Chapter 5

Adrian checked the rest of the items within the cabinet, finding a couple of bandages, small tools like scissors and pliers but nothing he deemed immediately useful. The unopened parts of the furniture promised some more but he wasn’t about to cut open his hand again.

He took the things immediately available and walked back to what he now considered his base of operations. My hub, workplace, survival camp, he thought. Adrian didn’t think of it as his new home. His home was where he knew the router credentials.

The royal bedroom, for lack of a better term, was the largest one of the four. Even a little bit broader than the art gallery. The bed and dresser were the main characters but there were additionally two nightstands, a small work desk with a chair and a chest of drawers.

The last one was mostly empty, holding only another set of nightgowns. Adrian planned to keep it that way, moving to the nightstand farthest away from the door before he placed his new belongings inside one of the drawers.

The room didn’t have windows which he questioned but didn’t mind. Fewer points of entry. All he had to do was close the door and push the chest of drawers in front of it. Maybe I can fill it with stones or something to make it heavier.

He tried moving it and found it was rather hefty as it was. The commotion of someone pushing it aside should wake him up. I survived the last night, maybe that means nothing will come and intrude.

His hunger once more informed him about the lack of sustenance. His throat was dry but the fear and stress kept them at bay.

He went back to the servants’ quarters and grabbed the chair still lying in the hallway. Back inside, he slammed the chair into the cabinet.

Several hits later, the three remaining layers had their glass shattered, their contents now accessible.

There was more oil for his lamp, more matches too.

More important to him were the metal cans and beautiful boxes holding snacks and sweets. He grabbed another sheet from the bunk beds and put it on the floor before stacking all the containers onto it.

Two full layers of the cabinet. The smells weren’t exactly convincing him but there was a chance something edible had remained.

He found two small copper pots at the back of the lowest layer and added them to the pile.

Adrian formed a makeshift bag with the sheet and carried everything outside, where the light was the best. He went back and grabbed his lamp, one hand constantly gripping the dagger. Just in case.

The next fifteen minutes were spent opening various containers and cans. Everything looked hand crafted with decorations and letters engraved. He couldn’t give two shits about that, his anxiety growing as he sorted everything from dust to rotten to mostly rotten.

Everything that held cookies or more perishable goods was overgrown with fungus. There were three containers that held small candies of various colors. They looked suspiciously fine.

He sniffed on them and finally decided to take the risk.

The sweets tasted rather sugary, not bad but nothing special either. The consistency was rather dry and hard but he attributed that to the apparent age.

Adrian ate a couple more of them before he grabbed the two pots and got some water. He also grabbed the chair, some unused paper from the office and a couple of matches.

He smashed the chair on the stone ground and built a makeshift fireplace.

The smoke is going to signal that someone is here, he thought.

Fuck it, I need to drink and this castle seems deserted anyway. Let them know I’m here, maybe there are survivors that could help me.

It was a risk to be sure. The rising smoke would signal his presence to everyone for hundreds of meters. With the residents he had already met, Adrian didn’t exactly think it the best decision but his only alternative was finding a stove of some kind and that included more exploration and potential things to fight.

A hearth would send the smoke somewhere too so that wasn’t a good option either.

He grinned when the first match already managed to set fire to the paper, rather thick wood and a strong flame compared to the flimsy sticks he was used to from back home.

The wind was forgiving, adding to the flame but not snuffing it out. A minute later, the smaller pieces of wood had caught fire.

Fuck, how will I put the pots on top?

The main piece of the chair was mostly flat, which should at least provide a stable platform.

He used his dagger to push around the wood as he occasionally placed another chunk of the chair onto the fire. The wood burned well, despite the treatment.

Twenty odd minutes later, he carefully placed the pots full of water onto the mostly burnt chair. A low flame remained but the cinders provided most of the heat.

Could also use a shower, he thought as the water heated up. It was a low priority of course but perhaps a goal to work towards.

He had found candies that would stave off his hunger for maybe another day or two and would soon have enough water to last him just as much if not longer.

A sigh left him as he watched the water reach boiling temperature. Adrian had no idea how long he should leave it but decided five to ten minutes would be good enough. The fire wouldn’t last much longer anyway.

If any diseases remained, that would be that. For now it was all he could really do to clean the water. More knowledgeable survivors surely would have more ideas, using ash or dirt or even bed sheets to somehow cleanse the water but he wasn’t that.

