Cashius came out the door fully dressed, paused beside my chair, cleared his throat, and then walked down the steps. I stood, turned around, reached under the welcome mat, and pressed the tiny red button underneath. Then I hurried off the porch to stand beside him.

  Within seconds, the cabin shrank back down into a ball, and the box that contained it wound itself around the structure again, like watching the entire setup process in reverse.

  I knelt, hefted the wild, bucking package, and placed it into my inventory. The grass where it had sat was now flattened, like a crop circle.

  I pulled up the map and checked how much farther we had to travel before reaching the Harshlands. I figured it wouldn’t be that far, but my jaw dropped when I saw the distance.

  1,300 miles.

  “Cashius, are you kidding me?” I asked, disbelief written all over my face.

  “That’s why we need to find the Atarax. And it’s a good thing they love this kind of weather because it might make them easier to spot,” he said, turning around, his coat blowing in the wind.

  “Atarax? What kind of name is that?”

  “The animal we’re going to ride. And if my memory serves me, there’s a clearing about two hours west of here where we’ll find a herd.”

  “Great,” I said. “I’m low-key interested in seeing how these animals look.”

  “Well, we’re off.”

  After about ten minutes of walking in silence, we were once again surrounded by trees, snapping twigs, and large insects out for blood.

  In this area, there were no elves, thankfully, but plenty of Zbios for me to freeze and loot for drops and gold. I had hit level twenty-three from all the experience orbs I collected, and level twenty-five was right around the corner.

  My current stats were looking good.

  Level 23

  HP: 7,250

  MP: 1,100

  Strength: 31 (+18)

  Vitality: 24

  Magic: 28

  Defense: 30 (+18)

  Perception: 29

  Speed: 27

  Wisdom: 25

  Knowledge: 27

  Cashius explained that enemies were contained within zones. This one was called Reesuz, and in the area we were exploring, Zbios and a larger creature called Gulag pups could be found. Just like the thugs in Glasborough, I could expect to run into powered-up versions of both every now and then. He also said they would be different in color to help tell them apart, and that I could expect to see a Gulag any second now.

  During these encounters, Cashius’s fingers would twitch toward his hip each time combat started, his eyes darting before he forced himself to duck into the bushes and hide until I finished them off. Then he would crawl back out, and we would continue our walk with his hands in his pockets and his expression drawn and quiet.

  No matter how hard he tried to hide it, him not being able to fight was a problem. I thought about bringing it up, but there wasn’t anything I could do. The Nameless One had made it that way. Tricked the program and all. Made it so he could do nothing but give advice.

  Sometimes, when I caught him in the corner of my eye, he looked angry about it. Mumbling under his breath. Kicking at rocks. Smoking his cigar like it was the only thing he could still control.

  I could only imagine what it felt like to watch someone swing swords and chop heads while you stayed stuck on the sideline.

  But he was being a good sport about it. Keeping his feelings to himself and not openly complaining.

  Hell, he was doing better than I would, that’s for sure.

  Maybe I would say something or maybe not. What mattered most at the moment was completing our task of finding some mounts and going forward with the mission.

  Later in the day, I heard thunder crackle a few times, but I couldn’t see the sky, not with how deep we were in the forest. Each time it sounded, I braced for rain, but nothing came. Not even a drizzle. Maybe the storm was passing over us, and the afternoon would clear up.

  If it did, I wouldn’t mind at all.

  As we ventured deeper, the terrain became more interesting, more vibrant and varied. The trees grew skinnier, with low-hanging vines I had to cut through just to keep moving. Large birds drifted overhead, and smaller insects buzzed around us as we pressed on through the forest.

  I felt like some kind of adventurer surveying a new world, looking for danger and hoping to find it. Like Ponce de León or any of those white dudes from my old social studies book, minus the raping and plundering.

  As I trudged forward, I thought I saw something shift near a large cluster of flowers. I moved in slowly, weapon drawn, ready to take it down. But when I got closer and really looked, it turned out to be a harmless little critter. Cute, with short legs, bright colors, and a button nose.

