“Hey kid, come here.” The little dog-man called Max who clearly did not like being called ‘kid’.

  “What do you want Gizmo?” Max asked petulantly.

  “You’re pretty good with that bow, eh?” The dog-man got a nod in response. “There’s a colony of coneys or rabbits you might call ‘em that live just through those trees in a meadow over there. I can’t catch ‘em no more on account of me leg not bending right.”

  Gizmo patted his thigh above his knee where his wooden leg attached below the joint.

  “Are they good experience?” Max asked. He asked that about anything he was asked to hunt lately.

  “Not much, but they are valuable. Their fur makes nice gloves, great for keeping all your fingers in the winter. Don’t worry about overhunting them, there must be a million of the little rascals.” Gizmo scratched his toasted-marshmellow colored belly while he spoke. “But if you see a wolf with green glowing eyes, that’s a werewolf and you need to get back here as fast as possible. Lycanthropy isn’t something that wears off when you die and it’s mighty inconvenient while you’re trying to get rid of it.”

  Max’s disinterested look suddenly became concerned. He didn’t refuse, but his steps weren’t eager as he walked in the direction Gizmo the dog-man had indicated.

  “Would a werewolf really be a threat during the day?” Steve asked and drank from the dried gourd he was using as a cup.

  “There’s no werewolf, just a little incentive for the young one to keep his eyes open. And you are getting sloppy in your three to six parries. Your footwork is not doing you any favors. Stand up and step through your low stance across the yard.” Gizmo yipped out the order and Steve got back on his feet with some effort.

  It was amazing. He knew it was a video game and still, he ached from this training. His legs protested getting up and his bruises slowly developed painfully. And walking in this low crouch made his thighs and calves burn. Then to have this dog-man, who looked like a chihuahua crossed with a pomeranian, follow behind him with a wooden sword.

  That sword hit legs when they stepped wrong. It hit his shoulder if the shield was out of place. And it especially hit the arm if the sword drooped down too low. This was definitely harsher training than people had received with the sword in centuries.

  “You’re making progress. Have you noticed improvement when you go home for the night?” Gizmo asked while running through drills with Steve.

  “No, I don’t use a sword normally. I use a mace to get us home without dying.” Steve explained.

  “A mace? Why am I training you in an art when you’re just going to use a stick?” Gizmo stopped drilling.

  “I can’t kill a lizardfolk with a sword. Their skin is too tough. I broke two swords fighting the lizards.” Steve admitted and immediately raised his wooden sword’s tip to the ready before Gizmo could correct him.

  “That won’t do, we can’t have that. What are your smithies making?” Gizmo’s ears swiveled to follow the sounds of the forest.

  “They complain that our iron is bad. They can’t find what they need to make steel.”

  “That is sticky, what you need is pale peat. If they smelt your iron with pale peat, you’ll get good steel. That needs to be your next goal. You can’t fight with a glorified stick. Things are changing quickly and you won’t hardly step outside without getting eaten this way. Follow me.” Gizmo tossed his wooden sword onto a bench by his front door and started walking.

  Steve hesitated a moment before following his trainer. Gizmo had pulled this a few times, whacking Steve on the head to ‘teach him to keep his guard up’. There didn’t seem to be any life lessons coming this time and Steve collected his glorified stick on his way to follow.

  “What about Max?” Steve asked as Gizmo led him down the hill and to a moss covered, stone bridge.

  “The rabbits won’t hurt him and if he respawns he’ll just go home. This is important for you and him.” Gizmo spit on the ground, a difficult thing with dog lips. He pushed against the stone railing of the bridge to see if it was still sound.

  “You’re a much better AI than the other NPC’s I’ve met.” Steve commented as Gizmo gingerly stepped on the bridge.

  “That is both the highest compliment and the worst insult I’ve ever gotten. Look, most NPC’s don’t know they’re NPC’s and it’ll really upset them if you talk to them about it. My AI runs a dozen of us NPC’s, but it really breaks immersion for me to say that. We’re supposed to support the refounding of the Southern Kingdom.” It was a rare moment that Steve would never duplicate with Gizmo.

  “It’s called the Southern Kingdom? That doesn’t fit with the other names.” Steve carefully followed Gizmo across the bridge.

  “The kingdom’s full and proper name is the High Realm of New Stapler. Which is a new level of stupid for that AI. Can we please focus on making you dangerous?” Gizmo stopped to make sure the missing stones wouldn’t let the bridge collapse under Steve’s weight.

