Tobias was speaking quietly, almost whispering:

  “Yeah, that guy, Lukas, the one who interrupted the meeting with the Vikings. Yes, the latrine guy—but don’t say it to his face. Well, he’s a weird one; he could read the magic book, but he didn’t feel any affinity for any type of magic. I’m not even sure he can do magic.”

  The Special Ops Squad was currently hiding in the kitchen, waiting for the traitorous food thief—the monstrous saboteur who was destroying the Gamer Battalion one extra bagel at a time.

  We need to think about how to sell this, when we’re writing our memoirs, Mark thought. This is a serious step back from the magic book mission.

  “And apart from that, what kinds of [Mages] are we getting?” Mark asked. “Something cool?”

  Tobias made a dubious gesture.

  “It’s hard to say for now. We’re getting some elemental [Mages]—you know, water, fire, air, earth. And a few illusion [Mages]. There’s a guy who’s sure the section of the book he feels drawn to is related to spatial magic—creating portals and such. But I don’t know. I think he just loves the idea of it.”

  Mark took another bite of the apple he had stolen from the kitchen.

  “We must be doing something right. This night, Johan climbed another position—we’re currently fifth in the night ranking.”

  People had celebrated with a little cheer when the stars had shown their army had stepped up one ranking—there was some division in the Gamer battalion, but everybody agreed on the importance of the nightly ranking to avoid harassment from other armies.

  “Are we sure the night ranking measures military strength?” Arthur asked. “Maybe it measures other great achievements. I just had an amazing fuck with a beautiful woman. That had to count for something.”

  Mark rolled his eyes.

  And just when I thought he had reached the maximum possible hubris…

  “Yeah, asshole. The gods of this world stand in awe at your sexual prowess.”

  “As they should.”

  “Is that why you took poor Alice to the roof, you creep?” Emily asked. “You were making an exhibition for the gods?”

  Arthur was about to answer when a deep gong echoed through the little room. Mark felt the sound resonate in his chest.

  All of them fell silent.

  The metallic gongs still resonated through the sky from time to time, announcing that another general had been killed.

  “Creepy…” Emily muttered.

  “I know,” Mark answered. “Every time I hear it, I want to check on Johan. Make sure he’s fine. Like a mother with her newborn…”

  Arthur chuckled and started complaining about Eric the Zealot, who kept trying to approach him, claiming that they should “totally become best friends.”

  “I think he has a man-crush on you,” Mark said, laughing.

  The Special Ops Squad had delegated most—if not all—of the surveillance to “their people.”

  “Their people” being Liam, who had returned from his first scouting mission, and they had convinced for one last hurrah with the Special Ops Squad. He was currently hiding in a hallway to the kitchen, covering one of the entrances.

  And Harald and Bjorn—both excited about the fun little adventure. And eager to get away from their king, Erik Bloodaxe, who was infatuated with an actress from the Mamma Mia musical.

  She was blonde, tall, and beautiful. And the Viking King had fallen completely in love with her. He had seen Mamma Mia four times already.

  Mark was sure the young woman was gaining levels as an [Actress], or something similar that increased her allure.

  Johan had insisted to everybody on the importance of not leveling in stupid [Classes]. But they didn’t have any way of controlling what people were leveling in. So, except for Eric and his Zealots, everybody else was doing whatever they felt like doing.

  Mark hoped the other armies were fucking up their leveling even more than them.

  Bjorn and Harald were hiding in the stables, covering the other entrance. The Special Ops Squad was currently sitting at a big table in the middle of the kitchen, in darkness, eating some stolen fruit while they yapped the night away.

  Mark got up to get a pear—Emily made him a gesture to get another one for her. He nodded and walked away while he kept talking:

  “So I was about to get my lunch when a pretty girl totally started flirting with me. Isn’t that great?”

  The fruit was on a little table next to one of the entrances. Mark took a couple of pears, and he was about to walk back to the table when a young man silently walked into the kitchen. He was crouching a little, looking over his shoulder toward outside of the kitchen.

