"
"Yes, he does! He saved my life. He's my hero!" she exclaims.
"...Look, I'm no hero. Just call me Marcus. And this is my brother-in-arms, Brynjolf."
The Guardian straightens. "I see... Well met, Marcus and Brynjolf! I am Liliana Michaela Charlotte of the Haessler family, and it is a pleasure to meet you two gentlemen!"
...I already forgot the rest of her name.
"So... will you two tell me what's been happening?"
The four of us talk—about the scattered cows, the wurm-infested gardens, the bandits. We leave out the gory details, but I mention that once we completed the golden heart on the Explorer's map, the waypoint reactivated.
Which means...
Maybe we just found a way to fix the whole damn navigation system.
A few knights approached Liliana, whispering in her ear. She nodded in response.
"I'll leave it to you two gentlemen, then! Farmer Annie, we'll assign a few knights on rotation to keep you safe," Liliana said in a reassuring tone.
She turned back to us, flashing a grin as bright as her golden locks before giving a cheerful wave and slipping her helmet back on. I'd be lying if I said that wasn't cute.
Brynjolf coughed—loudly—snapping me out of my thoughts. When I looked at him, he had the stupidest grin on his face, eyebrows waggling.
"What?" I asked, already regretting it.
"Is this what you humans call... 'Love at First Sight'?" he teased before bursting into laughter, giving me a shoulder tap that felt more like a shove.
"Shut up," I grumbled, throwing a playful jab into his stomach. He doubled over slightly with a grunt. Serves you right, asshole.
Despite our protests, Farmer Annie insisted on giving us a pouch of five silver coins for our hard work. She could've used that money to restock...
"Where to next, brother?" Brynjolf asked, climbing onto his massive white wolf. I swung onto my ox mount's saddle.
"Let's see..."
I pulled out my compass, letting it settle. A faint vibration ran through my palm as the needle locked onto the fields we just plowed. Hollowbourne Fields – Point of Interest registered.
With that, we set off toward the next golden heart on the map—a river at the base of a mountain. There, a fisherman stood, scratching his head.
"Excuse me," I called out. "My friend and I are here to help."
The fisherman turned, eyeing us warily before sighing.
"Guess it won't hurt t' ask for help. Gods-damned centaurs wrecked our fishing lines, nets, and traps. Worse, they riled up a nearby drake nest—now we got those scaly bastards lurkin' 'round, eatin' from my spots!" he ranted.
Brynjolf and I exchanged a glance. Then, with a nod, we headed for the riverbank.
"I'll take this side," Brynjolf said, moving to the right.
"Gotcha. I'll take this one."
I turned to face a drake hunched over a trap, gobbling up crayfish. Staying light on my toes, I strafed to the right, unsheathed my throwing axe, took aim, and let it fly.
The axe spun mid-air before burying itself into the drake's leathery hide. It hissed, twisting its snout to locate me before letting out a shriek and charging forward. I pivoted on my right foot, smoothly stepping out of the way of its snapping jaws.
A quick glance at its HP—85% remaining. Level 4. Weaker than the bandit, but still... how the fuck do you fight an alligator-lizard hybrid!?
I bent my knees, slightly crouching into a wrestler's stance. Maybe I should sprawl and move around it like I did with the wolf?
Before I could decide, the drake lunged again—but this time, it spun mid-attack, whipping its thick tail toward me. I instinctively raised my left knee, blocking it with my shinguard, but the impact rattled my leg like a brutal calf kick. I stumbled back, resetting my stance.
That hurt... but so far, it's only used bites and tail whips. Surely, it won't get worse.
It got worse.
The drake paused, its belly swelling as it sucked in air.
Oh no.
I bolted sideways just as a blast of fire erupted from its mouth, scorching the ground where I had stood.
It can breathe fire!?
Screw the level gap. I might be double its level, but that means nothing if I get roasted alive. I have to fight this thing like it's stronger than me.
I scrambled for any useful knowledge and remembered something from a Discovery Channel documentary. Alligators can crush bones with their bite, but their muscles for opening their jaws? Weak as hell.
The drake inhaled again. I dodged right, narrowly avoiding another searing cone of fire. It struggled to track me mid-breath—that was my opening.
I stayed low in my wrestler's stance, hands open. As the drake prepared to lunge, I exploded off my left foot, sidestepping at an angle to dodge its bite. At the same moment, I brought my left hand down in a hammer fist, slamming the top of its snout.
Before it could recoil, I spread my fingers, pressing my weight onto its head to keep its mouth shut.
