The rain fell in heavy sheets now, turning the black sand into thick, sucking mud that clung to Jax’s boots with every careful step forward.
Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the jagged wreckage of the Trojan Horse in stark white bursts, its broken timbers rising like the ribs of some long-dead sea monster.
Thunder followed close behind, shaking the ground and rattling his teeth in the brief silence that came after.
Jax moved low and quiet, keeping his silhouette small against the storm.
His mythril dagger rested loose in his right hand, ready but not raised.
The new [Survival Instinct] passive hummed softly in the back of his mind, highlighting the huddled figures ahead as low-threat but unpredictable, armed, tense, and desperate.
He activated [Nobody’s Guile] at half strength, letting the shadows cling just enough to soften his outline without draining stamina too quickly.
The skill felt heavier in this real world, like moving through damp wool, but it still worked well enough to give him a few precious seconds of cover.
He closed the distance, thirty meters, then twenty.
The group sheltered beneath a leaning section of the Horse’s hull, five, no, six, figures pressed close together against the wind.
One stood taller than the rest, broad-shouldered, his dented bronze armor still bearing the marks of Troy.
Eurylochus.
Rain plastered dark hair across his forehead, and his eyes, wide, human, and unmistakably afraid, darted between the storm and the others.
The rest were a ragged collection: a young archer clutching his side, an older man who looked like a cook holding a makeshift spear with trembling hands, two sailors, one nursing a gash along his forearm, and a woman in lighter scout armor staring out at the dark sea as though it might swallow them at any moment.
Jax stopped just outside the shelter’s edge.
Rain hammered against his shoulders.
He let [Nobody’s Guile] fade, better to approach openly now.
Hiding from potential allies would only breed suspicion.
Eurylochus saw him first.
His hand dropped to the hilt of his short sword, then froze as recognition struck.
“Captain?” The word came out cracked, half question and half desperate prayer.
“Odysseus? By the gods… is it truly you?”
The others turned sharply, weapons half-raised, faces pale in the lightning flashes.
Jax raised his empty left hand slowly, palm out in the universal gesture of peace.
“It’s me,” he said, voice steady despite the storm.
“Jax, your captain. The storm took the rest of the fleet. We’re all that’s left.”
A blue window tore open in the rain, visible only to him.
Eurylochus stepped forward, rain streaming down his face.
“We saw the sky break. Men vanished, your companions from the raid. One moment they were shouting victory, the next… gone. Like smoke.”
His voice dropped lower.
“The gods have cursed us for what we did to Troy. Poseidon roars. Why should we follow you now, sacker of cities?”
Jax felt the weight of the question settle over him like a physical blow.
In the game, NPCs had scripted loyalty.
Here, every word carried real consequences.
He lowered his hand, letting the dagger hang loose at his side, not threatening, but ready.
“Because I got us out of Troy alive,” he answered, meeting Eurylochus’s gaze.
“Because I know the way home. Ithaca waits, wives, children, hearths. The gods may hate us, but they haven’t killed us yet. That means there’s still a path.”
He paused, letting his eyes move across their exhausted faces.
“I won’t promise easy. I won’t promise no more blood. But I promise this: follow me, and we sail together. Stay scattered, and the storm takes us one by one.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the wind and rain.
The archer shifted, wincing at his wound.
The cook muttered something about the wine of the gods.
Eurylochus stared longest, searching Jax’s face for the man who had led them through the horse’s belly.
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Finally, he gave a single, sharp nod.
“Then we follow. For now.”
He turned to the others.
“This is our captain. Listen.”
One of the sailors, the younger one, stepped forward hesitantly.
“Water, sir? We’re parched.”
Jax unslung the scavenged water skin and passed it over.
“Share it. Small sips only.”
As they drank, he felt the first faint shift in the air.
The group huddled closer under the shelter.
Jax stepped inside, rain dripping from his armor.
For the first time since the beach, he wasn’t alone.
And that realization terrified him more than the storm ever could.
The shelter was cramped and leaky, but it blocked the worst of the wind and gave them a moment to breathe.
Jax knelt and laid out what little he had scavenged: three Trojan bronze shards, a half-amphora of wine, a few strips of cloak for bandages, and the nearly empty water skin.
The group watched him with wary eyes, waiting for the man they now called captain to prove himself.
“First things first,” Jax said, voice calm and even.
“Names. I know Eurylochus. The rest of you?”
The archer spoke first, voice thin but steady.
“Philocrates. I shot from the walls in Troy.”
The cook cleared his throat.
“Mentes. I fed the men. Now I feed ghosts.”
The scout woman met his gaze.
“Leucothea. I scouted the gates.”
The wounded sailor: “Polites.”
The young one who had asked for water: “Elpenor.”
Jax nodded once, committing each name to memory.
These were real people now, whether former NPCs or trapped players, the System had fused them into this world, and every choice he made would shape their survival.
He triggered the crew interface mentally.