  “I just have so many questions. Are we getting close to New Corsica? Is the ship ok? Has everyone survived?” Steve asked despite Gizmo’s specific request.

  “See, there’s a trove around here from before the icewall started to melt. The old king expected to hide away these troves to help restart the realm. But he died and the location of these troves was lost. I found this one and built my house next to it so I could turn it over to the realm when the time was right. I might have waited too long.” Gizmo ignored the questions pushed through some bushes. On the other side of the bushes, Steve saw a stone building.

  There was no attempt to beautify the building. It was a low, chunky building that was more like a hill than a building. There was no roof, just stone stacked in smaller rings to close up the gap. A small arched doorway gave access to a stairwell to the space under the stone building.

  “Torches are a bad idea in here, but there’s enough light to get what you need.” Gizmo didn’t need to crouch and as he walked the fungus on the stone blocks began to glow.

  “This is too heavy for me, but you’re huge. You should be able to move this.” Gizmo stopped and blew the dust off a long footlocker. The ceiling wasn’t high, but the space had opened to this room where these footlockers were stacked three or four deep. The leather sides were covered in a heavy paste, but the lock was so simple as to be one step above being a latch.

  It was heavy, but moveable for Steve. It had to be dragged through the entryway. By the time Steve was out of the vault, his curiosity was unbearable.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The lock came away and the lid came away entirely without hinges. The locker had books wrapped in oiled canvas and several bags of metal ingots. And there, on the bottom of the locker, were three finished swords. The sheaths and belts had been heavily oiled and stained Steve’s hands as he handled one.

  The wrappings around the hilt and guard came away and fell apart in Steve’s hands. The brass quillions and pommel still shone. The wrapped leather grip felt almost warm in his hand and the blade came out of the sheath with only a little effort.

  “See, that’s true steel. Good stuff. Will hold a rune without much fuss. It’ll cut through lizardfolk and won’t chip against bone. Put the stick away, no excuses now.” Gizmo put the lid back on the locker and latched it in place.

  “Shouldn’t I put this back?” Steve put the sword back in the sheath.

  “That one is yours. If your town wants this trove, they won’t mind you getting a leg up. If you tell them it’s out here and I’m out here, they’ll send me more students and plenty of laborers to empty this out. We should head back.” Gizmo helped Steve put on the belt and get the locker balanced on his shoulder.

  “Where have you two been? I’ve been here alone for hours!” Max complained as they came back to the house. He had cleaned and hung four rabbits off the side of Gizmo’s house.

  “I’m too tired for a teen, you explain it to the kid on your way home. Good night, don’t let the gremlins bite.” Gizmo scratched his fur again and wandered into his house.

  “You gotta see this sword, it’s awesome. We have a whole box with a kit to make this sword. We are going to make so much money.” Steve grinned at the thought. They had been scraping by since their parents had cut them off, having money again was such a sublime moment.

  “Shouldn’t we give that box to the Magistrate? You heard him talking last week how it cost the city everything to keep the road clear. You tell me you’re breaking spears every patrol.” Max asked.

  Steve didn’t want his brother to be so right when he really wanted to be a little greedy.

  “The town will be fine. Trade with the Capital is getting really good.” Steve didn’t like how his voice went up at the end.

  “Dave didn’t charge you for the map to Gizmo. And Eric paid for the mercenary who got us there. We should give this to the Magistrate.” Max re-stated with all the certainty of a teenager.

  “Ok, I get my sword and the town gets the box. We just need to get home alive. And there are still toads around and it’s getting dark.” Steve relented and struggled to hold the box and his shield at the same time.

  “Don’t you worry at all. I am going to get us home 100% safe. By the time we’re home these toads won’t bother anyone again!” Max put an arrow to his string and struck his most heroic pose.

  Steve was relieved that when he respawned the footlocker was still in his arms. Of all the ways he had died, that toad poison was the worst way to do it. Max did not look happy when he respawned and sulked all the way home.

  “Are you ok buddy? You haven’t said a word since that last fight.” Steve thought he knew what was wrong.

  “I’m fine.” Max dropped his arrows and bow in a corner and took his boots off.

  “You don’t sound fine. We got the locker back to town and we’ll take it to the Magistrate tomorrow.” Steve took off his sword belt and wiped the leather with a rag.

  “We weren’t supposed to die. You said we would take it to the Magistrate if we died. We’ll just sell it to one of the blacksmiths I guess.” Max said sadly.

  “No, we’ll take it to the Magistrate and not sell it. You did a good job fighting those toads. They are really aggressive without their frogmen.” Steve sat down to take off his boots.