  His steps were completely silent. It was easier to listen to the soft rustling of his clothes than to any noise made by his walking.

  [Silent Footsteps]… Mark realized. Liam had the exact same Skill.

  The young man walked a few steps more into the kitchen before he realized he had company.

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  Mark took a couple of steps behind him, covering the door. He took a bite of one of the pears.

  “How stupid can you be?” he asked, his mouth full. “You leveled as a [Thief]?”

  The thief jumped forward, scared. He hit another table and threw down a bunch of plates, making them crash against the floor.

  Tobias, still sitting over the table, created some fire to illuminate the scene. The thief looked at the three persons sitting at a table. Then at Mark who took another bite of the pear.

  Behind Mark, Liam arrived at the door running:

  “Come on, dudes. I was making the signal!”

  And the thief bolted. He ran away from Mark, crossing the kitchen to escape through the other entrance. His Class seemed to give him some boost in agility, in speed.

  Mark took another bite of the pear. The other three members of the Special Ops Squad were still sitting at the table.

  The thief arrived to the other door…

  And Harald stormed through that same door, tackling him like a glorious linebacker.

  The young man broke in a couple of places. The cracks his body made were painful to listen to, and Mark cringed a little.

  “Emily?” Arthur asked, still sitting on the table. He threw an apple to Harald, who grabbed it, still grinning after the excitement of the little mission.

  Emily sighed. She lazily stepped down from the table.

  “Yeah, yeah… I’ll help him.” She approached Mark, grabbed the pear she'd asked for, and bit into it as she walked toward the crying young man. Muttering under her breath, she started complaining. “I should be sleeping right now, not helping idiots stealing other people’s food. Let’s do stupid things, Emily will [Heal] us. Yes, she doesn’t care, it’s not like she has her own life. Yay! We can do anything now—forget about common sense. We now live in a world without consequences!”

  Mark kept eating his pear, lazily walking to the other side of the kitchen.

  “Where’s Bjorn?” he asked.

  Harald seemed a little surprised when he realized his comrade hadn’t entered the kitchen with him.

  Mark looked outside. The kitchen opened toward a corner of the fortress, with the open night sky above. It was very poorly illuminated, with just a couple of torches spaced far apart. He could hear the horses whining in the nearby stable. They seemed very agitated.

  Mark frowned. His [Traitor’s Premonition] started blaring.

  “Guys, something’s—”

  Then just by his side, a shadow on the wall moved. And before Mark could react, someone was behind him, gripping him tightly with a dagger pressed firmly against his throat.

  “You’re the one who’s received Kilser’s mantle?” the stranger asked. His voice was deep. It sounded as if he was forcing it to sound older than he was. “What a disappointment. I guess the gods have really lost their minds.”

  “Who are you?” Mark asked, saying it loud enough for everybody else to listen.

  The stranger didn’t answer. He forced Mark to walk deeper into the darkness of the open space outside the kitchen. Mark felt the point of the dagger breaking the skin on his neck, so he obeyed.

  The rest of the Special Ops Unit followed them outside the kitchen, drawing their weapons. Bjorn arrived from the stables—his axe already in his hands.

  “I thought I saw something,” he explained. “But I wasn’t sure what it was.”

  The stranger found himself surrounded.

  “Let him go,” Arthur ordered. “And we won’t hurt you. You’ll be allowed to escape unharmed. That’s a promise.”

  Mark could feel the point of the dagger pressing against his neck. It wasn’t shaking. Even surrounded, the stranger was relaxed—as if he was holding all the cards.

  “Nah,” the stranger answered. “He represents something my people consider sacred. I’m taking him with me.”

  So we finally meet somebody from this world… Mark thought.

  The Special Ops Squad started moving around the stranger and Mark, circling them and getting ready to fight.

  Mark felt his heart beating hard in his chest while he waited for Tobias to be in position. None of the others mattered.

  The stranger watched their preparations, and he chuckled.

