My mechanical legs propelled us through the darkness, servos whirring as I pushed them to their limits. Tree branches whipped past, barely missing my armored frame. Vom clung tightly to my chest plate, his thin fingers wrapped around the metal ridges.

  "Please slow down," he whimpered. "Vom getting sick."

  I ignored his pleas. Which way to village? From your camp?

  "South," he squeaked, burying his face against the cold metal. "Always south to hoomi houses."

  The forest thinned, and moonlight filtered through the canopy. My Mind Sight picked up the edge of the treeline ahead. With one final burst of speed, we broke through into open farmland.

  Fields of wheat stretched before us, silvered by moonlight. The scattered houses of Weath's outer farms dotted the landscape. In the distance, the village proper huddled around its central square.

  I set Vom down. He stumbled, legs wobbling. Where will they strike?

  "Vom not know." He wrung his hands, eyes darting between the distant buildings. "Master Gomka never tell Vom important things. Just 'clean this' and 'fix that' and 'lick boots clean.'"

  Think. I grabbed his shoulder with one mechanical hand. Where would they go first?

  "Maybe..." Vom scratched his head. "Maybe closest farm to camp? Master Gomka always move camp after raids. Say trackers can't find if we keep moving."

  I scanned the fields. At least six farmhouses lay scattered across the northeastern approach. Any could be Gomka's target.

  Which direction. Did they head when. Leaving camp?

  "That way." Vom pointed toward a cluster of three farms. "But they circle around lots. Master Gomka very tricky."

  I released him, my gears clicking as I shifted stance. How long. Since they left?

  "When moon was there." He pointed to a spot in the sky. Maybe an hour ago.

  A scream pierced the night, distant but clear. My head snapped toward the sound. One of the eastern farms.

  I raced across the moonlit fields, Vom's slight weight clutched against my chest. The farmhouse emerged from the darkness: a two-story wooden structure with a thatched roof. Ten cloaked figures surrounded it, their weapons glinting in the pale light.

  An arrow whistled through a window, splintering the shutters. Inside, someone shrieked.

  I set Vom down behind a hay bale. Stay here.

  "Yes, yes. Vom stay quiet." He curled into a ball, trembling.

  My mechanical body moved silently as I crept closer. The raiders seemed content to toy with their prey, laughing as another arrow punched through wood. The archer drew back his bow again, the motion fluid and practiced.

  "Come out, come out!" One of the raiders banged the pommel of his sword against the door.

  Only screams of fright and pleas to leave them alone answered him.

  The gang's leader stood apart from the others, massive even under his cloak. One eye gleamed from beneath his hood as he watched his men terrorize the family. This was Gomka. Had to be.

  The man, or monster in this case, had to be a full foot taller than my current form was. Underneath his dark cloak, he wore black leathers that strained against his muscular frame. He had green skin like Vom, but his was much darker and looked more leathery. His face was set in a permanent savage sneer, with a lone tusk jutting out from his lips on the right side. His left eye was missing, covered with a patch.

  I counted ten raiders total: the archer, Gomka, and eight others armed with swords and axes. Five of them were the same race as Gomka, all tall and broad shouldered, with tusks jutting from their mouths. The archer and one other were a strange sight, looking like walking, talking lizards with thin limbs and long tails. They were also quite short, as both barely stood above five feet. The final two of their number were, strangely enough, goblins like Vom was, though they appeared healthier and stood a few inches higher than the captive. I was sickened that this pair would simply watch while one of their own kind was forced to endure such horrible abuse.

  The gang of intelligent monsters had the house completely surrounded, two men at each wall. Their positions suggested experience as there were no blind spots, nor gaps in coverage.

  I activated Analyze, my mind reaching out to read their status screens. The names and levels flickered into view above each raider.

  Gomka's screen appeared first: Level 14. My mechanical hands tightened on my weapons. He outleveled me by a significant margin. The lizard archer, Salzaren, showed as Level 12. Another dangerous opponent.

  Two of Gomka's kind, Throk and Vah, were Level 7. The remaining raiders all registered as Level 5. Their positioning spoke of experience fighting together. This wasn't some disorganized band of thugs like the Qordos guards.

