“Thank fuck he’s out of my hair for a while,” I announced, addressing the remaining barbarian. “Slaves, eh? Can’t live with them, can’t flush them down the dungeon privy…”

The statement drew only a dejected stare from the spiky-haired one. He didn’t seem that interested in putting me to work. In fact, he didn’t seem particularly interested in doing anything, besides staring off into the distance like an AI deficient NPC. After a minute or so, he finally spoke. Or to be more specific, he moaned.

“I wanted to kick the shit outta the dwarf. It’s not bloody fair.”

What the hell? Was he actually… pouting? I couldn’t believe it. It was a sharp reminder that this was not the fantasy world that it claimed to be. Nor was this a mighty barbarian warrior. The big baby was actually sulking. For a moment, I wondered if he might have an old sword that he could trade me, in exchange for an opportunity to grind his dwarf punching skills. But the thought quickly passed. I’d already taken my vengeance on my prick of an employer, and I couldn’t justify subjecting him to a further ass-kicking, much as I wanted to. So instead I announced…

“Um, yeah, anyway. So before we start, I’m starving.” I patted my abs for extra effect. “I ah, heard this gig comes with meals, and I haven’t actually had breakfast yet, so uh, where’s the food, friend?”

“Right over there,” replied the bored-looking barbarian, pointing across the room.

To my dismay, I was not met with the sight of a fully stocked breakfast buffet. He was pointing to the same colossal dead thing that I’d already spied upon entry. The partially-dissected corpse wasn’t appetizing in the slightest. Even less so when I remembered what it had recently been stuffed with: me.

“Haha. But no, seriously. Where’s breakfast? I’m not too late, am I?”

“Your only guaranteed meals are lunch and dinner, noob-face,” he sneered, taking a moment to stretch and yawn.

Noob-face? What age was this guy, IRL?

“If you want to eat, you’ll have to work for it first,” he continued. “And on that tedious note, I suppose we should discuss your new job, courtesy of Kronan the badly-named barbarian…”

Hmmm, ‘SkullFucker’ was evidently not a fan of the big cheese, then…

“When your pet dwarf returns, he’ll be transporting the mob-meat to the mouth of the cave…”

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” I asked, glaring at the other swordsmen as they sliced away at the corpse. “Rip it apart with my bare hands?”

“Yeah, the dwarf told us that you lost your sword,” he replied with a judgmental sneer. “It takes a special kind of dumb-ass to manage that on his first fuckin’ day.”

My fists clenched, but I stopped myself from acting on my rage. It was time to learn a little restraint.

“That’s why yer pet dwarf asked us to put you on building duty,” he continued. “So, no carvery duty for you… that’s your lot over there.”

He pointed to a group of half-orcs and barbarians on the other side of the room. Admittedly, I hadn’t noticed them, being much too distracted by my impending doom, and my clever attempts to reallocate it to the irritating dwarf in my life. The workers in question were lugging around large slabs of granite, partitioning off a section of the vast chamber into what appeared to be a row of brand-new cells.

“Not typical swordsman work, I’ll admit,” he continued. “But strength seems to be something you have an abundance of. You know, for a noob.”

“What about the magic users?” I asked. “Why are there so many of them just standing around like that?”

“The wand-jerkers are just here to stand guard,” he sneered, confirming my suspicions. “We’re not that far behind the front line, after all. Anything could sneak past the raid party and come crawling out of those damn tunnels. Clan Kronan had to hire ‘em to light up the joint anyway. Makes sense to put ’em on guard duty afterwards.”

I got the impression that the barbarian was using ‘briefing’ me as an opportunity to get out of doing his own work, whatever it was. And that was fine by me if it helped me to gain a little more knowledge.

“So… they must be pretty powerful wizards then?” I asked, wondering what my odds were of slipping past one to go mob-hunting.

“Pffft. That pack of apprentice class-holes are fodder, at best. Kronan knows how to keep the costs down if nothing else. If some bastard does come slitherin’ out of those tunnels, it’ll be the arcane types job to ambush it with range attacks. When the mana starts flying, that’s the alarm. Buys the zeros time to run, and the swordsman and half-orcs time to prepare for battle. Or to bugger off, if they have any damn sense.”