His tech skills hardly mattered here and he wouldn’t beat himself up for not preparing himself in case something this ridiculous ever happened to him.

He was making progress.

You’re doing great. Candies and water.

Adrian looked at the water, his sweets and his dagger. “This is fucking ridiculous,” he murmured and grabbed one of the pots after it had cooled down.

The metal was cool to the touch and the water within was lukewarm at best. Might as well go for it, before I get killed again.

He drank to his heart’s content, knowing he didn’t exactly have bottles to store the liquid in.

Fuck this place, he thought, taking off his shirt before he doused himself with the liquid. He wouldn’t take the chance of the water leaking through the old cans. Might as well use it now.

It was a refreshing feeling, the cold water doing a good job to get rid of whatever drowsiness had still remained after the work he had done this morning.

The sun was already high on the horizon. Daylight wouldn’t remain for long and he wasn’t about to explore anymore of this castle with just his lamp. The thing broke too easily.

I have a hub.

I have a little garden.

I have water, fire and a small amount of sugary food. I’ll collapse of exhaustion if I don’t find something else to eat.

First, he thought and grabbed a can of rotten food. Adrian walked to the railing and chucked the thing down.

“Fuck you!” he shouted, seeing the container crash against a rooftop far below.

All the other cans holding fungi followed, each accompanied by a curse.

The smoke was already signal enough for a smart creature. A couple tossed metal boxes might have roused some beings but what would they do? Trace the trajectory of the throw?

He could see at least ten balconies and fifty or more windows from where he stood, many of them higher up.

It felt good too, lashing out in a way. Letting go of something.

Adrian was fucked. He knew he was fucked. But he had died already, had experienced pain that made his breath get stuck in his throat just thinking about it.

He had killed the weird undead zombie people, had stabbed them but if anything, it brought more terror to his mind. More fear. He was a normal guy, he didn’t want to stab and kill things.

Maybe in a videogame where consequences were an illusion, the whole experience a simulation. Monsters and enemies easily distinguished as such.

What he did understand however, was throwing things. The joy of simple destruction, giving his frustrations form and then smashing them against a distant roof. He had tried it before. Buying cheap plates and smashing them against his cellar wall.

It hadn’t worked.

All it did was make him sigh at the work it created. The time it would take for him to clean them up. And they were cheap anyway, held no value to him.

These beautifully crafted tin cans however, throwing them against this intricate masterpiece of architectural marvel somehow helped.

It might have just been the adrenaline he felt. As if this whole place was something to blame, something to be angry at. An emotion he rarely felt these days. Everything had been pointless, a boring tragedy that meant nothing, had no rhyme or reason. It just. Happened.

Here, here he had already died, had seen his own blood, felt the warmth of it. He had fought and killed. And he hated it. But he refused to give in. Everyone had told him it would get better, that time healed all wounds but it hadn’t.

I’m getting melodramatic, he thought and grabbed another tin can.

“Shit bag!” he shouted and threw the thing, aiming at a window dozens of meters down from where he stood.

It shattered with a loud crash, making him take a step back, hands moving to his mouth. He looked around, the feeling of being a kid and having done something forbidden washing through him before he realized the reality of it.

He was smiling.

“Before you fucking kill me again, I’ll destroy all the bloody windows and burn this fucking place down,” he murmured in an angry voice before he grabbed the last tin he would get rid of.

An act of defiance. Stupid in nature, immature and certainly reckless. And yet so very meaningful to the man who had been ripped away from his life, his home, and his friends.

He was breathing hard. “Keep the momentum. Use it,” he said, reminded of the many times he had persevered, had kept working on a problem far beyond the required hours.

“This is my fucking corridor,” he said and went inside, grabbing one of the corpses and dragging it outside. He was sweating, struggling. And still he managed to get it outside.

The woman was long gone from being human. She surely had a life at some point, had friends and family. She deserved better.

And yet here he was, hoisting her corpse over the railing. Whatever she once was, she had attacked him, had tried to kill him for no reason whatsoever.

For all he knew she would rise again tomorrow or infect him with a plethora of diseases he didn’t know existed.

Pragmatism and anger won out over sentimentalism and a respect for the dead.

If this place was trying to kill him, fuck it. He pushed her over the railing and turned away, eyes closed before he heard the dull sound of her body landing on something hard.