  My gears whirred as I assessed the situation. Even with my new four-armed body, taking on ten experienced fighters would push me to my limits. The higher-level opponents posed the greatest threat, with Gomka's raw strength and Salzaren's archery, they could easily destroy my metal frame if I wasn't careful.

  Something about their coordinated movements triggered several fragments of memories: watching drilling soldiers in formation, pouring through thick tomes containing the histories of war, learning battlefield tactics from old warriors. Once again, the recollections vanished as quickly as they came, which was a blessing this time since such information proved useless during this situation.

  I watched Salzaren loose another arrow through the window. His form was impeccable, each shot placed with deadly precision. The Qordos guards had been undisciplined, relying on brute force. These raiders moved like trained killers. The lizard-man's arrow, obviously backed by some type of Archer ability, blasted through the window's wooden shutters, shattering them into countless fragments upon impact.

  The family's screams grew more desperate as the raiders continued their cruel game. I needed to act soon, but rushing in against superior numbers and levels would be suicide. Even with my invulnerable flesh, they could still damage my mechanical parts. And if they destroyed too much of my body, I'd be helpless to stop them.

  Another arrow shattered a window. The children inside screamed.

  "Having fun yet?" Gomka's voice was a growl. "We can do this all night. Or you can open that door and make it quick."

  The father shouted back: "Leave us be! The village guard will come!"

  "Village guard?" Gomka laughed, the sound like rocks grinding together. "No one's coming. No one can hear you all the way out here."

  He was right. The nearest farm was too far for screams to carry. The family was alone out here, with only me to witness their torment.

  I flexed my four mechanical arms, checking the weapons I'd attached to each one. Two swords, a spear, and a heavy mace. My gears whirred softly as I settled into a combat stance.

  The archer nocked another arrow, drawing back with practiced ease. "Last chance!" he called out, his voice sounding strangely melodic. "Open up or we start using fire arrows!"

  My mechanical limbs tensed as I weighed my limited options. The archer, Salzaren, stood slightly apart from the others, focused on terrorizing the family inside. One quick strike could eliminate their ranged threat. But the moment his body hit the ground, chaos would erupt.

  No. Too risky. There were too many of them, and once they take me down and break my body, then they would be free to harm the family inside the farmhouse. There had to be a better way.

  The fragments of memory inside my mind whispered of other solutions. I recalled several scenes of myself standing before armies, of meeting with various commanders, finding words to solve our conflicts instead of violence. The images were hazy, but the lesson remained clear: sometimes talking prevented bloodshed.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  I stepped out from the shadows, my mechanical body moving with deliberate slowness.

  Stop this.

  My mental words carried to all of them. The raiders spun toward me, weapons raised. Salzaren's bow snapped to aim at my chest.

  "What in the hells?" One of the goblins stumbled back.

  Gomka's single eye narrowed. "Well, now. This is a surprise."

  The large hooded figure held up a hand, stopping his men from attacking. His single eye studied my mechanical form with open curiosity.

  "Interesting." He stepped forward, head tilted. "A golem that speaks to minds. Haven't seen one of those before." His single eye focused on my form, settling on the parts of my flesh body that were exposed. "No, not a construct. You're something else."

  Release them, I projected. They have nothing. Of value.

  "Nothing of value?" He barked out a laugh. "Food, clothes, tools. Everything has value out here."

  Can provide those things. My gears whirred as I maintained my non-threatening stance. Let them go. Unharmed. I will give.

  "You?" His eye narrowed. "What could you possibly offer us?"

  Food. From village stores. Tools I can craft myself. Whatever you need. To survive.

  Salzaren kept his bow trained on me. "Boss, this thing's trying to trick us."

  "No." Gomka raised his hand again. "It's making an honest offer. Aren't you... whatever you are?"

  I am called No Eyes.

  "Yeah, I see. Humans definitely named you. They love giving our kind stupid, demeaning names." He grinned, showing his single tusk. "But tell me something, No Eyes. Why do you care what happens to these humans? You're like us, a freak, a monster. They fear you, hate you. Don't try to deny it."

  It is the right thing. To do.

  "The right thing?" He spat on the ground. "There is no right thing. Only survival. Only strength. These humans would kill you without hesitation if they could."

  Some would. Others showed. Kindness.