So, there was a possibility that I might still see action, even without an ‘official’ combat role. That was promising, given my quest to acquire high-quality food for the Knight. Then, of course, I remembered that I still didn’t have a weapon compatible with my skillset to fight the fucking mobs with. Damn.

Then something else occurred to me, and my heart sank further. If ‘boss bastard’ was on the canteen menu tonight, there was no way I could compete with that. It was looking like I was going to have to satisfy another of my trainer’s vices. And after what Kriabal told me about the meth, my options were becoming worryingly limited. At this rate, I was going to be ‘squiring’ out my ass after all.

A crackle of what could only be wand fire echoed through the chamber, and the apprentices began yelling.

Holy crap. It’s like watching the oxygen masks drop from overhead the moment the cabin crew have given the safety instructions. Can’t I catch a fucking break, here?

Something was charging from the central tunnel, and it tore through the arcane guard’s spells like they were little more than a light show. It was another animalistic beast, and it was the stuff of nightmares. The mob had a charcoal-grey body much like that of a pit-bull, if such a thing were capable of growing to the size of a fucking panther. Its spine was coated in broad ridges of bone, its limbs thick and muscular. But the creature’s most alarming trait was its head: specifically, the fact that it didn’t fucking have one. Its body seemed to stop at the base of the neck, and what substituted for the missing appendage was little more than a circular maw of teeth surrounded by crimson, glowing eyes.

“Mob on the loose,” came a cry, stating the fucking obvious to all assembled as the creature powered across the vast chamber, leaving the apprentices in its dust. A barbarian was next to charge out from the darkness, gasping for breath as he made his pursuit, the claw marks that littered his torso confirming his failure. It was he who allowed the beast to slip past. Upon his arrival, the swords-noobs turned from their own (lifeless) opponent and followed the weary barbarian’s charge, doubtlessly keen to prove their worth to the higher-ranking warrior.

The NPC guards were next to respond, abandoning their posts at the furthest edges of the lair, converging as one in the hope of heading off the beast’s break for freedom.

The sheer number of warriors rushing to fell the vicious-looking mob should have put me at ease. There was just one small problem. It was headed straight for me.

“SkullFucker,” cried the axe-wielding barbarian from across the chamber. “You wanted to be a proper member? Now’s your fucking chance. Stop that thing before it reaches the tunnel.”

My reluctant guide stood there, stammering a response that never actually came. We were in the best possible spot to intercept, not yet having joined the workers on the fringes of the vast room. But what he saw as a death sentence, I saw as an opportunity. And if the lanky barbarian didn’t want it, I was more than happy to grasp said opportunity with both hands.

“Give me your sword,” I demanded, turning to face him.

“W-what?”

“If you aren’t prepared to fight, I fucking will. Worst case scenario, I’ll draw the thing away from you by attacking it.”

He nervously began to unsheathe his sword from its scabbard. It was a fairly basic blade embellished with a skull-engraved handle. Crucially, it was a hell of a lot longer than my dagger. But as the creature sped closer to us, his tightly clenched fists made it abundantly clear that he was not about to give up his only form of protection, even if he was too petrified to use it.

Cursing him I drew my own dagger from my inventory, followed by my shield. The apprentice’s magic had run off the beast’s body like rainwater, and that alone told me that I was easily outclassed. Worse, the thing would be on us in seconds. I could potentially dodge it with my own impressive speed, leaving the delightfully named ‘SkullFucker’ to take the bullet. But that was hardly going to impress my potential gang, was it? How did that make me any different from the rest of the screaming noobs and zeros who were now frantically running for cover?

Plus, Kriabal was guarding the other end of the tunnel, but he was only anticipating the light-fingered prisoners who might try to get in. If this thing really was making a break for freedom via the tunnel, that meant that it was headed straight for him, and the last thing the warlock would be expecting would be for this ugly bastard to pounce on him from behind. Kriabal was a potential ally, and having strong allies only made me stronger. I wouldn’t let him fall to a sneak attack. I held my ground.

Go hard or go home.

Alas mere seconds from impact, Skullfucker decided to go home, his lanky body making a mad scramble to the outskirts of the chamber, taking his sword with him.

Coward.