  “No I didn’t. We weren’t supposed to die.” Max sounded like he was almost in tears.

  “Whoa. I was super uncomfortable with death when we got started. I tried really hard to keep you from ever dying. It was not realistic.” Steve admitted and it left him feeling like an empty inner tube.

  “You did really good though. I hardly died at all. The other kids at school had all died twice as much as me.” Max had one boot in his hand, forgotten to be discarded wherever they fell.

  “It was too stressful. It was harder than it had to be and I was grumpy all the time.” Steve admitted.

  “I was stressful?” Max looked confused.

  “Max, you just tried an escort quest with me. Was I the stressful part of it?”

  “Yeah, but mostly the toads. And I didn’t want you to die.” Max teased out his thoughts a little more.

  “Right. And that ‘want’ made it hard. I am becoming more comfortable with both of us dying since we met Gizmo.” Steve nodded along.

  “And it sucks. Those toads suck.” Max disagreed.

  “But I’m about to get my second level of fighter and you’re almost a level four militia. And that’s with your student experience modifier. We are growing so much faster now. It’s just since we met Gizmo and it’s not about that guy.”

  “I don’t understand.” Max shrugged.

  “I don’t either. Just … It's ok if we die. Here, in the game. As soon as we’re out of the game, dying is a no-no again. You’ll be in big trouble if you try that IRL.” Steve said with a smile and was thrilled to see Max relax just a bit.

  The next day, he happily belted on his new sword and picked up the locker. Max went to school and Steve went to the keep at the center of Davtown.

  “Citizen, what business do you have in the keep?” Mike asked.

  “Mike, it’s me. What are you doing on guard duty at the keep?” Steve asked his patrol friend.

  “The quest fell through, we accidentally set a house on fire. Those don’t respawn, like the horses don’t respawn anymore. My break was revoked and I’m on guard duty without pay. I have to ask what you’re doing in the keep…and where you got that sword!” Mike finally looked past the footlocker and saw the new weapon.

  “The box and the sword are related. My quest turned them up. I think it has instructions to improve our iron situation.” Steve explained.

  “That’s great, this could get me out of guard duty. Stan, I’m walking this guy up to the quartermaster.” Mike’s eyes lit up.

  “We’re supposed to stay at the door.” Stan grumbled.

  “I’ll be right back.” Mike shot his partner a dirty look and took the opposite end of the footlocker to make it easier to carry.

  The quartermaster dropped everything when he saw what was in the footlocker. Mike did not get out of guard duty, but was sent immediately on errands to the blacksmiths.

  “And you can take me where you found this box?” The quartermaster asked Steve.

  “Yes, I used this map to find an NPC trainer and the trove is near him.” Steve pulled out a copy of his map and gave it to the quartermaster.

  “What threats are there between here and there?” The quartermaster was already belting on a sword and dagger.

  “Giant toads, venomous giant toads.” Steve said and the quartermaster stopped what he was doing.

  “Great, that’s just what we need. Look, clear them out and I’ll see about getting you some chainmail that actually fits.” The quartermaster set down his weapons and started reading a scroll from the footlocker.

  “Like, my patrol? Once I’m off break?” Steve asked carefully.

  “No, not like your patrol. And not when you’re off break. We needed this last week and if the lizardman raids get any worse it may be too late. We might have to abandon Davtown. So go kill some amphibians and report back when they’re gone.” The quartermaster wiped his head with a towel. Then he turned away before Steve could ask any more questions.

  “Fine, I’ll kill some toads.” Steve muttered to himself as he left the quartermaster’s office and the keep. He had never gotten fully used to the way some civilians gave orders. A sergeant could yell at you all day, but at least he was sharing the danger with you. The way the quartermaster had talked to him followed Steve out the gate, through the forest and to the river.

  The frogs were a terrible match for him. They never wanted to stay put and would jump away in their clumsy way when it looked like he might catch them. Max’s bow was much better to catch the toads, but he was in school and there was no getting around that until the weekend.

  After the toad’s tongue hit his shield, Steve had four seconds to reach the toad. Then it was like hitting a beanbag with loose skin. A smack with the edge of his shield could stop the toad from leaping, but the sword wasn’t cutting like Gizmo had advertised.

  “What are you doing? That’s a sword, not a mace.” Steve growled at himself after the third toad got away. He settled the blade in his hand correctly, resisted the urge to turn it in his hand, and listened for the racket the toads made as they crashed through the undergrowth.