Book 1: Chapter 3

Book 1: Chapter 3

The next morning, he knew he needed to make a break for it. Last night had been too close. He didn’t feel safe in the cellars any more. He didn’t know if he’d ever feel safe again. He loaded a burlap sack up with all the food he could easily carry, as well as a canteen of water.

The undead army entered the town from the north every morning, so he started jogging to the south, determined to get as much distance as he could before night fell.

On the way out of town, he passed a crow. They’d gotten so used to him they didn’t even fly away when he approached. “I’m leaving. I can’t stay here any more. I just can’t.”

The crow didn’t judge him. It simply watched him go.

He half jogged, half walked, careful not to exhaust himself. It felt good to be moving. It felt good to get that town and its undead army behind him. The sun was shining, and the air was warm and sweet. He started to feel a little of the fear and chill on his heart melt away, but that was an illusion. He wasn’t really safe. He needed to remember that. He quickly arrived at the forest and followed the road inside.

The forest was thick and wild. Maybe he was used to the carefully manicured national parks, but he had never seen a forest like this. The trees stretched up and covered nearly every inch of the sky, fighting for precious real estate and trying to block each other out. Below, thick underbrush blocked the way everywhere except the road. Light green saplings, thin and weak trees trying to reach their parents in the thin light below, and dark green ferns with surprisingly firm, wood-like leaves. The taller trees were all covered in green moss, especially around the base.

It was such a consistent wall of green, that the first sign of something else stood out like a sore thumb. White strands of something hung from one of the smaller trees of the underbrush. He hacked his way to it, using the shortsword as a machete, and found strands of something tying the small tree to some of the bigger ones, like a child playing with yarn had strung it all around as decoration.

The thread was as thick as yarn, but didn’t have the same texture. It was strong, almost like hard plastic, and a little sticky.

He strummed it a few times, playing with it, trying to make sense of it.

Something the size of a dog darted out of the shadows at him, and a lucky panicked kick sent it flying back. It was lighter than he’d expected for an animal that size.

It wasn’t until the thing crept towards him again, more cautiously this time, that he knew what it was. The white stuff was spider web. Giant spider web, from giant spiders. He saw the glint of the dim light against eight eyes on a basketball-sized head.

It was small, maybe he could take it?

The underbrush behind the spider shook. All of the underbrush shook; it looked like a strong wind was passing through the area, but the air was still. There were many, many more spiders.

Mark turned and ran, not looking back. This had been a bad idea. Yes, the undead were terrible. Yes, only luck had protected him from them last night. One of these nights, they might find him. But they were a known threat; he might be able to survive in the town.

One thing he knew for sure. He would never survive the forest.

He ran the entire way back to town.

A crow was waiting in a field next to the road when he arrived, maybe the same one from this morning. “I’m already back. Don’t laugh; it’s bad out there.”

That night the undead army were back to their usual mindless shambling. Whatever had been motivating them the night before was gone now.

Escape was out. But he had to do something. If he didn’t have something to work towards, he’d go crazy. The only other option was to fight back, maybe by laying traps, or finding other subtle ways to screw with them.

“Now if only I can figure out how to provide the spark...”

He facepalmed loud enough to scare away the crows. “The ghouls are all carrying torches,” he shouted after them. “They’ll provide the spark themselves!”

For the last touch, he made a house. A little dollhouse, but he used the best remaining wood, and gave it a roof of dried grass. It was an ugly, crude little thing, but hopefully the ghouls wouldn’t be able to resist running up and knocking it over. He despised the undead and their irrational need to destroy everything left standing. It’d be poetic to use that against them. He gently placed it over the pitfall trap, praying that it wouldn’t be too heavy to make the thing collapse prematurely.

That night, he could hardly sleep, but for once it wasn’t from the terror or the fear. He listened as the ghouls made their nightly pilgrimage, their soft footfalls walking through the town. Quiet and deadly, only audible because there were so many. He’d been tempted to find a cellar close enough to watch the whole thing go down, but that was madness. He stayed in a cellar as far away as possible.

For the first few hours, he’d thought he’d failed. That was fine. Something to work on tomorrow.

Suddenly, he was jolted awake by the sound of screeching. A ghastly scream echoed through the night, an angry tortured soul. No, not just one, at least three voices screamed into the night, and then suddenly there were loud footsteps everywhere. Other ghouls took up alarms. They made strange, warbling cries that echoed all across town.

Terror gripped him. Mark hid behind some flour sacks. They were so small, such a thin layer of protection. Stupid. Everything had been fine. Why did he have to stir the pot? Surely this would convince the ghouls to check the cellars again.

But they never did. They ran all across the town, but never checked underground.

Eventually calls of alarm died down. The footfalls slowed.

A notification appeared.

Alert! You have defeated: Undead Warrior of the Flaming Horde [22] Due to level disparity extra experience will be rewarded.

Alert! You have defeated: Undead Warrior of the Flaming Horde [21] Due to level disparity extra experience will be rewarded.

Alert! You have defeated: Undead Soldier of the Flaming Horde [26] Due to level disparity extra experience will be rewarded.

Alert! Your System is currently locked. Experience confiscated.

His heart sank. It didn’t seem fair. Kill the bad guys, level up, get stronger, that’s how this type of world was supposed to work. What was he supposed to do now? That pitfall trap had taken days to make. If he wanted to trap the whole army like that, he’d be working at it for years at this point. And that was only if they were stupid enough to keep falling in. He didn’t think he’d be that lucky.

He dismissed his notifications, and another one popped up.

Behold! The System is locked for children as a mercy, not a punishment. A Quest has been applied on your behalf. Hold fast; aid is coming.

He blinked and read it again. And again. Something stirred in his heart, something he hadn’t felt in a while. Hope. This was a good sign, right? This notification felt different than the others. It didn’t use the same terse, mechanical language as his other notifications; it felt much more direct and personal. Also somewhat scriptural. Had that goddess Solia taken an interest in him again, or could it be someone or something else? He had no way of knowing.

As depressed as he could be about losing out on the experience, he was actually feeling pretty good. He had definitely killed three monsters, gained a lot of information about the System, and now there was a Quest for someone to come and rescue him. He couldn’t wait to get out there and find the remains of the ghouls he’d killed.