Shield drawn, I braced myself. It was now obvious that the creature wasn’t going to slow its escape by going around. It was going to go through me. The realization was confirmed as its weight came crashing against me. I prayed that my high resilience and doubled defense would be enough to keep me on my feet so that I might stand a chance of quickly fighting back. It wasn’t, and we both went tumbling. My HP was reduced by a fifth in one strike, but the shield had stopped the things horrific fang-laden asshole of a face from tasting my all-too vulnerable flesh.

Thank you, Kriabal. I’d owe you, but I just saved your fucking life.

I received a warning to say that my shields durability was all but gone, but the important thing was that it had held, helping me stop the beast’s momentum. I shrugged off my daze and got on all fours, desperately willing my battered avatar to get back to its feet. I failed, imprisoned by the effect of the all-to-familiar ‘stunned’ debuff. But when I eventually raised my head a few seconds later, I realized that there was no longer need for haste. Before the beast had returned to its own feet the swarm of warriors and NPC guards had taken advantage, bringing down a rain of blades spears and axes that quickly overwhelmed the mob. A pained yelp of a death-cry rang out through the chamber, as the hopelessly outnumbered beast fell, its once powerful body reduced to little more than a bloody pile of monster pulp.

-[ You deflected an attack by an opponent whose level greatly surpasses your own. This was an impressive feat. XP gained: Defense: 60. Resilience: 60. This action has gained you one extra base point in defense. XP required to reach the next level: 72. XP until next resilience level: 90. Warning: resilience XP has been rejected. Cap reached. ]-

Shit! Unlike my special bonus for being a ‘scrappy dude’, the resilience XP I’d gained by standing my ground hadn’t been banked. And I couldn’t afford to waste experience points like that. I had a warden to kill, after all, and that meant that every single scrap of XP now counted. I felt oddly defeated. The next message to pop up, however, gave me hope.

-[ Would you like to reallocate this XP to another skill? Warning: A 50% penalty will apply. ]-

Hell yeah. Losing half was a lot better than losing it all. I selected yes, and promptly put the 30XP into perception. I was still 49XP from acquiring my first base point in the hard-to-level stat, as it was proving to be insanely difficult to grind. But I had resilience in spades, so even with the 50% penalty, it seemed like a good investment. Perhaps, it occurred to me, this was a cheat of sorts. I could raise an easy-to-level skill to its cap, then divert the excess XP into the more elusive skills that I was still having difficulty with. It would be slow, given the penalty involved. But I desperately needed perception and charisma, so it was good to have the option, that’s for sure.

Still resting on my knees and elbows and feeling a little woozy, I suddenly realized that I had company. Two furry boots were standing before me. Unless Ugg boots were now the must-have fashion trend in Atone Online, I knew that it could only be a barbarian.

“Well done mate,” he began, in an accent that I instantly recognized as English. “If that bastard had made its way into the main prison, the warden would have had my fucking balls.”

He pointed to the swarm of bodies, then added: “To be honest, I’m Impressed that Fido there didn’t plow straight through you. Never seen a swordsman tank like that before.”

“I’m tougher than the average noob, I replied, accepting his offer of a hand up. I didn’t mean to wince as I got back to my feet, though. You know, because I was trying to look tough, dammit.

Face to face, we both came to the same realization. We’d met before. Sort of. It was a barbarian from the raid party. The one with the shaved head, bone axes and the lion tattooed on his chest. He looked at me, giving me an almost comical double-take.

“Well fuck me rigid, if it isn’t the bloody cavalry. You saved my life yesterday, ah…” he looked above my avatar, then added, “…Shade. Granted, I died anyway, shortly after you left. But not before seriously impressing my boss by helping take down that fucking cunt.” He nodded in the direction of the now abandoned corpse, adding: The name’s BullDogBrit, by the way.”

Fuck. Why is it every time I meet one of the fuckers I’m trying to impress, they’re helping me pick myself off the damn floor?

What had been a hand-up quickly became a handshake, and the prisoner began to shower me with praise. Like the warlock, BullDogBrit seemed keen to offer me a favor in return. I was impressed by his good nature, until he went on to explain that there were rumors of a karma skill that could be developed, and that he was keen to be the first to develop it in order to gain a ‘trailblazer’ reward. As to whether or not his motivation was legitimately good-intentioned, or if he was simply using me to acquire a new skill, well, I honestly didn’t care: a favor was something I could use, either way. Specifically, it was the perfect opportunity for me to explain that I was hoping to meet with General Nyx, with the ultimate goal of joining his gang. I nervously asked if that was a meeting he could facilitate.

