As the two men clashed in a heated argument, a rustling of leaves crackled from an unknown source. Neither their.
Both men froze, peering toward the noise. Shylock spotted it first—a shine reflex from metal of pointed helmets. Six figures.
"Damn it! Patrol guards!" Shylock hissed under his breath. Their situation was dire, on one side back are Raptors and a squad of soldiers on the other. It is going to be worse that their horse was nowhere to be found.
"We need to hide the shovels. They'll suspect something."
Shylock and Smith hurriedly piled the shovels together, kicking leaves over them to conceal the evidence.
"I'll handle this. You hide."
Smith nodded, taking the German Shepherd from Shylock and slipping into nearby bushes.
"Here I go." Shylock drew a short dagger from the sheath at his belt, slicing a shallow cut across his chest, just deep enough for blood to trickle.
"Urgh…" He clenched his teeth, stifling a groan. The blade's edge brought no pain, only a numbing sensation like an electric jolt at the wound.
"Help! Help!" Shylock's cries echoed through the forest as he staggered toward the soldiers, his movements frantic and desperate. His shouts drew the guards' attention. They turned to see a blood-soaked man, can't hear a man cry clearly, they see his eyes wide with terror.
"You! I know you—you're the silk merchant! How'd you end up here?" one of the patrol soldiers demanded. The man, who face him did not look like resemblance to the Shylock known in town a bit. The radiant are gone, a prosperous merchant? All that remained was fear and the stench of blood clinging to him.
"I… I was chased by bandits! From the pine forest at the mountain's base. Th-they killed my horse!" Shylock's voice trembled, and he collapsed to his knees mid-sentence, weakened by blood loss.
"I see. Shall we get you bandaged up?" The squad leader, moved by pity, offered a hand, pulling Shylock onto the back of his horse.
Sniff, sniff.
.
Shylock's heart sank as he noticed the patrol's dog sniffing the blood droplets along the path, as if it had caught a scent.
'Not the shovels, please, not the shovels!'
The dog veered off the blood trail, bolting toward the bushes where Smith was hiding.
"Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof!"
The dog stood precisely over the buried shovels, its barks calling out, clear to everyone nearby.
"Look, our buddy, she found something!" A soldier spotting it first, hurried toward the dog.
"Whoa!"
Before he could reach it, Smith's German Shepherd leapt from the bushes. Smith followed the dog himself, seeing a man with a burly appearance, face against the squad.
"On guard!" The six soldiers snapped into action. Four drew swords, while two readied crossbows, aiming at the stranger, ready to fire.
"Hold it right there!" The squad leader shouted at Smith, raised his hands above his head, offering no resistance.
"Is that the bandit who attacked you?" The leader turned his face to Shylock for confirmation.
"That's…" Shylock faltered, stretching the word out.
"That's my servant!"
"Servant?" The leader's brow raised. The soldiers exchanged puzzled glances.
"Yes, and that dog too."
"Hahaha!" The soldiers erupted in laughter.
"I see... I see! I thought we'd caught a forest bandit. Your servant looks like a barbarian!" The absurdity was hilarious. The patrol had a tale for the barracks tonight. Shylock, however, he didn't join in. He'd narrowly escaped capture, and his cousin could've been slaughtered over a misunderstanding.
"Anyway, can you take him along too?"
"Of course, but it'll cost extra."
"No issue. I always pay my part. And please, bring us back to Drechuis Village."
The leader agreed. Smith hoisted the wooden chest, the group set off down the road toward Kiebrav's military camp.
.
.
.
At twilight in Drechuis Village:
"20 pence."
"What?! 20 pence? We've already dealt with 10! That's a whole silver coin!" Shylock protested.
"5 for transport, 5 for hauling your servant and that dog with the heavy chest, as agreed. The other 10 is for saving your life."
"Saving my life costs another 10?"
"Think about it. If you were stuck in the woods alone, without our patrols spotting you, bandits would've slaughtered you and taken everything by now. 10 for mine—another 10 for my mate who brought your servant. This isn't even our job. I'm doing you a favor. Where else would you get this deal?"
"Fine, take the 20." Shylock handed over 20 copper coins.
"You're lucky I'm not greedy, demanding 50%,"
the leader called out as the soldiers rode off, his voice fading into the distance.
"Jerks. They see treasure and jack up the price," Shylock gossip to Smith, griping behind their backs.
"Relax. We've got 128 pence left after your healing and transport fees," Smith said.
"Your wound's completely gone, like it never happened."
Smith added, trying to calm his cousin down.
"Smith, those guys are no better than bandits. 40 pence for healing? That's nearly a gold coin! The church only charges 2-5 pence for religious fee, and healing among players don't even pay with coin!"
"No way!"
Smith, still a newbie, be surprised. They'd been scammed. The NPCs had eyed the treasure chest and inflated the price. These NPCs were no ordinary game characters!
"On the bright side, they only overcharged. Worse ones they would've killed us for the loot,"
Shylock said, consoling himself. He turned to Smith. "Aden's NPCs aren't cute. Most are gooners. That's why the player community's so tight—we have to stick together. NPCs do scam, overcharge, or rob. Some players get enslaved by a noble NPC and have to reset, starting new characters."
Smith stood rigid, jaw dropped, only a word:
"What f*cking game do I play…?"
Shylock gave a faint smile at his cousin's reaction.
"Check this out—a fine axe, forged from top-grade steel"
Shylock held up the battle axe from the chest. Its metal caught the evening light, reflecting the purple light.
"Can I take a look?" Smith asked.
.
.
At the village tavern that night, the place was full of locals, as it always was, day or night.
"Smith, would you mind if I take from you 28 pence?" Shylock asked.
"Nah, you deserve them, 100 pence on day one? No player's pulled that off! Look, my notebook says I unlocked a perk boosting treasure-hunting luck. I'm gonna be a legendary treasure hunter, haha!" Smith teased.
Shylock's gaze turned serious.
"Smith… if you switch perks, your old perk's skill levels will be reset. You serious about this?"
"No, I'm just messing around."
"I don't want to get chomped by raptors or risk patrols in restricted zones again. Damn it." Shylock eased up by visibly relieved.
"Smith, I've been meaning to talk to you for a while. Let's use this game as the chance." Smith's face shifted from a grin to a focused expression, ready to hear his cousin's heartfelt words.
"Smith, you're such an amazing man I've met. You remember the first time we met? Chaotic moment, right. At then we were both five. You dragged me to your dad's garage built two robots. We used car remotes to play robot sumo. It was insane! How was that happened that a five-year-old kid builds robots from garage scraps? And your videos—when I got out of prison, I watched them. You're a genius, recreating Doom in Minecraft with redstone circuits. You lost a leg in the war, but clawed your way to a degree. I respect you, man—Smith."
The burly man sat still, his golden horseshoe mustache stretching into a wider smile.
"Smith, you should do what you love. Start with what you're great at. How's that sound?"
...
"You nailed it, man. I want a workshop. Can you help?" Smith finally had a clear goal. His skills would come alive in this second world.
"There are two forges in the village. One's owner just died, and his son ruined it to become an adventurer. You could make that your production base. Yeah—you and me, Shylock and Smith—"
"Not that line again!" The tavern owner cut in, fed up with Shylock's catchphrase.
"Shut up, Pre'on!" Shylock fired back, not letting it slide this time.
"What will I speak…umm? Right. From this day forward, Shylock and Smith will build an entire Rome. We'll forge an empire, be the father of all!"
"Raise your glasses!"
The villagers didn't mock—they all lifted their drinks in unison, the roar of cheers shaking the entire community.