"Need help, brother?" Brynjolf called from behind.
"I'm good! I think I got it!"
The drake thrashed, its body jerking violently. Holding firm, I bent my left arm, jumped back with my feet, and dropped my hips into a sprawl, pinning its snout down with my torso. As it flailed, I snaked my right arm under its jaw, gripping my own leather armor like a gi choke, locking its mouth shut in a guillotine hold.
With the drake restrained, I raised my left gauntleted fist—then slammed it down into its skull. Again. And again. Each strike chipped 6% off its health, targeting its left eye.
As its HP dropped to 35%, I felt it inhale sharply, its belly expanding.
Not this time.
I tightened the choke, pressing my arm and chest against its snout.
BAM!
The drake's own flames backfired, cooking it from the inside out. Its HP plummeted to 0.
A notification flickered. My experience bar ticked up.
I'd won.
I stood up, scanning my side of the battlefield. Just one drake and three skales left.
Thinking back, if I were still playing as my game character, I'd have cleared this with a greatsword in seconds. Goes to show how much easier things are with a proper weapon.
I raised my fists into a high guard, stepping toward a skale. It hissed, standing on its hind legs as I settled into a boxing stance. At least I wouldn't have to do any awkward maneuvering to land clean strikes.
The level 4 skale lunged, swiping with its claws. I raised my arms, absorbing the impact with my gauntlets as I stepped back, then pivoted to circle around. As soon as I found an opening, I shot out a light left jab, followed by a powerful right straight to its head. The impact sent it stumbling.
That's when I noticed something.
The amount of force I put into my strikes affects my damage output. Its HP dropped to 90%—
Until an icon flickered below its health bar.
Three white crosses on a yellow background.
Regeneration.
Right, I just remembered—skale-type monsters have a constant healing buff in battle. Some abilities were even named after them because they granted regen effects.
This thing was restoring 3% HP per tick, way too fast. If I wanted to bring it down, I had to overwhelm it with a relentless barrage.
I extended my left arm into a long guard, baiting another attack. The skale hissed and slashed at me, but I pushed off my feet, narrowly backstepping out of reach. Before it could recover, I stepped in with my right foot, pivoting into a right straight counter to its head. The blow staggered it.
I immediately shuffled forward, driving a left hook into its ribs, followed by an overhand right to its skull. Then came a left jab, right straight, a left hook to the body, and a right uppercut to the jaw—each punch setting up the next in a flawless flow of body-to-head and head-to-body combos. Despite its healing factor, I wore it down, its HP plummeting to 25%.
Time to finish this.
I grabbed its wrist and throat, roaring as I slammed it into the dirt with brute strength. Pinning it down, I rained down vicious ground-and-pound with my fists, dribbling its skull into the earth until its HP hit zero. My experience bar ticked up.
I glanced over—Brynjolf had already finished his enemies. Eviscerated was the only word for it. His battleaxes made short work of them. He looked over, grinning, and gave me a double thumbs-up.
Alright. No way I could let him down now.
It took some time, but I took down the remaining drake and skales using the same strategy, chipping away at their HP while stacking my own experience bar. If I had to gauge it, I was at about 75% XP before leveling up.
Might as well finish the chores and save looting for later.
Brynjolf and I crossed the river, helping with the menial tasks—repairing fishing lines, nets, and crawfish traps. Each completed task filled up the map's golden heart, signaling progress.
Just as we were almost finished, a young boy ran up to a fisherman.
"Pa! Look what I found! It's huge!" the boy said proudly.
The fisherman's face paled. "What the—where did you get this!?"
"From that nest across the river." The boy pointed.
I followed his finger, my gaze landing on the nest. Then, slowly, realization dawned on me.
Oh, shit.
A piercing shriek echoed through the air.
A massive drake ascended from its burrow, its silhouette casting a shadow over it. Easily the size of a school bus. It crossed the river in seconds, its eyes locking onto us.
A quick glance at its name and level sent a chill down my spine.
"Level 6 Veteran Drake Broodmother."
Before I could react, its throat swelled. Heat rippled off its body as its chest expanded—
It was about to breathe fire.
"Move!" I roared, grabbing the kid and diving aside—
Flames erupted from its mouth, turning the riverside into an inferno.
Brynjolf and the fisherman barely managed to roll out of the way, cursing as the heat licked at his armor.
"That beast is going burn the whole place down!" he shouted.
I balled my fists, adrenaline surging at the massive threat.
"No it won't! We won't let it!"
The Veteran Drake Broodmother reared back, preparing another attack.
No time to think. No time to plan.
I charged.