After I made my request the barbarian gave me a slightly puzzled look. Eventually, he broke the awkward silence between us.

“Well, you’re clearly not a barbarian, and running around with yer nips out isn’t going to convince anyone, mate. But you are sword class, so it’s conceivable that they might consider you for recruitment, if you can impress them enough. You’ve certainly impressed me over the last couple of days, though. Look, I’ll have a word with her for you, yeah? But truth be told, I’d be shafting you if I tried to pass that off as a way of showing my thanks, Nyx already wants to talk to you as it is.”

She does?

“And hell, tracking you down can only help lessen the bollocking she’s going to give me for letting that damn hellhound get past us. So with that in mind, surely there’s something else I can do for you to help balance my debt.”

“Could you get me a sword?” I asked, somewhat shamelessly.

“Sorry mate, I’m an axe man, myself,” he replied, hoisting up one of his impressive bone blades. As he did so an apprentice rushed to his side and began to cast something. That was when I noticed that the barbarian’s wounds were healing, just as Mai had healed mine. The hulking Englishman gave the tiny apprentice a thumbs up, then continued.

“Any time I find a sword, I sell it. You’ll find no one holds onto anything they don’t need around here, there’s always a buyer, no matter how low the items stats are. But I’ve been thinking… if you’re hoping to join us via a referral from Nyx, you’ll need all the luck you can get. She can be a bit of a hard-ass. I’m not normally the generous sort, but you’ve helped me twice now, and as I said, I believe in karma, so…”

The words trailed off as he reached into his own inventory, taking out a necklace. It was possibly silver, consisting of a thin leather strap and a pendant with a design that was either supposed to be a horseshoe, or an ‘omega’ symbol. He smiled and pushed it into my hand.

-[ You have been gifted a charm of good fortune (weak). Effect: Luck +1. Durability: 20/20. ]-

“Just found it an hour ago in a loot chest,” he explained. “Should raise your luck stat a little, and hopefully improve your odds of getting to join us.”

Wow, definitely a horseshoe then.

A luck artifact. One whole base point, just like that. Well, that confirmed it. I was becoming a huge fan of items that boosted my stats just by wearing them. I resolved to get my mitts on as many of such items as possible, even if I had to resort to using my thievery skill to acquire them. My mission was life or death, after all. I pictured myself as a noob powerhouse with whopping stats and a jewelry collection to rival B.A. Baracus. The image made me smile.

“Surely this is something you could benefit from yourself?” I asked, studying the item.

“It is. But I already have a pendant that adds four points to my armed combat stat. And in my job, I’d be crazy to give that up.”

“You can’t wear both?” I asked, suddenly cursing my own inquisitiveness. What the hell was I playing at? Was I trying to talk him out of giving it to me?

“Not without the crafting skill necessary to merge them, no,” he replied with a shrug of his huge shoulders. “And it’s only one item per body part. Same way I can’t hold both axes in one hand or wear two pairs of bracers for extra protection. You probably haven’t gained enough items to realize it yet, but the game’s pretty strict when it comes to the number of items you can use at once.”

“Well… thank you,” I replied, placing the item around my neck. It seemed to glow for a moment, then return to its previous state.

“No problem,” he replied, giving me what was probably supposed to be a playful punch in the arm. Another 8HP fell away from my recently assaulted avatar. I made a mental note to get out of arms reach before he literally killed me with kindness.

The barbarian paused for a moment, a look of disappointment spreading across his face. He evidently didn’t get that karma skill he was after, then. He sighed, then added: “Oh, and a word of warning. I may ask for it back someday if my circumstances change. So, I guess what I’m really saying is, don’t go selling it, I haven’t technically relinquished ownership. For now, though, it’s more useful around your scrawny neck than it is gathering dust in my inventory, eh?”

