17. Small Brook With A Wooden Bridge

Do you know what is the best part of having a follower? Not only do you have company to entertain you, but said company will also be more than happy to carry your stuff.

I had Emma pack whatever little remained from her camp and carry it in her travel bag. Not sure how it works, but NPCs seem to be able to put more stuff into containers than I can. Maybe their brain has prerendered algorithms that tell them what the most efficient way is of filling a backpack or something, I do not know.

Despite the steel armour and heavy bag, Emma did not seem to even sweat at all. It was me, having replaced my clothes with leather armour from one of the zombies, who sweated like an old horse.

We passed a small brook with a wooden bridge, and I stopped to admire the scenery. In a fleeting compliment of nature, I made a comment about wanting to shoot a photo of the place. Emma stared at me in awe.

“A photo?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied hazily, “You guys have not invented cameras yet?”

“I am not sure what you are talking about.”

“Cameras are handy little devices. They let you record a moment in time as an image, basically eternalizing it. Think of it like a painting. They are very popular in the world I’m from.”

Emma stared at me quietly. The frogs’ croaking could be heard under the bridge.

Shaking her head, she spoke, “Sorry, I don’t understand what you are talking about.”

I was unsure for a moment, but it was easy to figure out. Despite being more responsive than an average NPC, Emma was still just that: a talking, nodding mannequin with predetermined thoughts, ideals, and responses to any questions asked. Like part of a network, she was no more special than an ant in the hivemind of Ancient Blades.

I sighed, then walked off the bridge. “Let’s just go.”

– – –

Mount Yellow.

What comes to mind, when you read this name?

Mount, as in mountain. A tall, rocky, snowy place that reaches just above the clouds.

Yellow. The list is long for yellow things, but the most common things that come to mind are gold, the sun, and maybe dandelions.

Well, on Mount Yellow, these met in a very unnatural way. Next to the road were small but luscious flowers peeking out from the snow. The blinding sun reflecting from the white gave the mountain a threatening aura.

The imprint of coins littered the road, but there was none to be picked up. Lots were brought up the mountain and they made sure none was wasted in the snow.

“Bandits,” Emma muttered, observing the ground.

The wind blew. Whistling.

We have just begun ascending the mountain, yet our surroundings were already a lot different than below. Part of the magic of a game world, I suppose. They went for mood and enjoyment, instead of logic and realism, which is something I could appreciate.

“You know anything about what to expect?” I asked while looking around.

“The bandits who occupy the old trade route are just a bunch of thugs. They gain their gold from terrorizing old folks for protection money and attacking trade caravans.”

“And how do they do that? Do people still try to use the old route?”

“Of course. The bandits make sure the outside world does not know about them.” Emma’s expression suddenly turned dark. “I remember when I came to Nightwood, my map advised that I follow the old trade route. I don’t like cold, thus chose to take a different path. It was the Nightwood barkeep that told me how lucky I was with that decision; what they do with those unfortunate to come across them.”

“Elaborate!” I asked with morbid curiosity.

“If you are lucky, they go for your throat and make it quick. And I don’t want to go into it, but God forbid you were unlucky enough to be born a woman and come across them.” She turned to me. “Anyhow, they won’t let you bleed out. They will patch up your wounds, stitch ‘em together, and just hide any trace of an attack. Then, the corpses will be put out into the snow until they become frosted like preserved cattle. After that, they will be pushed into the river as if they were not attacked, but rather froze to death in a blizzard.”

Listening to Emma, my eyes wandered off her face and over her right shoulder.

You know that feeling when your brain sees something change in your environment, so it guides your consciousness to observe what it was?

Well, in this case, that something was a person. A bulky man with a dirty, black beard, holding a dagger aimed at Emma’s back.

Time felt slowed down. I sprang into action while yelling something at the top of my lungs. My right hand grasped the pickaxe on my side, and in one fell swoop, impaled the bandit’s head upon its pointy end.

Emma screamed. She jumped away like a scared cat, quickly grabbing her weapon.

I stood there, my heart ready to burst out of my chest. I stared the bandit in the eye. His mouth flickered open and close. The damage number still floated by his head.

[ -10 HP, Critical Hit! ]

[ Bandit (Lv. 2) ]
[ 0/9 HP ]

As I pulled out my blade, he collapsed onto the ground. Or rather, his corpse did.

It all happened in less than five seconds. He sneaked up on us and tried to attack, I noticed and immediately killed him.

I killed a man.

I killed a human.

And to add insult to injury, while I stood there, frozen from the realization of my actions, a new set of words flew before me with bold, joyous letters.

[ Achievement Complete! ]
[ New Title Unlocked: Fratricide ]