  "Kindness, huh? Must have been nice." His voice dripped with scorn. "Then again, you ain't ugly like us orcs. Our human masters kept us in chains. Fed us scraps, while they dined on meat. Beat us when we didn't lick their boots clean enough."

  The family had gone quiet inside, listening to our exchange.

  What you suffered. Was wrong, I projected. But these people. Innocent.

  "No human is innocent!" Gomka's eye blazed with hatred. "They're all the same. They see us as things to be used or destroyed. So why protect them?"

  Violence. Creates more violence. Hatred hurts. I am tired of hating. Of hurting. I just want peace. Don't you?

  Gomka's fierce expression softened, some of the hatred draining from his face. "Peace, huh?" His voice grew distant. "Yeah, that sounds nice. Like a dream." He shook his head, single eye refocusing on me. "But that's all it is, a dream. This miserable world can't… won't give us that."

  I started to respond, but he cut me off with a raised hand. "Salz, use Analyze on our metal friend here."

  The lizard archer kept his bow steady, his yellow eyes narrowing in concentration. I felt the familiar touch of the ability brush against my consciousness. I was a little surprised that an Archer could learn the skill, but then I remembered that he was a monster and thus had no class restrictions on him.

  "Name's No Eyes, like it said. Level 9." Salzaren's melodic voice carried clear in the night air. "Race is... Dirtborn? Never heard of that. No gender listed. And age..." He paused, blinking. "Zero."

  Gomka's face twisted in confusion. "Zero? That can't be right."

  "That's what it says, boss."

  The massive orc studied me with new interest, his aggressive stance relaxing slightly. "Well, well. Now I understand." His voice lost its harsh edge. "No wonder you're so fucking naive. You're just a child. Brand new to this world."

  I shifted my mechanical limbs, unsure how to respond to his assessment.

  "Level 9 though..." Gomka scratched his chin. "That's impressive for someone so young. Must have faced some real fights to gain levels that fast." He turned to Salzaren. "How long did it take you to reach Level 9?"

  "Three years, boss."

  "And you're one of the quickest learners I know." Gomka's eye fixed on me again. "You might level faster than any intelligent monster I've ever seen. Interesting."

  Gomka took a step closer, his massive frame towering over my mechanical body. "Here's what I'm thinking. You're new to this world, and clearly talented. We could use someone with your skills."

  What are you. Suggesting?

  "Join us." He spread his arms wide, indicating his gang. "Leave these ungrateful humans behind. Think about it! I'm guessin' you made that metal body yourself, which means you'd be a good fit among us. Make us stuff like that and in return we can teach you how to survive in this world. How to thrive."

  The archer lowered his bow slightly. "Boss, you sure about this?"

  "Look at that body." Gomka gestured to my mechanical frame. "The craftsmanship is incredible. Imagine what else it could make for us."

  And the family?

  "We'll leave them be. In fact..." His single eye gleamed. "We'll leave this whole village alone. No more raids on Weath. I give you my word."

  I studied him through my Mind Sight. His posture was open, relaxed. No signs of deception in his voice or stance.

  "Look at you: four arms, metal body, that strange flesh. You're different, like us. These humans'll never accept you. But we will." He gestured at his gang. "We're all freaks here. Outcasts. But together, we're strong. We can stand up to anything these bastards will throw at us."

  My mechanical hands tightened on my weapons. The offer struck something deep within me, awakening a profound loneliness I'd been trying to ignore. Since emerging from the earth, I'd felt isolated, apart from everything around me. Even among the freed slaves who fought beside me, there had always been distance, fear in their eyes when they looked at me.

  These raiders, these monsters, they were like me in many ways. Feared. Hated. Different. Perhaps with them, I could find belonging, acceptance...

  But then Mallie's face flashed in my mind. Her bright smile when she first waved to me through the cage bars. The way she showed no fear, only curiosity and kindness. I remembered Harke's patient explanations, his willingness to help me understand myself. Old Willem's easy acceptance, sharing drinks with me at the pub despite my inability to drink.

  And I remembered the dead families in their beds. Children murdered in their sleep by these very raiders. The terror in the voices of the family trapped inside this farmhouse.

  No, I projected firmly. I cannot. Join you.

  "Cannot?" Gomka's eye narrowed. "Or will not?"

