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    A wanted poster had just been raised. The “photo” was nothing more than a hand-drawn sketch, but this one hit closer to the mark. Sharper details, a clearer resemblance, even his kukris had been sketched in.

    They had artists this good all along and only decided to use them now?

    His mind spiraled through possibilities. It was deliberate. While he had been gone, they had circulated a crude drawing, vague enough to make him harder to track. But now that he had resurfaced, they had waited, patient and calculated, for him to edge close to the Safe Zone again before unveiling a more accurate portrait.

    “This criminal is the one who murdered Angelica,” the man addressing the crowd declared. “He’s extremely dangerous and works with the renegades, or what’s left of them. If you spot him, don’t try to capture him. Just notify our soldiers and you’ll earn the bounty all the same.”

    Another stepped forward. “Burn that face into your memory. The new posters will be up across the city square soon.”

    Luke lingered in the shadow of a tree, careful not to let the light betray him. If this updated identity spread, he would lose access to the Safe Zone. And with it, his entire plan to keep mapping the fortress and eventually return to the second mechanism would collapse.

    “You can go back to work,” Cardon dismissed the gathering.

    One by one, people shuffled back to their routines: carpenters hammering away, laborers hauling timber, gatherers plucking fruit, apprentices being drilled in their trades.

    A low whistle sounded at Luke’s side.

    “One year of easy living in Bastion, no work, no worries. Would you take it, James?” Rhett asked.

    “And miss out on your charming commentary? Not a chance,” James muttered, quickening his pace toward another tree.

    Luke pressed his palm against the rough bark of one he had bonded with, sending a thought into it. If anything suspicious happens nearby, let me know. Pass the word to your sisters too.

    Ever since learning to handle his mana with more precision, he had deepened his grasp of [Botanical Bond of Mother Freya], enough to communicate through thought as long as he maintained contact. His hand became the root, a living bridge. Of course, the only way to hear the tree’s response was by touching it, so he resolved to circle back every twenty minutes.

    He returned to chopping wood. The more intelligent trees were the ones that bore fruit, and those were spared. Even when one fell beneath his axe, it wasn’t death. A tree’s life was in its roots, deep beneath the soil, always ready to sprout again. Still, for every trunk he felled, he let a drop of his blood seep into the earth beside it.

    [You have befriended a Douglas Fir Tree (Common)]

    *Your profession [Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya] has reached Level 55! (+5 Strength, +3 Agility, +4 Vitality, +4 Intelligence, +12 Free Points)*

    The tree responded in kind, weaving a bond of friendship through the offering of blood. Luke thanked it quietly, then heaved the log onto his shoulder, feigning struggle as he dragged it across the ground.

    “Hey Jack, how do you chop down so many trees so fast?”

    Jack looked up with a grin. “Because I’m a lumberjack. My profession helps.”

    By lunchtime, Eddie was handing out food to his crew. Luke sat with his back against a tree, letting its presence settle him. If anything hostile stirred nearby, the tree would warn him with a pulse of thought.

    Jack sat close by, spooning food into his mouth when a soldier passing through shouted, “Hey, Jack Bean!”

    “I’m eating,” Jack muttered without even looking up.

    “But are you eating beans?” The soldier nearly cracked, his face straining to contain the laugh.

    Jack sighed heavily. “Yes. I’m eating beans.”

    The soldier exploded, wheezing laughter, slapping his own legs as he staggered off.

    Luke waited until the idiot vanished into the market crowd before asking, “What the hell was that?”

    Jack murmured, barely moving his lips, “I’m Jack Bean.”

    Luke blinked. “Okay, but… what does that even mean?”

    Jack set his spoon down and stared into the void. “When I was a kid, I was the co-host of a children’s show. There were jingles. About beans.”

    Luke frowned. “And they recognized you? Just like that? Grown up?”

    Jack shrugged. “When I was sixteen, I got arrested for drunk driving. During the interview, some reporter asked if I was ‘Jack Bean.’ I snapped. Told him to shove beans where beans don’t belong.”

    Luke blinked slowly. “…You became a meme.”

    “Yeah.” Jack’s voice was equal parts sad and resigned. “My parents were splitting up, I was in a spiral… but I took responsibility. Did community service. Volunteered. I changed. I converted.”

    Luke narrowed his eyes. “Converted… like, religiously?”

