“Treat or kill, girl?”
The boy’s attempt at intimidation was… sad. An amateur PKer, clearly.
As a warrior, rule number one: don’t get your weapon dirty.
I shivered. That was because of the cold from the stream, not fear—I was mostly feeling sorry for his poor spear. It didn’t deserve to be buried in mud like that.
I wanted to retort something witty, but my brain refused to cooperate. Maybe it was the lack of wine or whiskey.
Come on, body, work with me here! At least I narrowed my eyes at him and said, “You are?”
The boy blinked, surprised by my question and probably confused. His bravado slipped for a moment before he puffed his chest and shouted, “Slow one, huh? This is robbery! Things, or we kill!”
I felt my cheeks heat up—from secondhand embarrassment. Oh, honey. “First,” I said, motioning to the tip of his spear, which was now firmly and disgracefully lodged in the mud. “Spear out. Be threatening.”
He glanced down at his weapon and froze; the color draining from his face. The realization hit him hard, and in his panic, he yanked at the spear with far too much force. And the result? He toppled backward, landing flat on his rear with a wet splat.
“Second,” I continued, fighting the urge to laugh as I motioned at the awkward formation of his group. “There.” My finger pointed toward the ground, where they all stood huddled together. “Well, not there. Surround target.” My Irwen voice was practiced and cold by now.
“Scram,” I ordered, letting the final word hang in the air for a beat before delivering the punchline with a smirk. Thank you Riker for giving me this card. I pointed at myself. “Ranker.” The boy’s comrades exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence wavering as I fixed them with a glare.
“She’s… The Charlie! Rank eight!” a girl in the rear squealed, her voice smashing through the awkward silence. Judging by her robes and the faint glow of a staff strapped to her back, she was clearly a mage.
I tensed as she started moving toward me, practically bouncing with excitement. My mind raced through a dozen potential threats.
Is she going to cast something?
A trap?
But then she stopped a few steps away, her cheeks suddenly pink as she asked, now shyly, “Can I get a selfie?”
“No way!” shouted one other, a bulky warrior type with a massive axe slung over his shoulder. “We’re not here for—”
“Quiet, Greg!” the mage snapped, spinning around to glare at him before turning her hopeful gaze back to me.
The leader, still trying to salvage his dignity, let out a long sigh and walked toward me at a measured pace, spear now miraculously clean but still looking worse for wear. He glanced at the mage, then at me, muttering, “Seriously? A selfie?”
I stayed frozen, eying them all with suspicion.
What are they playing at?
But before I could decide, the mage was suddenly beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders like we were besties. “Say cheese!” she chirped, holding up her interface and snapping a screenshot.
And just like that, my suspicion evaporated, replaced by something far worse: social anxiety. My entire body stiffened as the rest of the group started crowding around me, their earlier aggression now replaced with star-struck awe.
“Whoa, you’re really Charlie? The rank eight?” the rogue of the group asked, a wiry guy who looked like he’d been surviving off stolen bread rolls. “I watched all of your vids! Boss fight was epic, but how you threw that Riker’s bouncer around! Badass IRL!” He actually made the motion.
What? They recorded that? Of course Riker did. I shouldn’t trust him easily.
“Do you still have the Spear of Destiny?” the bulky warrior—Greg, apparently—blurted out, his earlier resentment completely forgotten. His eyes sparkled with admiration, which was deeply unsettling coming from someone who looked like he could bench-press a beer barrel.
“I heard you soloed Goolem boss! Is that true? Raking marks it as rumour!” the mage added, practically bouncing on her heels now.
“You’re way prettier in person,” Greg added awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as his gaze darted everywhere but at me.
“Greg, stop being weird,” the rogue muttered, elbowing him.
I raised a hand weakly, trying to ward off the avalanche of attention. “Uh, thanks, I guess?”
“Wait, wait!” the mage interrupted, grabbing her staff and holding it out toward me. “Can you sign this? Like, with magic?”
“Magic autographs don’t work!” Greg groaned. “They fade after a week!”
“She doesn’t have time for this!” the leader barked, trying to regain some semblance of control. The moment he locked eyes with me, I could see it—the flicker of awe he was trying to hide.
“Wait,” the rogue said suddenly, pointing at my still-dripping robes. “Why were you in the stream? Like, in it?”
I sighed, running a hand over my face. “Mud. Wolves. Long story.”
“Must be quite the story,” the mage giggled, as though we were old friends sharing an inside joke.
