Chương 3

"Four hundred Mel for a single blunderbuss pistol? Are you out of your mind?" Oliver fumed.

"That is the current going rate. I am afraid that recent events have caused our prices to increase by 33% for the foreseeable future. I'm most apologetic for any inconvenience this may have caused you." Even at the standard price of 300, Oliver would have balked at the price tag. Not to mention that each silver bullet cost 2 Mel each. He'd blow through his entire savings in a matter of days through ammunition alone if he wasn't careful. Still. This was the only weapons vendor in Ventri.

And there was no guarantee that any of the other villages still remained after the merger.

"Fine," Oliver snapped. He put down a sack of beads. Each bead a single Mel of currency.

"I'll take 40 silver bullets as well."

"Thank you! Also, blunderbuss is not technically—" Oliver walked away, counting his remaining Mel. 109. Not much if he wanted to buy anything useful. He was tempted to go to the local herbalist. He'd promised himself that he would buy a healing potion since he'd drained the dregs of his last one two days ago. He'd held out until after his level up. A single potion would clear out his remaining savings though. Oliver reached into his shoulder bag and felt around for anything worth selling.

His hand brushed against the amulet he'd recovered from the grave. While selling it would only earn him enough for four additional bullets, he did have a quest to complete. He'd forgotten with all new information bouncing around in his head. Oliver took his leave from the vendor and crossed the town to a shack. He didn't bother knocking, instead swinging the door open to reveal a blind man rocking on his bed, smiling at him with a gummy, toothless mouth.

"You found it?" In response, Oliver tossed the amulet into the man's lap.

"Good, good." The smile stretched across his skull, exposing more red gums. Then he raised the amulet up, tipped his head back, and dropped it into his open mouth. Oliver watched the clump of metal press up against the man's throat, traveling down his oesophagus as he loudly swallowed it down.

"Oh Charlotte. Rest easy now that I have your heritage." Oliver half expected some sort of transformation from the man. Or a monstrous creature to burst from his stomach. He'd seen it before. But it seemed this wasn't that kind of quest. Quest Complete! Reward- 200 Mel Face of Carter He felt the Mel materialize in his money pouch. And the item, Face of Carter, appeared in his open hand. It was a mask designed to look exactly like the ugly man in front of him. Oliver vaguely recalled his name was Carter.

A quick Appraisal gave a brief overview of the history of Carter, listed the item as rare quality, and worth a selling rate of 250 Mel. A pittance for a true rare item. If he had a higher Speech stat, that amount would likely be significantly higher. But he'd never bothered putting points in it when Dexterity was required for survival. Despite his Appraisal, he wasn't about to test the item out. He'd received cursed items as rewards in the past and his skill only picked up curses about 90% of the time.

The last thing he wanted was to be transformed into the appearance of Carter for the rest of his life. However short that may be. Instead of trying it on, he hung the mask from his belt. He'd store it there until he had a chance to summon his sanctuary later. 309 Mel still wasn't much, but at least it offered him some possibilities. Instead of returning to the weapons vendor, Oliver went to the edge of town where a steady stream of black smoke floated into the sky.

Once close, he could hear the ringing of a hammer beating metal into shape. The blacksmith, Oliver had never actually learned the man's name, was hard at work. He didn't even glance up as Oliver approached.

"I need your assistance," Oliver said when there was a break in the rhythmic banging. The blacksmith looked up, singed eyebrows raised in surprise at the appearance of a customer.

"Oliver, is it not? How might I help you on this fine day?" Oliver glanced up. It was night time. And the weather was as dreary and oppressive as ever.

"I want you to coat a layer of silver along the edge of my shovel." Oliver set the shovel on a table nearby for the blacksmith to examine.

"Then sharpen it as much as possible." The blacksmith began going off about the difficulty of the task. Coating iron in silver wasn't apparently as easy as Oliver assumed it would be. But after some discussion, which mostly involved Oliver rephrasing his request repeatedly, the blacksmith accepted the task. He said it would be ready in four hours and cost 250 Mel. Oliver winced at the price, but accepted. That was nearly the same cost as the blunderbuss.

But his new skill required silver to activate, so he accepted and headed off to find a quiet alleyway. If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. He had to skip over two potential alleys. The first had a level 54 vampire feasting on one of the town peasants. And the other had the rotting carcass of a recently slain giant zombie rat. Its remains were splattered across the cobblestones and smelled horrendous.

He'd rather go back and visit with the hungry vampire than spend another second with the mutilated rat. Thankfully, that wasn't necessary. He found the third alleyway entirely empty. Oliver sat crosslegged and activated his skill. It took a little over five minutes of concentration to summon. He was pretty sure putting points into Mental would hasten the skill, but he never considered it worth it. Not when Dexterity and Strength actively kept him alive.