  It reminded me of a teddy bear. The kind little kids snuggle up with at night to feel safe.

  I reached out to give it a pat, and it purred, emitting deep, low rumbles that I could feel in my stomach. I scooped it up in my hands and rubbed its belly, smiling at how ridiculously adorable it was.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  I focused on it, and its description appeared:

  Pouchie – Collectible

  Pouchies are elusive forest dwellers known for their vibrant fur and shy nature. These rare creatures are masters of camouflage, often hiding among wildflowers and thick underbrush, making them nearly impossible to spot. If you’ve found one, it means your awareness and perception are above average. Pouchies emit a low, soothing purr that calms nearby allies and can reduce stress effects in certain zones for a short while. Collect three of these colorful companions to receive a hidden cache of high-grade potions, tailored for survival in the harshest parts of Orbralis. Keep your eyes open. Pouchies never appear in the same place twice.

  I poked its cute little stomach one more time, and the critter disappeared into a digital haze of squares and shifting ones and zeroes.

  On my heads-up display, a cute creature face appeared next to 1/3, then faded from view.

  Cashius leaned against a tree and folded his arms. “Good job,” he said. “Find the other two before we leave this zone, and you’re in business. Matter of fact, how about we take a break? I’ll rest here and gather some of the forest’s delights for lunch while you look for the other Pouchies. The Atarax are in a different zone anyway. How does that sound?”

  I shrugged. “Makes sense. I’ll get my grind on and look out for supplies, maybe I’ll finally get a chance to whack a Gulag as well,” I said walking deeper into the forest.

  “Oh, yeah,” he called out. “Open the map and set a marker so you can find me when you return.”

  I opened the map, set a marker, and left Cashius to forage while I searched for the elusive Pouchie, and maybe a Gulag.

  I scanned everything: from trees to the small nuts I picked up and ate, to dark caves and chittering birds. Still, there was no sign of a Pouchie or a Gulag anywhere.

  Turning over stones, looking behind waterfalls, I thought it would take forever before I found another Pouchie.

  Every five minutes, I’d hear the brush rustle and have to freeze a pack of Zbios, gaining experience and gold in the process.

  At that moment, I had killed eleven Zbios and amassed a decent amount of gold. I still didn’t know why those little buggers carried money, but I wasn’t about to complain. More gold was always good in my book.

  The sun began to peek through, with shafts of light stretching across the forest floor. Thunder rumbled with an odd cadence, almost like laughter echoing through the treetops. But it sounded far enough away that I pushed thoughts of rain aside and continued on.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a flash of bright, colorful fur resting in a tree. My expectations rose just as quickly as the temperature on this muggy afternoon.

  I rubbed my hair—which definitely needed a cut and a lining—and focused on the description again.

  My eyes weren’t lying.

  It was a Pouchie, perched about twenty feet up in the limbs of an enormous tree. And at the base, sitting quietly in the roots, was a treasure chest with a dead man’s body curled up next to it.

  I walked over to the chest, wondering how I was supposed to get up there to reach the second Pouchie.

  Giving the chest a slight kick, it creaked open. Inside was a red lacquered boomerang, designed with golden swirls and puffs of wind carved along its surface.

  Lying beside it was a blood-stained note.

  I reached in, grabbed the note, and read:

  Whoever reads this, you’re in luck. Please treat my boomerang with care, and it will bring you nothing but joy in return.

  P.S. I found this old chest in the woods a few yards away. A Gulag attacked me. I killed it, but the injuries it left were too severe, and now… well, I hope the heavens accept me. Take care and use my boomerang to the best of your abilities.

  – William

  Next, I read the description of the boomerang:

  William’s Enchanted Boomerang — Uncommon — Level 22

  Crafted by William and Son Magical Item Store located in Glasborough. This boomerang is capable of striking enemies and stunning them on contact. It can also retrieve items and reach objects in hard-to-access places.

