The Rifleman - Bk1 - Ch.12 (Patreon)

Chapter Twelve

The Road to the City

The old covered cart was not the most comfortable place to sleep, but it had the advantage of being something close to safe. It was the first time he had slept since the dungeon, but Wes was awake within a few short hours. Only a few Tiers gained, and he already felt like a different person. 

His mind was on the changes to his body as he dropped off the back of the cart and stretched a little. It was one thing to feel the difference when the Were-wisp spell transformed him or when firing off lights and healing from his hand, but it was another to feel well-rested after only a few hours of sleep in the back of a rattling cart or walk for hours without tiring. The changes went deeper as well, with his muscles and bones feeling different after each tempering. Stronger, denser, more responsive. 

His mind was also altered, but more by experience than stats, from what he could tell. Wes was still him, but the idea of firing his rifle in anger or dodging a grasping undead was not an impossibility anymore. He could do all those things, had done those things. The result was a man not the same as the one who had arrived with wet feet only a few days before. 

By any reasonable standard, he should be a traumatized wreck by now, a walking advert for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He was pretty sure it was the first word that made the difference. To get PTSD, you had to have a moment post-trauma. Abducted, drafted, dumped in a game world run by a bunch of overpowered Todds? 

Wesley would be dead before he ever got a moment to be post-trauma.

A tap on the shoulder broke him out of that cheerful thought, and he saw the archer, her blond hair up in a tight and complex braid. She was holding out a bunch of what looked like herbs to him. 

Frowning, he took them and stared, sniffing at them.

She laughed and took some, putting them in her mouth and chewing energetically before spitting them out on the side of the road.

Wesley copied her, feeling a cooling minty flavor that was almost like candy before he also spat them out when a strong astringent note cut through the taste. She sniffed her own breath, so he did the same. It was a massive improvement, leaving his mouth with a lovely, clean feel like he had been at a dentist.

He gave her a thumbs up, which she didn’t get, and finally found out how they said thank you after a few attempts. 

Right, no thumbs up because no Romans. Wesley made a mental note. 

Not too long after, the group passed by a fast-running river, and everyone seemed to stop and fill their water skins. Wesley took a careful sip, finding the water clean and apparently clear of any pollutants he could taste. Still, he only took a sip before filling his canteen and deciding to wait a while before he actually drank. 

He felt a little bad about letting the others test the water out for him, but what other choice did he have? Wes had no idea if his Emergency Heal would do anything at all for the…. 

Wesley stopped and placed his canteen on a flat rock before shooting a Flare into it and watching the water boil almost instantly. Once it stopped, he put the top on and held the hot metal under the cold water until it was comfortable to hold. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a lot better than nothing. He turned to see people giving him strange looks, several openly laughing, so he waved. 

It made it much worse.

Not wanting to waste the opportunity the water offered, and since people were already laughing, Wes took off his tunic and started to wash it in the stream and wash his head, face, and arms. 

By the time he was done, the laughter had stopped, and everyone was heading back up to the cart to keep moving. Wesley hung his damp-but -cleaner tunic over the back of his pack and followed.

The road they followed was made of large slabs of stone, pitted and rutted, but stone nonetheless. Those same strange stones with their strange markings kept to their regular spacing next to the road, and Wesley figured out they must be marker stones of some form. 

The strange markings seemed to have several lines crossing each other, but after seeing enough of them, Wesley noticed that one set was increasing, the other decreasing.

A couple of markers later, it finally clicked for him. They were counting the distance to the zone boundary. Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Which meant… this road was heading for another zone boundary.

At first, Wesley just assumed he was wrong, that the other countdown was for the city, but when they came to a split in the road, a massive stone was placed with a pretty clear indication.

The right-hand side of the rock showed a carving of what was clearly a city inside a wall. On the left, a set of lines disappeared into dots as they went straight up.

Zone boundary.

The Cart was headed to the left, so Wesley let out a whistle, getting them to stop. With a sad smile, he pointed to himself and then gestured down the other fork.

They nodded, and the cart continued, the Twins waving before racing ahead.

The warrior came over to him, gave him a bone-aching hug, and clapped him on the back before nodding and following. The archer grabbed something from the cart and ran back, offering him a small leather pouch. Looking inside, he saw more of the herbs she had given him before. He thanked her with a smile and a small nod. 

Before he could turn away, she pulled him in, kissing him deeply, her tongue twirling with his before she pulled away, winked, and walked off after the cart.

“Still got it,” Wesley said breathlessly and turned to walk down the other fork with a goofy smile on his face and a little spring in his step.