“Alright,” I said firmly, taking a step back and raising both hands to create space. “Look. Stuff to do. So maybe—”
“Can we party with you?” the mage asked, her eyes sparkling.
“No,” I said immediately, shaking my head. This wasn’t what I asked for when I was reminiscent of having nobody to go with.
“Pleeease?”
“Still no.”
“You’re so cool!” Greg blurted out, his voice cracking slightly. “True Ice Princess!”
This is why I prefer going alone.
“I’m on a very important quest. Solo. Sorry,” I said firmly, glancing at their hopeful faces. The spark of excitement in their eyes dimmed almost instantly, and the crushing disappointment was practically tangible.
Ugh. Why do they have to look so pitiful?
“But!” I raised my hand, stopping their crushed spirits in their tracks. An idea formed—something that would let them feel important. If my ungrateful friend Lucas ever decides to return, maybe he’d learn a thing or two about gratitude.
I reached into my inventory, pulling out an enchanting paper, its surface glinting faintly in the sunlight. With quick strokes, I jotted a note on it, careful to phrase it just right. Then, slipping off my ring, I pressed it to the parchment, leaving an official seal that glowed before fading into the paper.
<table style="background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 75, 122, 0.93); margin: 10px auto; width: 90%; border: none; border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 2px; padding: 0">
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<td style="text-align: center; margin: 3px; padding: 5px; color: rgba(218, 213, 206, 1) !important; border: 1px solid rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.25) !important; background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1)">[This company is under the service of Princess Charlie. Captain of guards, please grant them a quest of importance.]</td>
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I handed it to the mage, who accepted it with trembling hands like it was a holy relic.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“I own East Fortification,” I explained, my tone taking on Irwen’s regal edge. “Go there. Hand this over. There will be a gigantic battle in a few days—weeks, tops. Be ready. Fight on my side.” With every moment, my confidence grew, and I could get out a few more words.
The group stared at the parchment, then at me. Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and walked away, letting my robes swish dramatically behind me. Ugh, I’m such a showoff. Riker’s flair is rubbing off on me… and not in a good way.
As I strode away, I heard them calling after me, their voices brimming with excitement and awe.
“Goodbye, Princess Charlie!”
“She’s so cool!”
“True Ice Princess!”
I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Well, at least they appreciate it. As Katherine says, spread love! Lucas… you better be back soon!
Meeting this… bandit… group of players wasn’t on my itinerary, but at least it improved my mood. Until I saw more wolves.
“I swear to the Ice-Blood God,” I grumbled, glaring at the muddy path ahead. “If I have to fight them the entire way…”
The universe answered with a resounding yes.
For hours, I slogged through wave after wave of wolves, each more annoying than the last. The XP was… fine, but it felt like a complete waste of time.
Unfortunately, avoiding them wasn’t an option.
They seemed to materialize anywhere the ground was muddy, which, of course, was everywhere.
By the time I finally reached the hills, I was battered, mud-streaked, and muttering curses under my breath. At least there, the landscape shifted.
And, apparently, the system was happy I created the runes for my lighting and used it on a perceived enemy. “I hate you, mud!” I hit the ground with my spark and it connected.
<table style="background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 75, 122, 0.93); margin: 10px auto; width: 90%; border: none; border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 2px; padding: 0">
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<td style="text-align: center; margin: 3px; padding: 5px; color: rgba(218, 213, 206, 1) !important; border: 1px solid rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.25) !important; background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1)">[To unlock a Chain lightning, practice it: 715/1000]</td>
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Gentle slopes rolled upward, and an ancient, ruined road stretched out before me. The path led toward Yarriw, a place about I spoke to the children.
What the heck? The road itself had scars of conquest, its cobblestones cracked and worn. The Empire had destroyed it during their campaign against us—Charlie!—elven conquest, not mine.
I wasn’t there… was I?
My memories were frustratingly fuzzy. I must’ve read about it somewhere, but the images in my head felt oddly vivid, like déjà vu.
Nonsense.
The problem wasn’t the road itself, though. It was the fact that it wasn’t empty.
Sure, I could avoid it, trudge through the mud, and continue battling wolves until I collapsed. Or I could stick to the road, mud-free, but face tougher enemies.
Ez decision.
Hopping between the remaining cobblestones, I advanced slowly, scanning the area for movement. It didn’t take long before my first opponent revealed itself.