  Use with care, as this item consumes mana.

  MP Cost: 15 per throw. Stun duration: 3 seconds.

  Reflexes +2

  Stamina +7

  I looked at the corpse and threw a bunch of old leaves over it, covering the body as best I could.

  “Thanks, bro. I’ll take real good care of your boomerang too,” I whispered when I was done.

  I had to actually equip the thing before I could feel the stat boosts.

  Nothing major, just a slight pulse that vibrated in my joints and lungs.

  “Now, let me see if this does what I think it does,” I said to myself.

  The boomerang was about the length of my forearm, with small grooves that welcomed my fingertips naturally. It felt durable and solid, and the lacquered paint job reflected the forest around me like a mirror.

  When I cocked my arm back to throw, my stance shifted into something that felt almost professional. Real stiff angles, back straight, legs planted firmly on the ground.

  I tossed it, and it left my hand in a wide arc, making a whooshing sound that made me chuckle. In the process, a bit of magic drained from my gauge.

  It rotated through the air, gliding cleanly, and struck a nearby bush that exploded in a flurry of leaves. Hovering on the wings of the boomerang was a potion, floating for just a moment before the weapon rotated again and flew straight back to my hand.

  “In-fucking-credible.”

  The potion was added to my inventory without me having to do anything, which felt like a blessing.

  Looking up at the Pouchie in the tree, I cocked my arm, aimed, and threw the boomerang into the branches, waiting for a reaction.

  Would you believe it?

  The damn thing swooped up, snatched the Pouchie, and brought it right back to my hand.

  I unequipped the boomerang, rubbed the Pouchie’s stomach, and just like the last one, it vanished into a shimmer of light made of ones and zeros.

  A notification appeared, alerting me that I had found 2 of 3 collectibles. With a little more searching, I would find the last Pouchie. All I had to do was stay in the area and keep my eyes peeled.

  While I was celebrating my find, scrolling through my inventory and checking what kind of potion I had received, I felt a thump roll through the forest floor. Then another. The ground trembled beneath me as if a stampede was closing in, each impact growing stronger and louder.

  My head snapped around, scanning for the source of the commotion. That’s when I heard a wild, feral roar.

  Before I could react, something blindsided me and slammed into my abdomen.

  I hit the ground hard, pain shooting across my lower body. I clenched my eyes shut.

  When I opened them, I saw it: my first Gulag pup. It was covered in a protective shell like a beetle and stood on four legs, shaped like a goat from Hell. The creature lowered its head and charged straight at me.

  I tried to roll onto my back, but it caught me again.

  [-1109] floated in red before my eyes.

  Then came another hit to my shoulder, shaking my entire world. And another after that.

  I scrambled to my feet, equipped Havoc Maker—my bread and butter—and dropped into a fighting stance, bracing for impact.

  It was as if the creature could sense my intent, because it answered with a furious screech, rearing up on its hind legs.

  I quickly downed a potion, watching my health climb back to a safer range.

  5005 / 6700

  I took a step forward, and the Gulag leapt into the air and blinked away, only to reappear right in front of me, slamming into my chest and knocking me back to the ground.

  [-1010] flashed once more.

  I hopped up, gripping Havoc Maker with one hand.

  Quickly, I switched to the staff and fired an arctic blast, but the Gulag shrugged it off and kept charging.

  I waited for it to blink again. When it did, I spun, caught the waist-high creature mid-air, and slammed it headfirst into the ground, cracking its armor.

  Then I raised Havoc Maker and brought the massive sword down into its chest, watching blood pour from its body.

  Panting, but victorious.

  Gold and an orb of light flooded into my body.

  I brought up the map and made my way back to the spot where I had left Cashius. While walking, I checked my stats.

  Nearly level 24. Health in the 4000s. XP bar sitting about three-quarters full.

  I could’ve been killed. But all things considered, not bad.

  “Just another day in Orbralis,” I thought. “Just another motherfucking day.”