24

  LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES

  REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,110,105

  TIME UNTIL CULLING: 49 days

  NAME: JACK REN

  CURRENT RANK: 417,579

  I take no pleasure or satisfaction in the fight with Aran.

  It’s quick and brutal. Although the man is fast and skilled, I am pure wrath. I beat him backward and then I beat him down, breaking his ribs with heavy blows from my fists, jumping with my Spring Boots and clipping his head with a spinning wheel kick that badly concusses him. He hits me once or twice, good blows that hurt and will leave serious bruises, but I can see the resignation in his eyes as the fight progresses, and soon enough I have him on the ground, my arms wrapped around his throat, squeezing the life out of him. He struggles until the end, as I’d known he would; Aran is a warrior. He dies a warrior’s death. And afterward, when it’s done, and I’m standing over his corpse, breathing heavily with golden words floating around me in the air, all I can do is give him a moment of silent respect. Aran, I think. I will remember that name.

  You have leveled up!

  Name: Jack Ren

  Contestant level: Seven

  Current rank: 311,405

  Reward: New Skill

  Choose from one of the following:

  Hunter Vision

  Acolyte of Time

  I consider the words for several long minutes, intending, this time, to be as deliberate as possible, to make a smart decision. But as always, I have nothing to go off except for pure guesswork. I think about the other skills and items I’ve received so far and what they’d been listed as. Spring Boots. Spider Bracelet. Berserker Rage. All of their names are very obviously connected to what they do.

  So, now I try to apply that to these two options. Hunter Vision isn’t too difficult to figure out—I have no idea about the specifics but, clearly, it’ll affect my vision in one way or another, perhaps enhancing my eyesight. Which, right now, doesn’t feel like a particularly useful boon, not compared to whatever the other option is—which is more or less indecipherable by comparison. But I like the sound of it. I like the sound of some kind of time related power or ability. And so that’s what I pick.

  Just like every other time I’ve leveled up, I feel the increase of speed and strength surging through me, power flooding through my veins. I immediately feel less hungry, less tired, less sore. When I examine my wounds, I can see that they’re nearly entirely gone, leaving me in an almost perfect condition.

  And there’s something else. An intuitive sense that I have, within me, the potential for something…other.

  As though flicking a switch in my mind, I activate Acolyte of Time.

  The effect is immediate.

  Time slows.

  Leaves fall, drifting glacially across my vision, spiralling so slowly that I can reach out and pluck them from the air with trivial ease. I take a step. I’m moving as fast as ever—but the rest of the world, I feel, is not. I bend and pick up a rock. I throw it—and it tumbles, end over end, in slow motion. I take three steps and overlap the flying rock. I catch it. Throw it again, as hard as I can—and catch it once more. I find myself smiling. I alone am isolated in this pocket of time.

  No one can beat me now. Nothing can touch me. I am invincible.

  And then, all at once, time resumes its regular and steady beat, and a leaf whips past my face, and the wind pulls a lock of hair across my brow, and when I next throw a rock, the rock swiftly vanishes from view, and I’m left feeling unexpectedly tired, drained, as though I’ve just fought three hard rounds.

  So. There’s a time limit to the ability. And afterwards, it makes me feel like shit.

  Good to know.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  And now the question is—how long until I can use it again?

  I search the bodies of the two men I killed. They have no weapons that I’m interested in, and neither are wearing armor. I do, however, take a leather travel bag that I sling over one shoulder and which is mercifully packed with cured meats and dried fruit. I also take two canteens of water, downing one on the spot. The pure pleasure of cool, refreshing water pouring down my dry and dehydrated throat is almost too much.

  Then there’s the ruby necklace.

  I take it and hold it between my hands, examining it. The ruby is warm to the touch. I place it around my neck and feel…slightly different. Subtly altered in a way I can’t quite explain. A part of me wants to mess around until I can figure out what it does, since I don’t like the idea of going into a fight without knowing what all of my tools do, but I simply don’t have the time. In fact, I’m already concerned I’ve taken far too long to run to the rescue of the others—more than twelve hours have passed. Realistically, how long will they be kept alive?

  The answer, I suspect, is not long at all.

  In fact, I can’t even think of any reasons for why these people would keep Cole and the others alive. Unless they want information. Or perhaps they wanted to bring them all back to their camp, if they even have a camp, and then evenly divide the kills for everyone’s mutual benefit. That’s my best guess based on what I might think to do in their situation.