<table style="background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 75, 122, 0.93); margin: 10px auto; width: 90%; border: none; border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 2px; padding: 0">
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<td style="text-align: center; margin: 3px; padding: 5px; color: rgba(218, 213, 206, 1) !important; border: 1px solid rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.25) !important; background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1)">[Guardian Lv.9]
Type: 3-rare | HP: 180/180</td>
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The creature emerged from the side of the road, a blend of nature and earth molded into a bipedal thing.
Its body was squat and beefy, almost as armored-dwarf, or Italian trying to drink whiskey, though its proportions were oddly weird. Its legs were too long, bending at strange angles, and its thick, bark-covered torso bristled with stones and sprouting twigs.
“Great,” I muttered under my breath, raising my whip and shield. “Let’s see how this goes.”
The creature’s head was almost plain, save for two faintly glowing eyes that followed me as I circled, my steps evading the patches of mud. Its movements mirrored mine, its twig-like appendages moving with anticipation as it shifted to show its side. Its feet locked into a precise stance—a classic elven dueling position.
“Ah, my friend,” I said, a grin tugging at my lips despite the tension. “Elven classic style? Your swordplay is as easy to read as drinking Jameson.” I widened my stance, raising my shield in one hand and whip in the other. “Come at me!”
My grin grew as I moved, adopting the imperial dueling style, stepping forward with practiced precision. That was until I remembered one very important detail: I didn’t have a sword. I had a whip.
My good mood deflated faster than a punctured barrel.
The Guardian didn’t hesitate. Sensing my moment of hesitation, it advanced with a predictable, textbook maneuver—classic to its style, but still dangerously effective. I barely raised my shield in time to meet the attack.
<table style="background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 75, 122, 0.93); margin: 10px auto; width: 90%; border: none; border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 2px; padding: 0">
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<td style="text-align: center; margin: 3px; padding: 5px; color: rgba(218, 213, 206, 1) !important; border: 1px solid rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.25) !important; background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1)">[Block successful. Mitigated amount of damage: 3, other damage halved. Suffered amount: 5]
[New milestone! To unlock a block, block an attack: 1000/10000]</td>
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“Outchie!” I hissed as the impact drove me back a few steps. My pitiful strength showed its teeth again. It wasn’t enough to hold my ground, even with a perfect block. My arms ached from the reverberation, but I gritted my teeth and retaliated immediately, my whip snapping forward with a sharp crack.
<table style="background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 75, 122, 0.93); margin: 10px auto; width: 90%; border: none; border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 2px; padding: 0">
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<td style="text-align: center; margin: 3px; padding: 5px; color: rgba(218, 213, 206, 1) !important; border: 1px solid rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.25) !important; background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1)">[Armor not pierced. Target lost 3HP (6/2 normal damage)]</td>
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“Oh, come on!” I groaned, watching as the creature barely flinched, its sturdy body absorbing the attack like it was nothing. “It’ll take forever!” So I started casting instead.
“Ice Dance!” I shouted as the runes flared to life. Frost burst forth, cascading like a shimmering rain and coating the ground in a thin, crystalline sheet.
Freezing mud!
The Guardian’s movements slowed as the ice crept up its legs, the satisfying crack of freezing twigs making me feel even happier.
If I could read its moves before, now I could predict them. The frost emphasized every subtle twitch of its stance, every telegraphed shift of weight.
But it wasn’t just the ice—it was Ice Dance. With my 62 Intelligence, the spell packed a serious punch.
<table style="background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 75, 122, 0.93); margin: 10px auto; width: 90%; border: none; border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 2px; padding: 0">
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<td style="text-align: center; margin: 3px; padding: 5px; color: rgba(218, 213, 206, 1) !important; border: 1px solid rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.25) !important; background-image: initial; background-size: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1)">[Armor not pierced. Target lost 12HP (6/2 normal + 9 ICE damage)]</td>
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“Four times damage, babyyy!” I squealed, unable to contain my glee as I saw the Guardian’s health bar dip for the first time.
The creature didn’t seem pleased.
It lunged forward, its twig-covered limbs lashing out in a calculated strike aimed for my feet. But with the icy surface beneath me, and my heels anchoring me, its attack was sluggish and predictable. I simply slid my foot out of the way, my movements fluid and almost playful.
“Too slow, twig boy,” I taunted, grinning as frost continued to swirl around me.
The Guardian hesitated, its glowing eyes narrowing—or maybe that was just my imagination—as it recalibrated its approach.
But I wasn’t worried.
Why?
The mud was frozen.