Maybe I was being too hard on BulldogBrit. Yes, he was being driven by the desire for a karma boost, but hadn’t I also expected a rep boost for helping Samusk, back in the canteen? We were all too wrapped up in our own advancement, regardless of our good or bad nature. But if a prisoner’s first instinct was always to sell the items they didn’t need, Bulldog was clearly going against that instinct on my behalf. I was fairly certain that he could fetch a pretty penny for an item that increased the wearer’s luck. Yes, it was technically a loan, but I wasn’t complaining. I had a thirty-day deadline to worry about, and I needed all the luck I could get. If anything, surely my new luck would prevent him from taking the item back before I was done with it, right?

“You two,” announced one of the NPC guards that were now beginning to return to their posts. “Move along.”

“Gimmie a break, you fucking puppet,” spat BulldogBrit. “If that hellhound had made it into the main dungeon, the warden would have had your balls on a plate right after mine. This lad did you a damn favor.”

“Pfffft. From where I was standing, all he did was fall on his ass. Now move it. There’ll be plenty of time for the noob to chinwag when he’s earned his lunch rations. Neither of you is here to gossip like a pair of cackling old witches. Get back to work before I report you both.”

“Sheesh, what crawled up his code?” I mumbled, admittedly out of the guard’s earshot. The last thing I needed was another point-blank burst of mana to the face.

“Ignore him,” replied Bulldog, “He’s just pissed because they needed the help of a lowly AAI to do their fucking job.”

“AAI?”

“Artificial artificial intelligence. We’re all fakes in their eyes. I suppose they have a point, too. Don’t worry about it, they’re just a pack of bigoted bytes. That’s why we call ‘em puppets in return, winds ‘em up no end. Anyway, I’d better get back, those ugly bastards on the front line aren’t gonna slay themselves. And don’t worry, first chance I get, I’ll have that word with Nyx on your behalf, tell her what you did for us today. With any luck, next time we meet, you’ll be on a raid party.”

With that, he turned to the apprentice who’d been healing his wounds throughout. “Yo, cast heal on this noob, will ya? Can’t have him looking banged up for his big interview.”

“I appreciate that, thanks.”

As he walked away, the apprentice got to work, and I slowly began to take in everything that had happened in the last ten minutes or so. To say I felt a real sense of achievement was an understatement. Even better, I’d done it without the aid of the backstabbing dwarf.

While I waited for my HP to recharge, I cast a hopeful glance to the spot where the beast had fallen, hoping to find something worth scavenging. To my disappointment the corpse had already been cleared away, only to be replaced by an exhausted-looking cleaner who was working hard to scrub the creature’s thick black blood from the granite floor.

That’ll be the homemaker skill in action, I realized. If the amount of bloodletting I’d seen so far was anything to go by, that poor bastard would be getting plenty of opportunities to level up.

A minute or so passed, after which the apprentice bid me farewell and returned to his role as a guard. The low-level wizard had quickly restored my HP, chiefly because I had so damn little of it to begin with, compared to the level of fighter he was used to healing. He’d reminded me of Mai as he’d worked, and no, the wrinkled old man did not have the visual appeal of the top-heavy elf, not even close. But the way he’d patched me up had brought back memories of Siriso’s hut. The only good ones I had.

As my thoughts wandered, I found myself missing the elf. And not just because I could really use access to a help file, right about now. I missed her cheery disposition, too. And I’ll admit it, I yearned for that incredibly proportioned avatar of hers, pervert that I was. During character selection I’d been perplexed by her odd behavior, licking my ears while I was trying to make such important decisions about my future. Now, her touch was all I could think about. Granted, she was only code, but technically so was I, thanks to my jailers. Sooooo, in that respect, we were kinda made for each other now, right?

In truth, I could also do with easy access to her healing gift. But in my short time as a prisoner, I’d spent an alarming amount of time looking like I’d just been in a car accident. Yep, an elf-shaped first-aid-kit would come in reeeal handy if things continued like this. I made a mental note to ask Samusk where I might find myself a new one.

Speaking of which, the (now bloodied) dwarf had already returned from ‘our’ punishment, reluctantly taking his place next to the boss-meat deli counter. Judging by the dagger-laden looks he was giving me, I’d seriously pissed him off.

Good.

Another threat was fired at me by the tetchy NPC guard, this time accompanied by a spear-tip to the back, a sharp (very sharp) reminder that I had better stop daydreaming and go earn my fucking breakfast, even if it would be lunch by the time I finally got my hands on it.

And with that, I headed across the chamber to begin my new career as a builder of dungeons.