  All I can do, I suppose, is try to find wherever it is that these people are staying. And so that’s what I do. I set out in the direction that the two men I’d killed had come from in the first place. I’m no tracker, nor do I know anything about hunting, but the two of them have left a clear trail—the dirt is soft, muddy in places, and their bootprints are visible enough that it takes me no effort to reverse engineer their journey through the woods.

  The day progresses slowly. I move as quickly as I can, not quite running, but caring little about making my presence obvious. I want them to know I’m coming. I want them to hear me. To be drawn to me. I’m getting angrier with every hour that passes, impatience eating away at me, knowing that my friends—although can I really call them all friends?—are in more and more danger with every second I let slip out of my grasp.

  Past midday, I find the camp that Aran and Linan made the night before. I start to jog. Sweat rolls down my brow, now from exertion, but from anticipation. My heart is hammering in my chest. A little later, as the shadows are starting to lengthen, I hear voices.

  I slow, now staying close to the trees, drifting from one bush to the next. Cicadas are chirping, birds are singing, and perhaps a hundred feet or so ahead, several men are conversing.

  Even better, I can smell smoke. From a cooking fire, I think, because there it is, the mouth-watering scent of roasting meat, which immediately causes my stomach to growl.

  I lower myself amongst the undergrowth, creeping forward. Ahead, the trees are spread further out; moss coats their undersides, vividly green and visibly soft. I slow my breathing. I can make out the outline of one man leaning against a tree. A woman is sitting on a fallen log a few feet away from him, sharpening a knife. And I’m pretty sure, straight ahead, between the trees, I can make out a dark, stone wall. The side of a house? Or perhaps a tower—it’s difficult to tell.

  I’ve found them.

  I’m lucky, I know, because I very easily could’ve searched for them in the wrong direction, or to have simply not come across the two men who indirectly led me here. Even still, I’m not cheering my good fortune just yet—not until I know that Elizabeth or Cole or Mary or any of the others are still alive.

  Because if they’ve all been killed, I’ve done this for nothing—and the enemy will be even stronger for it.

  Not that that’s going to stop me.

  Because I decide, then and there, hiding in the bushes, that regardless of who is and isn’t alive, I’m going to kill them all anyway.

  Not out of hate. Not out of fury or vengeance or any other hot, red emotion.

  But because this is the game. This is how I win.

  I shut out the distant conversation and start to move. Every movement is as slow and deliberate as I can manage it. Before I get any closer, before I engage, I need to know more. I need to know how many of them there are. I need to know what weapons they have, what levels they’ve reached—at least insofar as I can gauge such a thing. I need to be smart. I am, obviously, vastly outnumbered, massively outgunned. But if, somehow, I can pick them off one at a time, chipping away at their numbers…

  But I have no real plan. No idea, ultimately, what I’m doing.

  This sort of thing is what Earl would excel at, a special forces operation.

  I’m just a fighter.

  Regardless, I’ll find a way.

  I decide to circle around and see what I can see. I move from one tree to the next, a shadow, spending the entire time bent over. The sun, thankfully, is starting to set, offering me the cover of darkness. I cling to the shadows. I climb trees when I can, using my boots and bracelet, and soon enough I start to piece together more information: the enemy base, such as it is, comprises around a dozen stone buildings with roofs of thatch. The place resembles what is, to my uneducated eye, a typical medieval village, with a town square where a low fire is in the process of roasting a skinned deer, the smell of which causes my mouth to flood with saliva.

  And then I see Cole.

  He’s maybe twenty feet away from the fire, on his knees with his wrists and ankles tied behind him. Most of the others are present, too; I see Elizabeth, Mary, and perhaps nine others. The fact that roughly half of Cole’s people are missing concerns me, however. Either they were all killed in the struggle, or have been killed since. I suppose it’s possible that they’re still alive and being held elsewhere, but ultimately decide that’s unlikely.

  The question is: why are these few still alive? What is the enemy planning on doing with them?

  And how much time do I have before it’s too late?

  A pair of golden-eyed women stroll out of one of the stone buildings. They’re talking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying—can only make out their sudden laughter when one tells a joke. They approach Cole and the others, standing a few feet away with their hands on their hips before moving away. At which point I see, around the perimeter of the village, signs that these people have attempted to fortify their position; I see trenches dug into the soft soil, in front of which are sharpened, wooden stakes driven into the earth. It’s an impressive sight. They’d certainly stop an attacking force hoping to come in hard and fast.

  But they won’t stop me.

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