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A few hours later, he stopped and shrugged back into his tunic, fastening it before continuing on his way. The place still seemed pretty damn idyllic to him so far, but he could remember Gem’s worry about being attacked in this zone. So, no matter how it looked, it obviously had its own dangers. 

The marker stones seemed to be counting down again; this time, he was pretty sure it was to the city. Given what he had learned from before, Wesley guessed he had at least another full day, maybe two, before he reached the city. Traffic seemed pretty light, which was probably a good thing. Lone travelers were probably a prime target to get attacked, especially in a world as hard as this one seemed to be. It would probably be best to avoid any meetings, at least until he was more used to the world. 

He had no sooner had the thought than the trees gave way to open land dotted with farms and even a few more roads. He saw a group that looked like they were moving in formation, moving at speed down the road toward him. They wore armor and carried identical shields, and he immediately identified them as soldiers. The problem was, they must have seen him the moment he stepped out of the forest. He still had time to run, but wouldn’t that just mark him as suspicious? In the end, he just stepped to the side of the road and waited while they ran past. The leading soldier nodded once to him… and they were gone. Running on past him.

He watched them go before shaking his head and continuing on. Yet another example of his mindset being wrong for this world. In his, he knew how to read things, how to act, how to interpret people’s actions… here. He was frequently jumping to the wrong conclusions.

Taking advantage of Hawk Eye, which he should have done earlier, Wesley scanned the landscape in front of him as he walked. A couple of the other roads had carts and wagons on them; there were even a few people walking, just like him. He only counted two traveling alone, but it showed it was at least safe for some to do so.

By evening, he had come to the edge of the farmland, crops he had never seen before and some that looked almost familiar. Hell, for all he knew, it could all be. Wesley was a food-from-the-shop kind of guy. Processed, packaged, and hopefully, cooked by someone else. It was entirely possible he would not recognize a bit of wheat in its natural form if someone jabbed it into his mouth.

The most important thing, as far as he was concerned at the moment, was the corn. There was clearly a small cornfield on the farm he was passing, and it seemed like a reasonable idea to try and buy some. He could cook some corn over a fire. It was one thing he had actually cooked on a fire before. 

A small, guilty urge came to just grab some, as no one seemed to be around, but he decided against it. He was hungry, not starving.

Starving? He’s already be running off with an armful.

Hungry? He’d pay.

The path was well worn, and the grass rubbed away from the frequent passage of feet, so he assumed entering the property was okay. Still, he made sure to make as much noise as possible as he approached the small wooden house with a faded but well-maintained thatched roof, just to make it clear he wasn’t sneaking up on anyone.

He even stopped a little back from the door, ensuring he was in plain sight before calling out, hoping those inside spoke ‘Standard.’

“Hello?” He called as loud as he could. “I was hoping to buy some corn?”

“Who are you?” a voice called from inside. Wes’s Hawk Eye let him see the eye pressed against a small knothole in the door's wood, like a peephole. 

“Wesley Lancaster,” Wes called back politely. “I was passing and would like some of your corn. Could I please buy some?”

“Not for sale,” The voice called back. 

“Sorry to bother you,” Wes called back. “You have a nice evening now,” he bowed a little, as they seemed to do that here, and turned to walk away.

“Wait, I didn’t say you couldn’t have some.” The door opened a crack, showing a man with a stony face—literally, a stone face. His skin looked like a carved rock, yet it stretched and moved like skin. His beard pushed through, a coarse dark green, almost like lichen. “You can have an ear if you want.”

“Really?” Wes asked. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

The door opened further, light spilling over the man’s shoulder. 

“You got a problem with the stone-folk?” he asked.

“I don’t think I’ve met any before,” Wesley replied carefully. “I’m new around here.”

“I see.” The man stepped forward, showing his entire body to be carved stone. His clothes, however, were pure farmer: overalls, a tatty shirt, and large leather boots. “Well, I’m a stone-folk.”

“Nice to meet you,” Wesley repeated. 

“Corn’s this way,” The man said and walked off toward the patch of growing stalks. 

Wesley followed along, keeping a wary distance, just in case, but trying not to be obvious about it. The strange stone man quickly picked a few ears and passed them over to him.

“Are you sure you don’t want something for these?” Wesley asked again.

“You look hungry,” the farmer sniffed. “Do you want to pay back the favor? Next time you meet a stone-folk, help ‘em out if you can.” He shrugged. “The barn is that way; you can sleep there if you want, but I warn you, I get to work early.”

“That would be great, thanks,” Wesley said again.

