I found a small wooden box behind that brick. It disappeared the moment I touched it, and in its place a notification popped up.

  [You’ve gained: 1 Rare chest.]

  [Instance update: Discover the hidden treasure chest, complete.]

  [Instance progress: 99.9%]

  “You motherfranker.” I had a feeling the System would screw me.

  Dickhead tried to cheer me up. “At least we got a Rare chest out of it.”

  I opened my Menu and checked the remaining quests.

  Quests

  Instance Objectives:

  Find and release both Freelancers.

  Stop the execution.

  Bounties:

  The Executioner’s Head.

  Extermination:

  Kill 30 Humans 29/30.

  Just one more human and my contract would be complete. Killing the next boss should do the trick.

  Moaning Lisa’s cell had a slit for a window that faced an inner courtyard. Muffled cries for help and struggling grunts drew my attention. I stood up and gazed through the rusted bars to see a chopping block set up on a stage. A line of prisoners, all bound, gagged, and blindfolded, stood against the wall. They strained against their hempen restraints, chewing on the gags as they tried to break free.

  I saw the boss, the Executioner, towering over the block on stage.

  The man looked like he’d stepped out of a medieval nightmare. A leather apron, blackened from old blood, hung over his broad chest. Heavy iron bracers cinched his forearms, and chainmail peeked out beneath the stained canvas of his tunic. No hood hid his face; instead, a wild mane of bright red locks framed a pale, scarred face.

  I was a pretty big guy at six foot two, but this carrot-topped bastard might’ve had me by a foot or more.

  He casually leaned on his six-foot-long, two-handed axe like a damn pool stick. Rust streaked the blackened metal head, but the blade’s edge shone with the sheen of a recent sharpening.

  Unexpectedly, a notification popped up.

  [You’ve engaged The Executioner, level 1 Instance boss.]

  [Hint: The ties that bind. Good luck.]

  “Oh, shit!”

  Somehow, the boss battle had started without me in the damn room.

  A loud voice directly above me said, “Let the sentencing begin!”

  The Executioner spun his axe upright, planting the haft on the stage with a thump.

  “Prisoner 114, you have been convicted of the following crimes…”

  While he was busy yapping, I searched for a way to get into the inner courtyard. There had to be a door around here somewhere.

  Between each of the cell blocks was a guard tower, but I couldn’t find a way inside the one near me. There weren’t any obvious doors on the ground level.

  How the frank am I supposed to get in there? I wondered as I ran into Cell Block A again. The whole prison had grown quiet, save for the droning of the voice going on about fornication with poultry or some other shit. The list of grievances was absurd.

  “…for these crimes, you are sentenced to death. Off with his head!” the voice commanded.

  Through another barred window, I caught sight of what happened next.

  The heavy footfalls of The Executioner rang out as he crossed the stage and descended the stairs to grab Prisoner 114.

  Prisoner 114 thrashed with a muffled scream as The Executioner snatched him by the elbow, dragging him to his feet. But the shackles prevented anything more than a half step, and he stumbled.

  With a yank, The Executioner dragged him by the arm toward the stairs. His knees and hips knocked against each step as he fought against inevitability.

  With one hand, The Executioner swung his axe into the enormous wooden block. It bit deep into the grain. With his other hand, he tossed the condemned man down on the block, pinning his chest against it.

  The chopping block had been fashioned with a leather strap that had been nailed to one side. The other side had a mounted buckle, which he used to cinch the makeshift belt tight.

  Prisoner 114 wasn’t going anywhere.

  Placing an enormous boot on the block, he grabbed the axe and yanked. It popped free of the squat log.

  Two steps later, The Executioner was in place. The terrible weapon swung high over his head before he brought it down with a bone-crushing crunch, forever silencing the whimpers of a doomed man.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I watched the blindfolded and gagged head roll toward me. Oddly enough, he’d also been a ginger. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it as a System message appeared.

  [A prisoner has died. Only 9 remain.]

  “Franking hell!” I cursed, having forgotten the objective was to stop the execution.

  “Frank, if all the prisoners die, you’ll fail the objective,” Dickhead said.

  I growled. This objective would be annoying. I wasn’t worried about surviving this Instance. I had so much Intellect, it’d be nearly impossible for anything to kill me in here. But having to keep other people alive? I wasn’t equipped for that shit.

  Whatever, I’d just have to kill the big bastard. I just needed to get to him.

  The voice started calling for the next execution.

  “Prisoner 82, you have been convicted of the following crimes…”

  “Dick, how long did the first execution take?”

  “About three minutes.”

  That wasn’t very much time. Definitely not enough to check the other two cell blocks. And that was assuming they were empty of jailers. I didn’t have time to take on a patrol right now.

  “Think, Frank, think…” I said to myself. But I couldn’t. They were right franking there.

  I slammed my fist into the wall out of frustration. It didn’t budge, but my Vitality did from the self-damage. I gripped an iron bar in the window with both hands and yanked with everything I had. It wasn’t enough.

  The sword appeared in my hand as I took it from my inventory. I jammed it between the bars, trying to pry them apart.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” I swore as the cheap-ass blade snapped in half. The damn bars hadn’t even moved. It was franking stupid that eight inches of wall was going to cost me the damn objective.

  I grunted. “What’s the point of having Super Strength level two if I can’t burst through the wall like the goddamn Kool-Aid Man?!” I kicked the wall and muttered, “I should have the explosive power of Superman.”

