He realized he was being stupid. There were things to pull him out everywhere he looked. All it took was noticing them, and luckily for the stranger, he did just that. He cut down a tree trunk and tossed it into the quicksand, right in front of the guy.

  "Grab on," James said.

  But it was just a stopgap, something to slow the sinking. The log would sink too if he didn't get him out fast. How to do it? What was the solution? Well, something quite simple, actually. The guy wasn't that far from the edge, so it wasn't hard to lean forward, drive his sword into the ground, and drag the log to the bank.

  "Thank you, thank you," the man stammered, up to his neck in shit and shaking from head to toe.

  Hardly surprising, of course.

  "I wasn't just going to look the other way, man," he said. "Don't mention it."

  It was, of course, a slightly fake display of modesty. In reality, he was swelling with pride. Being a hero was fine, but getting thanked was even better. Much as doing the right thing was supposed to be its own reward, there was no denying that fact.

  "You’d be surprised," the man replied. "You aren’t the first person to come by here."

  "Oh," James replied. He didn’t know what else to say; he was speechless.

  It really shouldn’t have surprised him; he knew what people were like. But thinking that at least one other person—probably more—had stood here, seen this, and just walked away without a second thought made his stomach turn.

  That was a level of malice he wasn't willing to sink to. Risking your life unnecessarily for a stranger was one thing, but this was like helping someone up who’d fallen on the ground. If you could do it, why wouldn't you? Man, it cost nothing. If there were other people around to help, you could understand someone just standing there, but if you were the only one? What the hell did it cost you?

  The man still had no idea what his name was. He stood up, shaking off the sand and mud as best he could—which is to say, not very well. But he did something, I guess, or maybe he just smeared it around worse.

  "Thank you," he repeated. "I... I’m getting out of here. But I’ll reward you back in Ashfall and... uh... as soon as I can."

  "Forget about it," James replied immediately—out of courtesy, nothing else. He wasn't actually going to turn down a reward.

  "No, no, you don't forget something like this..."

  And that was precisely why he didn't keep protesting.

  The man—who, by the way, was named Brian—ultimately decided to leave alone, on his own; claiming he was well enough to do so. James, for his part, wasn't entirely sure, but the guy seemed more terrified than tired or physically injured. And anyway, to be honest, he was grateful for the decision, since he didn't feel like escorting him all the way to the portal. So, he let him go. Whether he survived or not... was a matter of luck.

  He simply kept going, heading deeper into the forest. He hadn’t come here with a specific goal, so he didn't have to go—didn't need to go—very far. Besides, for obvious reasons, it was much easier to turn around and walk out of this dungeon without even defeating a boss than it would be in a descent.

  In short, he felt powerful and free to experiment with that power. Everything was good; the conditions were ideal. Running that fast, jumping that high... it was all incredible, orgasmic even. He could barely believe it was actually happening to him, that his life had changed so much in such a short time. And for the better, instead of for the worse.

  Because he knew plenty about changes for the worse. He knew they were to be expected. Just as growing a plant required rigorous care, while making it wither only required letting things run their natural course, stepping back. Life was a constant struggle against the abyss. The natural state of things was nothingness; everything went to shit without proper cultivation.

  Yet he had barely done a thing. And not only had he recovered, he was better than ever. Practically everything had fallen into his lap, without sacrifice, without any special effort—contrary to how he firmly believed the world worked. Was he really living in a fantasy? A beautiful dream. If it were up to him, he wouldn't let it end anytime soon.

  And so it was. Nothing was out of his control. He could deal with any enemy that crossed his path, any obstacle he encountered, by overcoming it. He was convinced; he believed himself capable of it. And in due time, he would prove it. Right now, he wasn't proving much, other than that he could run through the trees, leap from the branches, and land with equal ease. It had been a while since he’d seen a monster—a rather strangely long time.

  Shortly after, as if something had heard his thoughts, he encountered a monster. A moss wolf, which looked like it had melted off the trunk of some ancient tree, yet moved with the same agility as a normal wolf. In fact, with even greater agility.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  You could say this was his first real challenge wearing the armor. He raised his sword and shield, readying himself for the fight. He assumed a combat stance. Although, of course, he wasn't formally trained, and magical stats couldn't change that—at least for the moment. So he probably looked like he was posing, trying to imitate some movie, because that was precisely what he was doing.

  The most incredible part of it didn't last long. It was all over in an instant. But looking back, there was nothing amazing about it. This might look like a video game, but it wasn't; it was real life with everything at stake. Fights were about ending things as soon as possible, because every second they dragged on was a loss of energy, of skin and flesh. In any case, a loss that brought you closer to death.

  With precisely that in mind, he had chosen his class. His skill proved useful, surprisingly enough. A roll from the monster and an attack from behind... a somersault over the monster... solved everything. The description said the damage bonus applied to surprise attacks. The description spoke of surprise attacks, but apparently, attacks from behind counted, surprise or not. You had to read the fine print.