“Right,” The man walked past Wesley without a backward glance. “Night.”

“Night,” Wesley said and headed off toward the barn, a little stunned by the encounter. 

He made a small fire and cooked the corn in the clear space outside the barn, keeping a careful eye out for sparks. It would suck to repay the farmer’s kindness by burning down the place. 

He had probably left it in too long, but it tasted like heaven, which proved a few things. First, he was right about how much hunger increased enjoyment of food, and second, that he really needed to stop wandering around without food and water.

While sitting and chewing on his ear of corn, his eyes were drawn to a small orb that floated toward him, glowing gently. He froze, flashing back to the wisp that nearly killed him only a few days ago. Unlike the one that had attacked him, this one was a soft golden color, and it seemed almost curious as it bobbed and weaved in front of him. The movements seemed almost like a little wave, so despite feeling like an idiot, he waved back. 

Nothing happened, so he changed into wisp form and waved back again. The little glowing orb flashed a brighter yellow for a second, and then… 

There were no words that he knew for what happened, but it seemed to beckon him. He understood it clearly enough but had no idea how. It hadn’t moved, spoken, or anything at all, really. But still, he understood.

This was a bad idea, he knew, but still, he got to his feet and followed. The orb danced and pulsed with light as it led him away from the farm and out into the grassland, where a dozen more orbs appeared and began to dance and blip around him. It was haunting, beautiful, and completely puzzling. He felt no threat or menace from the little wisps, but he still had no idea what was going on. 

A single orb, he had no idea if it was the one that had led him here, separated from the throng and approached him slowly.

Wesley put out his hand toward it, and it came the last few inches, a tiny golden tendril reaching toward his fingers. 

The moment it touched him…

A warrior moving through a series of exercises, practicing with a strange short spear. Parrying the air as he danced back and forth before thrusting…

Wes blinked, and the orb moved away, another taking its place. A golden tendril reached for him…

There was a smell in her nostrils, like a hint of rot. The door opened, and a creature emerged, skin hanging loose from the bones of the undead. She smiled, a single touch causing the creature to fall and return to death. She stripped the flesh and ground the bones into a powder. This powder would shield her village for a dozen days…

They came faster and faster, glimpses of memory, fragments of lives. A bit of muscle memory here, a warning glint there, the little things these creatures had stolen from the living. Knowledge of the creatures came along with the memories taken from a child.

Dream Wisps, they were called. Unlike the larger versions, these simply fed on the sleeping forms of animals and people alike. They took energy, and the memories came along with it. The crazy thing was they were just as immortal as the other forms of wisp. Immortal, unstoppable little thieves in the night.

Except, it seemed they offered those memories to him now. Wesley had no idea why, but he knew they were taking a little energy from him with every trade. It was tiny, truly tiny amounts. The whole pack had taken less than a single cast of Improved Flare, but it was there. 

The last of the wisps pulled away, glowing slightly brighter, and the whole swarm drifted away into the night like a bunch of fireflies.

Wesley let go of the wisp form and watched them out of sight before turning and walking back to his fire and pulling out another ear of corn.

A second meal, just this once.

He waited for it to cook, smelling the comforting scent of a campfire, and knew more than he had before. It was all bits and pieces, nothing quite fitting together, but some of it… Wes stood and grabbed his rifle, moving through the forms the fighter in the memory had without any effort at all. His muscles remembered the moves as if they had done them a thousand times. Blocking, parrying, sweeps, and stabs. The rifle hummed through the air as he moved, spinning and smiling as it all felt completely natural to him. 

His corn was ready by the time he was done, panting and exhausted.

How many years had the warrior practiced, and how many years had he repeated those exercises every day? Wesley had just got a decent amount of that in one simple download.

Wesley woke just before sunrise, still sitting with his back against the barn doors. It was an old trick he had learned when sleeping in the cheapest places money could rent; something actors often had to do while touring. You slept with your back to the door, and if anyone tried to open it, you woke up straight away.

He had never expected to use it in a situation like this, but useful knowledge was useful knowledge no matter how you came by it.

Wesley did some stretches, practiced the forms he learned the night before, and then rinsed himself in water from the farmer’s well. Finally, he chewed some of the herbs and waved a grateful goodbye to the farmer before he headed out, three ears of corn still in his pack.

Happiness, it turned out, was knowing where your next meal was coming from.

He had a feeling it would take him a lot longer to get used to the rest of the random knowledge rattling around in his head from the wisps last night, but for today, he was mostly concerned with getting to the Unnamed City itself.