After the five minute mark, a plume of black smoke solidified into a large, wooden coffin. Large being relative to the average coffin. It was about three times the size of a standard adult's. Stark black with a silvery crown and flanked on both sides with metal pallbearer rods. Oliver flipped open the lid and started to sort through his possessions within. Food. Clothing. A few odds and ends. He really didn't have much in here.

Most of the time he used it as a place to safely sleep and storage for loot he thought he'd get a better price for in a different town. Like how there was no artifact trader in Ventri. He'd need to sell the mask elsewhere.

"Now, what is this?" A soft voice purred. Oliver pivoted on a foot at the sound of the voice. A bald teenager, clad in leather and covered in scars smiled down at Oliver from where he was perched on a shingled rooftop. The skin across his face was stitched like patchwork and he lacked half an ear and one eyebrow. Without a second of thought, Oliver drew his loaded blunderbuss, his skill innately assisted him to aim the weapon at the newcomer.

"Now, now. Is that any way to greet a fellow experiment?" The voice scarcely held back a mocking laugh in the words.

"My name is James. And you?"

"Oliver," Oliver replied instinctively.

"You're an experiment?"

"You don't see anyone else like me around town, now do you?"

"Actually, I have seen someone like you before. My first day here. Forgive me if he didn't leave a positive impression."

"The flesh ripper. Hmm. So we had the same first day. Interesting. Judging by your outfit, I would say our second days were quite different however."

"I suppose so." Oliver didn't lower the blunderbuss. His mind spun. He had a spare shovel in his sanctuary. But reaching into it would require turning his back on the newcomer. The announcer had offered each of them an entire level from each fellow experiment they killed. That meant even the most trustworthy human here should be regarded with suspicion. And nothing about James inspired any sense of trustworthiness.

"Flesh ripper." James licked his lips. There was a glint of something manic in his eyes.

"Some rare days I miss him. You ever hear him scream? Closest notes to music in this new world of ours. I still hear echoes of it some nights." Oliver used his Appraisal skill on James while he reminisced about the crazed scientist. James Dechirer. Human. Level 54. [Surgeon], [Flesh Stitcher], [Flesh Weaver]. Oliver did his best not to show any emotion at the new information.

It seems while he had survived that horrible first day by hiding amongst the corpses and digging himself out of the cemetery after disposal, James had survived by claiming the flesh ripper's role as his own. And that class had served him well. Level 54 was not something to take lightly. Oliver had killed the flesh ripper as well. But it had been years later, with a carefully formed plan and the enticement of a quest reward.

To receive anything close to that deranged man's class would have required a wildly different approach.

"Did you just want to chat?" Oliver asked cooly.

"Anything specific on your mind? You caught me at a bad time. I still have several more errands I need to run today."

"Do you wish to team up? The voice said five slots for exiting this game."

"Game? You think this is a video game?" The thought had crossed Oliver's mind in the early days of being trapped here. The pain and starvation had quickly chased the notion from his mind.

"Ha! No. I decided ages ago this certainly isn't that. All of life is a game, Olive! We are but little itty-bitty pieces, moving across the board." Oliver nodded slowly. First, he needed a way in which to escape the conversation. He also needed to buy enough time for himself to retrieve his shovel from the blacksmith's forge in three hours. After that, he could hide amongst the grave strewn fields outside the town walls.

"Why team up with me?" Oliver asked.

"We're cut from the same cloth, you and I. The same, beautiful patch of… leather. We were ripped apart here and stitched back together. I've spent the whole night searching our home and I've only found you. I believe we're the only two to make it in this biome."

"Do you have a plan?"

"Reach level 100," James said simply.

"And if I get information about that exit biome, maybe I'll take a peek at it too."

"How do you plan to reach that high of a level?" James grinned wider and his eyes danced in the glow of the yellow moon. That settled it. James wasn't someone he could ever trust. But Oliver also was far from confident he could take on someone with over ten levels on him. Especially without his primary weapon. He slowly lowered his gun.

"You won't join me, will you?" James said, suddenly melancholy.

"No. I'm sorry."

"Lies. You're not sorry." A pause.

"But you can join me in a different way. My first new level up!" James launched himself at Oliver, the force of his legs pushing off the rooftop shattered shingles. The broken shards flew into the air over the nearby streets. But before either the [Flesh Weaver] or the shingles could touch the cobblestone. Oliver fell backwards inside his coffin and curled himself up on the soft cushions. Then slammed the lid closed. From inside, he heard the thump of James' impact. Then silence. Oliver let out a sigh of relief.

He'd bought himself a little bit of time, at the very least. While closed, his sanctuary existed in a place completely separate from that of the town. It floated along in a safe, unknown place. But he could only stay inside for a maximum of eight hours before the skill went on cooldown for the next 16. It was far from a perfect solution. And if James knew anything about sanctuaries, then when Oliver next opened the lid, he might find death waiting outside. But for now, peace.

Oliver decided to dedicate his remaining time to a plan.