  Both. I am not like you. Not in the ways. That matter.

  "You're too young to know better." His lip curled in contempt. "You think that just because a few of these scum treat you well that they're all good. But I can tell you… they're not. They're all vile, evil. You either kill them, or they will do worse to you."

  Perhaps. But I choose. To not harm.

  "Choose?" He barked out a harsh laugh. "There is no choice, not for our kind. This miserable world decides what we are. Forces us into roles we never wanted!"

  No. I straightened my mechanical frame. We always have choice. You chose to kill. Innocent people. I choose. To protect them.

  "Pathetic!" His voice dripped contempt. "They'll never thank you. Never trust you. You'll always be alone."

  Better alone. Than surrounded by murderers.

  Gomka's face twisted with rage, his single eye blazing. His massive hands clenched into fists, and I shifted my mechanical limbs into a defensive stance. The raiders around us tensed, weapons half-raised.

  But the attack never came.

  "Pack up!" Gomka barked at his men. "We're leaving."

  The raiders exchanged confused looks. Salzaren kept his bow trained on me.

  "Boss?" one of the orcs asked.

  "Now!" Gomka's voice cracked like thunder.

  Why? I projected, my Mind Speech carrying a note of suspicion.

  Gomka turned back to me, his expression unreadable. "I don't hurt kids."

  You murdered families. In their beds. Children died.

  "Humans don't count." His voice turned harsh, cold. "They're not people. Just vermin breeding more vermin."

  The raiders gathered their gear quickly, obviously used to swift departures. The two lizard people moved with a fluid grace, while the tusked ones stomped about with barely contained aggression.

  "We're done with Weath," Gomka said. "Moving on to better hunting grounds." He paused, studying me with his single eye. "If you ever wise up, head to the Central Hellzone. That's where most of our kind gather. Whole settlements of intelligent monsters, living free from human oppression."

  Our kind?

  "Freaks. Monsters. Whatever you want to call us." He spat on the ground. "Places where we don't have to pretend to be something we're not. Where we can live without fear or shame."

  The raiders formed up behind him, a disciplined unit despite their monstrous appearance. Salzaren finally lowered his bow, though his yellow eyes never left my mechanical form.

  "Remember what I said," Gomka called out as they melted into the darkness. "These humans will turn on you eventually. When they do, you know where to find real friends."

  I remained motionless as Gomka's words echoed in my mind. A place where monsters lived free. The Central Hellzone, a name that sparked both curiosity and unease within me. The thought that others like myself had carved out their own sanctuary was... intriguing.

  You can come out now, I projected toward the farmhouse. They're gone.

  "Stay back!" The father's voice cracked with fear. "We won't open this door while there's still a monster outside!"

  My mechanical hands tightened on my weapons. After everything I'd just done, they still...

  I just saved. Your lives.

  "Saved us? For all we know, you're with them! Probably planning to rob us the moment we let our guard down!"

  The mechanical gears in my chest whirred faster as anger built inside me. I had stood against my own kind, rejected an offer of belonging, put myself at risk, all to protect these people. And this was their response?

  If I wanted. To harm you, I projected, unable to keep the bitterness from the mental words, I would have. Joined them. Instead, I chose. To protect you.

  "Protect us? You're just another monster! We don't want your kind of protection!"

  The father's words struck deeper than any weapon could have. Gomka's earlier statement rang true; they would never accept me, never trust me. Perhaps he had been right about other things as well...

  No. I shook my head, dispersing those thoughts. Their fear didn't justify Gomka's murders. Their stupidity didn't make his actions right.

  Very well, I projected. Stay inside. Like mice in their holes. I will leave.

  I turned away from the farmhouse, my joints creaking slightly in the night air. The Central Hellzone tugged at my thoughts, a place where I wouldn't have to face this constant fear and mistrust. Where I might find others who understood what it meant to be different.

  But I couldn't abandon Weath. Not while people like Mallie, Harke, and Old Willem showed me that humanity wasn't all hatred and fear. Not while there were still those worth protecting, even if they didn't want my protection.

  That was my duty after all. That was why I was born.

  A king protects his subjects. No matter what, that truth was all that mattered.

  I stopped in my tracks, the foreign thoughts that had just intruded into my mind vanishing quickly.

  What was that?