The cold wind of the Goblin Steppes greeted them like a forgotten whisper from a lost world. Snow stretched out in every direction, a sea of white that swallowed the landscape whole. The mountains far in the distance were tinged blue, their frozen peaks lost in the sky. It was breathtaking, endless.

  “Wow,” Stick whispered, his breath turning to mist.

  Nakamura didn’t stop to take it in. He started walking westward without another word.

  “Where are you going?” Stick asked, stepping forward.

  “West,” Nakamura replied, his voice as cold as the air around them.

  “Why?”

  “Because no Carnifex territory is safe,” he continued, putting distance between them.

  “We shouldn’t split up.”

  Nakamura stopped and turned slightly. “Why? It’s not like we’re being chased.”

  “But what if some high-level player comes around?” Stick countered. “You can’t just leave us here.”

  “We’re not worth spending manpower on. We’re too weak. You’re free to go wherever you want—before word spreads. Use that time wisely. Go west.”

  Stick glanced at PP, who held an unconscious Shadis in his arms. “Then, we’re coming with you.”

  “Absolutely not,” Nakamura said, continuing forward.

  But Stick gestured to PP, silently telling him to follow.

  “Go away!”

  “No, you have to take a look at Shadis,” Stick insisted. “You know first aid. I saw it.”

  Nakamura didn’t turn around. “He’s a goner.”

  “There’s something you can do!”

  “Why would I help an NPC?”

  “Well, do you even know how to make a fire?”

  Nakamura froze. He inhaled deeply before exhaling a long, weary sigh. What a prick.

  They worked slowly. The wood was damp, so the fire took longer to start. It smoked more than it burned, but eventually, flames licked at the icy air. PP gathered more firewood while Stick kept a lookout. Nakamura knelt beside Shadis, using bandages from his inventory to tend to the wounded man. He placed his own cloak beneath him to keep him off the freezing ground, while they tried to fashion a shelter from the clothes Becket had given them. Their soaked clothes from the river left them all shivering. As the day waned, the cold dug into Stick’s bones. He and PP—both shirtless—huddled close to the fire while Nakamura, warm in thick, dry clothes from his inventory, sat apart. Shadis shivered violently, his lips a deep shade of purple. He wouldn’t last much longer.

  “Don’t you have any more clothes for him?” Stick asked through chattering teeth.

  “No,” Nakamura replied. “That was the only dry one I had left.”

  “Then why won’t you give it to him?”

  “NPCs don’t get sick that way.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Stick clenched his fists, biting back the words he wanted to shout. He knew Nakamura was right—back at the slave camp, he was the only one who had gotten sick. Still, something about it gnawed at him.

  “Why is Carnifex so heartless toward the people of this land?”

  “They’re just bots. It’s not that deep.”

  PP shifted uneasily.

  Stick’s frustration boiled over. “What is wrong with you? Whatever you think of them or this world, you’re ignoring the fact that they’re conscious beings. You’re inhumane.”

  Nakamura barely glanced at him. “How are you any different from Carnifex?”

  Stick hesitated. “What?”

  “You manipulate and sacrifice NPCs to reach your goal. In fact, I’d argue you’re even worse.”

  “Michael, Titor, and Smith fought for what they believed was right!”

  “And yet, they’re dead.”

  “You killed them!”

  “Funny,” Nakamura said. “They were perfectly alive before you came along. Or how do you explain this?”

  He gestured at Shadis. Stick was at a loss for words. He checked Shadis’ status again. Despite everything, his [Life Points] remained at zero. Damn it!

  “At least we don’t pretend it to be anything other than exploitation,” Nakamura added.

  “It’s just about players with you, isn’t it?” Stick scoffed. “‘Real people,’ right? They’re the only ones who deserve basic decency?”

  Nakamura looked away. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

  Stick’s mind burned with questions, one above all. “Then who is Hadvar? Why was he thrown into a pit?”

  Nakamura hesitated before answering. “He’s the founder of Carnifex.”

  “What?” Stick rubbed his eyes. “I thought the founder was the King.”

  “Hadvar is the King.”

  Stick’s heart skipped. “But we saw the King in the Royal Chambers. Who was that?”

  Nakamura’s breath misted in the cold air. “I don’t know.”

  But the silence that followed told Stick he wasn’t telling the full truth.

  “What’s going on here?” Stick pressed.

  No answer.

  “Tell me!”

  Finally, without looking back at them, Nakamura spoke, “There’s something fundamentally wrong with Carnifex, and I intend to fix it.”

  That was all he said. No matter how much Stick pushed, he refused to elaborate. The fire crackled in the silence, but Stick’s mind was far from quiet. Just who the hell was Hadvar really? He saw the statue in the entrance of their headquarters. It was the spitting image of the man they saw in the King’s Chambers. Or was he? Now that he thought about it, he didn’t get quite a good look at the man with the golden armor. What is going on here? Who are we really fighting?

  His thoughts were shattered by a violent coughing fit.

  “Shadis!” Stick jolted up.

  PP followed, kneeling beside him. Shadis coughed as if his lungs were full of gravel. He struggled to breathe.

  “Mister Arslan… I think my time has come.”

  “No, don’t say that. I’ve seen you survive worse.”

  Shadis gave a weak, knowing smile. “After so many years of adventuring and fighting, I think I know the limits of my body.”

  Shadis tried to put up a reassuring smile, but his strained expression didn’t calm Stick one bit.

  “Just lay down.” Stick gritted his teeth, fighting back tears. “You need food and water. I’ll go hunt—”

  Shadis grabbed his wrist. “Mister Arslan… please listen to a dying man’s words.”

  Stick froze, his chest tightening. He slowly started to understand the gravity of the situation.

  “You have to keep the fight going. Much like the young Lords, you’re still far off from where you want to be. But I saw it! Sir Frost saw it. Lord Varyan saw it. You have the makings of a great hero. You can grow into a formidable opponent for Carnifex. You are the biggest chance we have to right their wrongs.”

  Shadis had to pause, his breath rattling as he coughed into his hand. Blood stained his palm.

  “Every generation needs its hero. We had Lord Alastair, then Arslan came along for Lord Thomas. Yours needs you, Stick. I see it clear as day now.”

  Tears ran down Stick’s cheeks. His body trembled with sobs. PP laid a shaking hand on Stick’s shoulder and one on Shadis’ chest.

  “Find Lord Alastair and lead the Lords to a prosperous future. I know you two can do it.” Shadis’ voice grew weaker. “Please hurry, you have six months left to the birthday.”

  Stick shook his head. “No, Shadis, what are you saying?”

  “It’s time for us old-timers to make way for the next generation.” Shadis was nearly whispering.

  Stick grabbed Shadis’ hand, but there was no tension to it.

  “Shadis…” he whimpered.

  “Don’t worry, Sir Arslan, I lived without regret.” The ‘Sir’ was deliberate, but Stick barely heard it through his own sobs.

  PP buried his face in his hands.

  Shadis’ breathing grew shallow. His eyes turned glassy, unfocused, staring at nothing. His lips parted slightly.

  “Maybe there is one thing,” he murmured. “I regret not being there… to witness the young Lords become the men they were destined to be.”

  Stick watched as the light faded from Shadis’ eyes.

  The fire crackled.

  The cold deepened.

  As the day faded, so did Shadis Moore.

  After a lifetime of battles, death finally claimed him.

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