A new blue box unfolded.
“Good,” Jax said aloud.
“We share everything, XP, loot, risk. No hoarding. That got men killed in Troy.”
Eurylochus snorted softly.
“Easy words from the man who took the lion’s share of glory.”
Jax met his eyes without flinching.
“Glory is cheap. Survival is expensive. We divide fair, or we fracture.”
Tension hung thick in the air.
Eurylochus held the stare for several seconds, then looked away.
“Fair, then.”
They sorted the loot quickly.
Jax kept one bronze shard for future crafting.
The wine amphora was divided into small rations, enough for morale buffs or a [Forgetfulness Potion] later if needed.
Philocrates took a spare dagger.
Mentes claimed the cook’s tools from a nearby corpse.
As they worked, Jax felt the fatigue debuff ticking down.
His stamina bar hovered dangerously at 40%.
“We need rest,” he said, “but not yet. The storm is getting worse. We, ”
A low moan cut him off.
From the sand beyond the shelter, three more shades rose, pale, translucent, eyes glowing with hate.
Drawn by their voices, or the loot, or simple malice.
“Shades!” Leucothea hissed, grabbing her broken bow.
Jax stood quickly, dagger ready.
“Form up! Eurylochus, front line. Philocrates, flank. Everyone else, stay close.”
The first shade lunged.
Eurylochus met it with his sword, bronze clashing on ethereal metal.
Jax activated [Basic Command].
He darted in, dagger slicing the shade’s side.
Black ichor sprayed.
Polites thrust his spear from behind, pinning it long enough for the kill.
The shade wailed and dissolved into mist.
The second and third came together.
Jax used the wreckage for cover, directing the group with sharp commands.
“Leucothea, aim for the eyes! Mentes, distract!”
The group moved, not perfectly, but coordinated.
Philocrates loosed an arrow despite the broken string, grazing one shade.
Jax finished it with a critical stab.
The last shade fell to Eurylochus’s blade.
Silence returned, broken only by panting breaths and the rain.
Jax bandaged Polites’s fresh cut from the fight, using the remaining cloak strips.
“Lesson one,” he said quietly.
“We bleed together. We heal together.”
Morale ticked up.
But as they sat, Elpenor eyed the wine amphora.
“A sip, captain? For strength.”
Jax shook his head firmly.
“Not yet. Save it. Greed lost us men before.”
Eurylochus watched him, expression unreadable.
Night deepened, and the rain continued its relentless roar against the hull above.
The group sat in a tight circle, sharing body heat against the cold that seeped through their armor and cloaks.
Jax felt every ache, bruised ribs, stinging cuts, the heavy weight of six pairs of eyes waiting for him to lead them out of this nightmare.
“We can’t stay here,” he said, breaking the silence.
“The storm isn’t letting up. There are village lights to the south, maybe a kilometer away. Supplies, shelter, possibly a ship. We raid at dawn, quick in, quick out. No lingering. No unnecessary blood.”
Eurylochus leaned forward, firelight from a scavenged torch playing across his face.
“Raid? Again? The gods already curse us for Troy. Poseidon roars because we sacked his favored city. You want to anger him more?”
Jax met his gaze steadily.
“I sacked Troy because it was the quest. The System demanded it. Now the quest is home. We need food, wood, sails. We take what we need, or we starve here.”
Mentes, the cook, spoke up.
“He’s right. My belly’s empty. The dead don’t eat.”
But Elpenor shifted uncomfortably.
“What if the village fights? More shades? More curses?”
Jax felt morale dip slightly, down to 45%.
He took a slow breath, mind racing.
He stood, rain dripping from his cloak.
“Listen. In Troy, we were wolves, hungry, greedy, unstoppable. We took everything because we could. And the gods noticed.”
He paused, letting the words settle.
“Now we’re not wolves. We’re a pack heading home. We hunt together, share the kill, protect the weak. Discipline over greed. That’s how we survive. That’s how we beat the curse.”
He extended his hand to Eurylochus.
“Follow me, and I swear: no man left behind unless he chooses it.”
Silence stretched again.
Then Eurylochus clasped his forearm.
“For Ithaca.”
One by one, the others nodded.
Morale surged.
They settled to rest, watches set.
Jax took the last watch, staring out at the storm.
Lightning revealed distant lights, Ismarus, the Cicones village.
Warm hearths. Food. Wine.
And defenders.
A massive thunderclap shook the beach.
The clouds above formed a face again, bearded, furious, eyes fixed on Jax.
Jax gripped his dagger tighter.
“We raid at dawn,” he whispered.
“No greed this time.”
The thunder laughed, long and low, as the waves crashed higher up the shore.
What did you think of the first interactions?
- Did Eurylochus seem trustworthy?
- How would YOU handle approaching a group of potential allies in permadeath mode?
- Any favorite lines or moments?
With survivors gathering and Poseidon’s storm closing in, what should Jax prioritize right now?