The morning was spent walking along mostly empty roads, with the occasional farm or small set of buildings passing by on either side. Wesley wasn’t tempted to stop and explore simply because he was tired, and the city itself was finally in sight.

And what a sight it was. 

Perfectly rounded walls at least four stories high were topped with flags in a dozen colors. Beyond, Wesley could see the occasional tower or spire, but none of them came close to the strange thing hanging above it all. A bubble, like a massive soap bubble, hung in the air above the city, containing what looked like a massive amount of water that trembled and shifted constantly as if something moved within.

As far as views to inspire respect, it was beyond effective. It also didn’t take a genius to figure out the bubble contained enough water to completely drown the city.

Traffic got denser as he approached the city, and it was immediately clear that a class system was in strong effect. The right side of the road was filled with gleaming armor and haughty-looking people surrounded by a cluster of arrogant warriors, casters, and others.

The left was full of drab armor, craftsmen, and tired-looking people. No one enforced the separation; it seemed no one needed to.

Wesley naturally walked to the left side of the road. His torn and stained clothes fit right in. 

A little further on, a large stone separated the road into two. One branch headed toward a long, high ramp that led to an ornate gateway where guards in jeweled armor waved people through.

The other led down to a smaller, less ornate, but still very much guarded gateway at ground level. A number of scripts were carved into the large rock and one of them he could read.

Welcome to the Unnamed City.

Player characters are welcome to the right.

Non-player characters are welcome to the left.

New arrivals to the game please report to the Delvers Guild for orientation and welcome pack.

All are welcome.

All are safe.

Do not fuck with me on this!

When Wesley read it, he laughed. Someone was very direct. A woman next to him followed his line of sight and smiled a little before tapping his shoulder.

“First time here?” she asked. The woman was a little older than him, with a scar across one cheek that looked freshly healed. Her helmet and armor were both dented but looked to be of good quality. A single strand of dark brown hair had escaped and tickled her lips as she spoke.

“It is,” Wesley admitted. “That orientation thing real?”

“Oh, that?” She raised her eyebrows. “Boring, but real. About that warning? Take it seriously. You don’t want to get into a fight or anything here, okay?”

“I’ll remember not to,” Wes promised. “They are pretty strict, I take it?”

“No,” She said seriously. “Strict assumes they have any give at all. They will just kill everyone involved and throw the corpses into the pits.”

“Fuck,” Wesley whistled. 

“Inside those walls, we are safe, at least,” She smiled. “There isn’t a lot of that for us N.P.C.s…  if that is what you are.”

“I am,” Wesley said happily.

“You are happy about that?” She asked, mouth quirking a little.

“Better than to have someone who designed a place like this pulling my strings,” Wesley said with feeling.

“You are not wrong,” She sighed. “How new are you, anyway?”

“I lost count of the days, but probably less than a couple of weeks,” Wesley offered.

She stopped suddenly but caught up as people behind her complained.

“You’re that new?” She frowned. “You don’t seem to be the first tier, either.”

“It’s been a busy couple of weeks,” Wesley grinned weakly.

Their turn came at the gate, and she spoke up before he could even open his mouth.

“Malia Kerr, Knight Errant, and my apprentice.” She said with confidence. “Returning for Delver’s Guild reward.

The guards waived them through and Malia grabbed his arm and frog marched him down a sidestreet until they found a quiet corner, where she pushed him up against the wall.

He was either about to get robbed or made out with. Wesley was definitely more at home with the second possibility. 

“Look,” She said seriously, leaning in close and whispering in his ear, “You are welcome to take the orientation, but if you do, the Players are going to recruit you to be one of their characters.” She leaned back and gave him a meaningful look. “Two weeks to get out of Tier One? That is good.” She gently felt his muscles as if just admiring them, “I’d say you were beyond Tier Two already, which is way way too good.” She laughed and tossed her head like she was flirting, but he saw her scan the area while she did it. “That puts you well into prodigy level as far as they are concerned.”

“Got any advice?” Wesley asked with a smile that felt entirely forced but hopefully looked genuine. 

“Lie your ass off,” Malia said with what seemed to be genuine warmth. “You might just make it in this world, so be careful, and don’t tell anyone you are that new.”

“Thanks,” Wesley said. “So, do you have any plans?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She laughed and patted his face with her gauntleted hand. 

“Good luck,” She said and then hesitated. “You make it to Tier Six, ask for the Errant Rangers, and we might have a spot for you.” 

With that, she stepped back and simply walked away. 

Wesley watched her go, and wondered what to do next.