“Two to go,” he murmured and finished the job.

His anger had remained surprisingly, seeing the bodies reminding him of the encounters from the previous day. A good man might have buried them in the earth between the trees.

Adrian had died. He didn’t know if he even was a man at this point. All he knew was that he was still here, could move and that he wanted to go back home.

For that he needed to adapt.

Magic was a thing and he would use it to his advantage. It surely was responsible for bringing him here and there must be a way to get back as well.

When he stepped back into the corridor, he was drenched in sweat, was breathing heavily and most of all, he was exhausted.

His anger was still there, much more subdued however and another part of him, one all too familiar, was calling for him to just go back to bed. To close his eyes and let today be today.

It was difficult to resist. What was even the point of all this? There were actual knights here, with swords, surely trained and deadly. One of them had killed him without a second thought. This was nothing he could beat, nothing he could conquer.

He wasn’t a hero from a story. He felt pain, was out of shape and all he had was a glorified letter opener as a weapon. One he didn’t know how to use.

Adrian stood still inside the corridor, his eyes focusing as he looked at the massive battle scene depicted on the painting.

That guy could probably do it. Facing monsters like that in battle.

Fuck him, he thought, leaving his things outside as he grabbed his dagger and lamp.

Adrian hesitated when he reached the right most door of the corridor. He ground his teeth and opened it, stepping to the side of it before he tapped his dagger against the wall.

Nothing came to get him.

You’re the predator, the hunter, channel your inner eighties action hero.

I’m not an action hero.

He hid behind the door, hearing the now familiar shuffling footsteps and accompanying moans. The first door he opened too, one of only two in the long hallway.

You did it before. Just wait and stab. They’re not people. They’re monsters, dead zombies. Don’t think.

A woman stepped out of the open entrance, clad in tattered servant’s clothes, her face not resembling a human anymore.

Adrian gulped and gripped his blade in both hands, his lamp sitting on the floor to his left.

The woman turned and noticed him, right before the dagger stabbed into her chest.

He ignored her flailing arms and pulled the weapon out before he stabbed again. The first blow had nearly gotten stuck, grinding against bone. This one punched through, Adrian feeling the weight of the blow in his arms as he tried to keep the nails off him.

He kicked at her legs with his slippers, the attack having a surprising impact as she was pushed back, off balance.

Adrian was taller than her by more than a head, making his reach longer. His build was heavier too, massively so. A kick to her stomach made her buckle over, the dagger ramming into her face from below.

Her weight pulled down but this time it didn’t come as a surprise.

He crouched and removed the blade. It wasn’t a flimsy kitchen knife like those he had at home. This was made by someone who knew their craft, with expensive materials. He could imagine how anything lesser would have snapped at the handle, or not managing to penetrate skin and muscle in the first place.

His brute force coupled with the dagger was enough against these stumbling husks, any finesse or sense for self preservation gone.

Adrian didn’t know if they just wanted to kill him or if they wanted to eat him, turn him. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t let it happen. He wouldn’t die again.

More footsteps resounded from within the chamber, two of them rather close.

He moved the body closer to the door and waited. The dagger was wet with dark blood, thicker than what flowed through his own veins.

His heart was pounding in his chest as he took deep breaths.

Another servant came out, stumbling over the corpse before it slapped against the marble floor.

Adrian took a step forward and slammed the dagger into its neck. Three times before he jumped back, pretty sure two of the attacks had mostly missed.

The next undead was already at the door, seeing him before it started running. Its legs slammed into the corpses before it too fell down.

It might have seemed easy but to Adrian it was anything but. The stress, the smells, blood, moans and the sensation of cutting a living being with a sharp dagger ground against his mind.

Adrenaline, anger and fear was all that drove him, the weapon slamming down until he was exhausted, panting to the side of the door, the blade still gripped and at the ready.

He waited for more, knowing that his body needed a break. He could barely lift his arms.

Nothing was audible over the sound of his breathing, the pounding in his ears. Against all rational thought, he closed his eyes and focused inward. He needed something to get him out of this situation. The effect of the adrenaline was gone and he was left with aching muscles, blood and three more corpses.

Soulbound:

Essence – -52

Level – 0

Vitality – 10

Endurance – 10

Strength – 9

Skill – 8 [15]

Intelligence – 12 [17]

Wisdom – 11 [16]

Soul skill – Slot 1