  It took me saying it out loud to find the answer. I had an actual explosive in my inventory. Well, explosive-ish. I’d still need to figure out how to detonate it without blowing off another arm.

  I wasn’t a demolition expert and was pretty much winging it, but I’d gone around and stripped three belts off the dead jailers and buckled them together.

  My plan was to strap the gunpowder keg to the weakest part of the wall and blow it. Unfortunately, I also wasn’t a structural engineer, so my best guess was the windows.

  And by blowing it, I meant uncorking the keg, stuffing it with straw, piling even more straw on top, lighting it, and hoping I could get far enough before it burned through the straw and into the gunpowder.

  It was a shit plan with way too many guesstimates and failure points. But it wasn’t any shittier than pulling a boss into a room full of NPCs on a hunch that they’d fight each other.

  I was tucking the strap around the keg when I heard the voice say, “Off with his head!”

  A moment later, I saw another decapitated, blind, and silenced redhead roll down the stage.

  [A prisoner has died. Only 8 remain.]

  Most of the other NPCs I ran into in this Instance had been blonde or brunette. So, if the System was trying to crack a joke about gingers or something, I didn’t get it.

  The voice called for the next NPC.

  “Prisoner 47…”

  I tuned him out and focused on pulling the belts tight. None of the straw was clean or dry in Cell Block A. It was all coated in shit and blood.

  I grunted, sprinting back to Cell Block B. I flew through the door I’d knocked down earlier and ran into the nearest cell.

  “Thank God,” I said as I dropped to my knees and scooped up as much of the dry, golden tinder as I could. Not wanting to make another trip back, I rummaged through another cell, doubling my flea-ridden bounty.

  I took a bundle of straw, twisted it, and jammed it into the pour hole in the keg’s top. I pushed until I felt the resistance of the powder.

  “Off with his head!” the asshole yelled.

  I couldn’t see with the keg in the way, but I heard the axe come down hard, claiming another pleading life.

  [A prisoner has died. Only 7 remain.]

  I didn’t feel bad for any of them. Some of the crimes they’d allegedly done were heinous. Arson of an orphanage pissed me off in particular. There wasn’t anything worse than harming a kid. Not in my eyes.

  I stepped back to admire the loose straw pile I’d stacked on top. I wasn’t a complete survival idiot and knew that fire needed to breathe, so packing it tight wouldn’t have worked very well. Hopefully, I’d be able to get far enough away before it burned down to the powder.

  I took out the match as the voice started on the next rap sheet.

  “Prisoner 192…”

  “Here goes nothing,” I said, striking the match head on the side of the wall.

  It caught without issue, blooming as it flared to life. Distracted by the dancing flame, I didn’t think and tossed it into the straw pile like a jackass.

  “Shit!”

  I cursed, turned, and hauled my dumbass out of there. I prayed to whoever the frank would listen that the lit match wouldn’t tumble into the goddamn keg before I got outside the cell block.

  My head bobbed with each bound I took, trying to duck while not slowing down.

  “Frank, frank, frank, frank,” I cursed each step of the way to the door.

  Surprisingly, I barreled through with only injured pride. I seized the door and slammed it shut before backpedaling further into the outer courtyard, waiting for the explosion.

  I didn’t know how big it would be, if I was far enough away, or even if gunpowder exploded like in the movies.

  I waited for the explosion, but all I heard was a whoomp, followed by intense crackling and sizzling. My curiosity told me to go check, but my self-preservation said to stay put.

  The asshole, listing off all their crimes, just carried on like I hadn’t tried to blow up the damn wall. Streams of smoke appeared above the cell block roof as he said, “Off with his head!”

  [A prisoner has died. Only 6 remain.]

  Frank it. Done waiting, I marched up to the damn door and yanked it open, releasing a plume of gray smoke. The burnt gunpowder smelled like ass. It was as if I’d set off the world’s biggest stink bomb.

  Remembering that I could stop breathing came in handy for blocking out the smell. It just sucked that I had to breathe to actually talk. I still hadn’t gotten used to switching on the fly just yet.

  “Come on!” I vented in frustration.

  The wall was still up. All the gunpowder did was burn real hot next to the wall. Too pissed off to remember what happened last time, I punched the wall in frustration.

  I heard it crack.

  “The hell?”

  I punched it again. This time, a sliver of concrete fell to the floor. I grinned. My plan hadn’t completely failed. The heat had somehow weakened the wall.

  “Hold on, you assholes. I’m coming!” I said as I started pummeling the shit out of the wall. What started as slivers quickly turned into chunks just before it all gave way. Finally, my fist stuck through to the other side. I pried at the opening with my fingers, tearing it even wider.

  I stepped back and started kicking the edges of the hole with my boot. My size-thirteen Timberland PROs busted it open wide enough to crawl through.

  Halfway through, I heard that asshole say, “Off with his head!”

  “Goddammit, stop!” I yelled as I tried to wiggle through faster.

  But the stupid captain’s jacket caught on the jagged edges of the opening, slowing me down. I heard it rip as I dropped free on the other side of the courtyard just in time to read the System message.

  [A prisoner has died. Only 5 remain.]

  I stood up, dusting myself off as I marched toward the stage.

  I looked that big bastard in the eye and said, “Let’s dance, asshole.”