  “Don’t be idiots. The people I represent don’t care about the apocalypse. We don’t care about you, or the punishment of those mad gods. You’ve only been five days in my world. Even being chosen ones, there’s no way you’ll be able to best me.”

  “Are you okay, Mark?” Arthur asked. Tobias was just in front of Mark, and behind Mark, there was only one of the walls of the fortress.

  It was time.

  “Yeah, man,” Mark answered. “I’m having a fucking blast…”

  Tobias heard the secret word. And didn’t doubt for a single second:

  “[CANNONBALL]!”

  The massive fireball roared through the air toward Mark, who used [Phantom Presence] to avoid it, completely exhausting his Skill in a single go.

  The stranger didn’t expect that.

  The [Cannonball] exploded against his chest, throwing him like a broken doll against the fortress wall.

  It was the first time they had used the [Cannonball] with a human. Mark collapsed on one knee, exhausted from the massive use of his Skill. He looked back toward the stranger, fully expecting to see his charred, broken body—perhaps even a limb or two torn off.

  “Fucking hell…” Mark muttered.

  The stranger was still standing. His chest had been charred by the [Cannonball]. His left arm was hanging limp from his side. His knees were failing, and he had to lean on the fortress wall…

  But he was still standing.

  “What the fuck?” Arthur said.

  The Special Ops Squad approached the stranger slowly, fearing some trick. Somebody from the fortress’ walls had seen the [Cannonball], and started shouting the alarm.

  “Try to catch him alive,” Arthur ordered. “The information we can get from him is invaluable.”

  As they approached, Mark could finally see the face of the stranger. Just as he had suspected, the man was younger than he sounded—probably in his early twenties. He had dark hair and a very nondescript face. His eyes were unfocused, still dazed by the pain.

  They were only a few yards away when the stranger finally seemed to gather his strength, muttering something under his breath.

  At this point, all of them were used to others using Skills, so they prepared for the worst.

  Luckily, the Skill just seemed to give the stranger some extra strength. Suddenly, he was standing straighter, looking at the enemies approaching him.

  He focused on Mark for a couple of seconds, his face twisting with chagrin…

  And he jumped with amazing power, reaching the stable’s roof with a single leap.

  He then arrived at the top of the fortress wall with just a couple of jumps, using some inhuman agility. Even then, his movements were a little stilted, as if he was still fighting against his injuries.

  The stranger staggered a couple of steps through the fortress wall. One of Eric’s Zealots approached him, sword in hand. He was the one who had shouted the alarm. Others were running towards him from other parts of the wall, and the ones who had been sleeping appeared from within the fortress, already armed.

  “Let him go!” Mark shouted to the Zealot. “He’s too powerful for you!”

  But it was too late.

  The stranger barely made an effort. Even seriously injured, he avoided the Zealot’s thrust, and with a fluid motion, he beheaded him with a short sword, the Zealot’s head flying through the air for a macabre second.

  Another Zealot started approaching the stranger’s back, running and hoping to catch him unaware.

  The stranger turned around a second before he was hit and extended his hand toward the Zealot, activating a powerful explosion that reached directly from his hand to the Zealot’s face. The Zealot fell to the ground silently, already dead.

  Two dead… just like that… Mark thought.

  Then the stranger staggered toward the edge of the fortress wall and jumped outside, toward the darkness.

  And he was gone.

  The Special Ops Squad stood there, looking at each other, not knowing what to do.

  Eric the Zealot ran towards them. He must have been sleeping—he was still shirtless and barefoot. About ten of his men were following him.

  “What the fuck happened?” Eric asked, with his sword drawn.

  Mark was still in shock—Emily was healing the injury on his neck. The last explosion was burned into his retina. The whole thing had been brutal. Mark pointed toward the kitchen, where the still-unhealed thief was lying on the ground, his face distorted by pain.

  “We caught the food thief… Then we met somebody from this world… Your men… I’m really sorry, Eric. I’m really sorry…