  It wasn't just his assumption. A notification popped up in the corner of his eye, alerting him that it had activated. The truth was, so many screens were a bit annoying; they created, let's say, a sense of distance between life and his senses, between his body and the world. Maybe he was exaggerating a bit, but even though he was happy with the life he had chosen, that thing bothered him more and more. Not too much, but increasingly so.

  In any case, winning that way was satisfying. Satisfying and right. To his surprise, no more moss wolves poured out of the forest darkness, from everywhere, or out from under the rocks. It didn't turn into a sudden ambush. It just happened, and it ended as quickly as it had begun. Curious, but it didn't matter. Either way, it was now more than clear: this armor was the shit. It was what he had needed from the very beginning. He would have to thank Alma properly.

  Not long after, while running, he came across something more interesting than a moss wolf. Specifically, someone.

  "Well," James said, "what a coincidence. You again."

  Mary crossed her arms, her crossbows flying in a circle around her.

  "It's not a coincidence. I’ve been waiting for you."

  James tensed slightly. Was this another person pissed off about the armor? That would be a shame. Natural, but a real shame. The truth was, he liked the girl. The same went for all the girls in her group.

  "No," Mary replied decisively. "Word is, someone tried to kill you. You accused Davis's people."

  "Because it's true."

  Once again, he was surprised. Mary nodded, without hesitation.

  "I believe you."

  "You planning to help me clear my name?"

  "Sure, why not?" The girl shrugged. "But mostly to kill that son of a bitch and his little friends."

  Plural. So Mary believed Richard was still alive, even if he was out of the city. That suggested she hated that little clique, that shitty triumvirate, enough to leave Ashfall to hunt down the guy who had fled. Well, well.

  "Okay, I'm listening," James said. "I don't know if I trust you, but..."

  "You should," Mary said. "I want him dead just as much as you do."

  "I’d love to hear the explanation."

  "You will, but not here. Let's go back to Ashfall."

  That was reasonable. He followed her toward the exit, through the forest.

  It could have gone much worse. He had an ally. Maybe he shouldn't have, but he believed in her. The fact was, what she was telling him was the truth.

  Revenge was a motive anyone could understand. Therefore, it could be used to feign emotion and manipulate people. He was aware of that. However, he didn't believe Mary's pain, her rage, and frustration were feigned. It didn't seem even remotely possible.

  Besides, what the hell could she get out of lying to him like that? If he were to get that paranoid, he could also assume half the town worked for that damn Triumvirate. Except for the recently deceased, of course.

  He had to be reasonable. And he thought he was being so.

  They returned to Ashfall without issues, just as planned. Mary took him to her house, which she apparently shared with the other three, of course. But they were out, for whatever reason. Which gave them time for a good talk.

  She sat him down at the living room table and gave him some water. She offered alcohol, wine, then soda... but he only asked for water. In the end... that was enough. Besides, he was discovering it was what felt best when you were physically tired: a good glass of cold water.

  James took a sip.

  "Alright, I'm listening," he said.

  Mary crossed her legs.

  "There’s actually not much to tell. Those guys, that shitty Triumvirate, they killed someone important to me. I couldn't prove it. They made sure of that. And I wanted revenge, of course, as anyone would, but I didn't want to ruin my life in the process. Nor that of my other loved ones, you see. For years I've been looking for proof, a way to prove it, to do things right. And I told myself that was enough."

  "But now that they're back at their old tricks... You can't resist."

  "Exactly."

  "I can imagine why... I suppose you don't intend to tell me who they killed... what they meant to you. But it doesn't matter. I believe you. Can I ask you another question?"

  "You can ask whatever questions you want. The only thing I don't promise is an answer."

  "Yeah. What were you doing in Descent? A recommended level eight dungeon... If you've been here for years..."

  "We were looking for a certain artifact. We are above the recommended level, that's the only thing I'm going to tell you. That, and... I never said they killed him here."

  "You mean it happened before all this dungeon stuff? And you followed them here?"

  "Yes. That is exactly what I mean."

  "Wow. That's more than I expected."

  "I imagine so. Can I count on your cooperation? And that of whoever your contact is."

  "I don't understand."

  "The person who helped you with the information to get that armor."

  "Oh. I... I'm in, but... No. I don't think that person would help us with this."

  "Well, damn," Mary sighed. "You would know, I suppose. It would be worth a try."

  He could say he wasn't going to risk his life trusting that a practically unknown woman wouldn't turn him in... He could say that. But it wasn't necessary to complicate the explanation about something that was ultimately irrelevant. And it would only lead to questions he wouldn't know how to answer. Like, for example: if you are complete strangers and she's a simple receptionist... why did she help you? And how? Lying might not be the right thing to do, but often it was the most convenient.

  "I'll try," he said finally, "but don't expect much."

  Mary shrugged.

  "That's the only thing I can ask of you."