    Jack nodded. “I’m a follower of the Goddess of Kindness.”

    “So that’s why you ended up stuck in this tutorial?”

    “I wanted to formalize my devotion. So I turned myself in to the system to enter her church properly.” He lifted the necklace around his neck, showing the pendant. “I carved the symbol of the Church of Kindness. It’s our Goddess.”

    Luke studied the wooden carving: a woman with pointed ears.

    “Dude, that’s Princess Zelda.”

    “No, it’s not Princess Zelda. It’s Caelina, Goddess of Kindness.”

    Luke squinted again. “Still looks like Princess Zelda to me.”

    “You’re wrong,” Jack insisted, staring at the pendant. He hesitated, then exhaled. “Okay, maybe a little. But it’s the Goddess of Kindness.”

    “Pretty sure whoever carved that was a Zelda fan,” Luke muttered.

    “I carved it myself. And no, I wasn’t inspired by Zelda.”

    Luke paused, deadpan. “So you’re telling me there’s actually a goddess out there who looks like Princess Zelda? Makes sense she’s got so many followers.”

    Jack ignored the jab, his expression softening. “Coincidences aside, Caelina is pure and radiant. Her followers’ words were enough to change me.”

    “You’re not about to preach that salvation stuff to me, right? Good deeds, eternal light, all that crap?”

    Jack smiled. “I believe everyone can be saved, James. Even killers.”

    Luke nearly choked on his food, staring at him. He couldn’t tell if Jack had just stumbled onto the truth or if it was simply the blind faith of a zealot who thought salvation was universal.

    Rhett dropped down between them, pointing his spoon toward a cluster of workers. “Those damn haulers. They make more coin than us, and all they do is walk crap back and forth to the Safe Zone. Half the time they drag their feet just to stretch it out.”

    Jack shook his head. “A transporter has a storage item bound only to them. That makes their service incredibly valuable.”

    He watched the group at work. They pressed their rings against the logs, and one by one the heavy trunks vanished into the pocket dimension of their storage items. Without horses, this was how everything moved, timber, water barrels, even supplies. Paying a transporter with a bound item was far easier than wasting an entire day dragging loads across the zone. James, the identity he wore, had no storage item. Which meant he was stuck carrying a plain backpack everywhere, pretending it was the only way he could haul things.

    Before sunset he was already back in the city square of the Safe Zone, sitting alone at a tavern table with his journal open. The pages were filled with rough sketches and notes, a record of everything he had done these past days. Each page mapped a different route through Bastion’s fortress, hallways, branching passages, floors carefully separated.

    He could have drawn maps inside the second fortress itself, but that would have been reckless. Too much risk of tipping off the Warden Captain about what he was really planning.

    “I need a damn shovel,” he muttered, eyes still on the journal.

    The plan wasn’t perfect, but it was still a plan. Assassins couldn’t afford impulse; they had to stalk their prey with patience, like a predator in tall grass. That was what he was doing now: waiting, plotting, sharpening the edges of an idea that might just work. His reckless schemes had saved him before. He could only hope this one would too.

     

    ***


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

     

    He stopped at a stall, the one that sold arrows. He had timed it carefully so Oswald would not be around.

    “Hello,” he said as he stepped closer.

    “Hello. Looking for something?” The man behind the counter did not bother to stand, busy carving a strip of wood with steady hands. A different attendant than last time.

    Luke laid a stack of Bastion bills on the counter. The currency worked like dollars. Ten days of labor had earned him five hundred of them.

    “How much for uncommon arrows?” he asked, keeping it direct.

    “That depends. Are we talking piercing, tearing, barbed? Or maybe something special? I have one with fletching designed for speed, another with a weighted tip to stagger targets.” The man launched into his sales pitch.

    Luke exhaled. “I want a good, durable arrow. Simple. Something that can punch through thick leather.”

    The vendor pulled a few from his storage item. “Fifteen each.”

    “Fifteen?” His chest tightened.

    I thought I’d be able to buy a hundred…

    “What did you expect?” the man asked flatly. “Every piece here costs labor. A blacksmith forged the tips, someone cut the shafts, and some lunatic risked his life killing a Wild Zone beast just to bring back feathers.”

    Luke slid bills across the counter. “I’m not complaining about the price. Just give me everything this covers.”

    The vendor counted and placed five arrows on the counter.

    “That’s it?”

    “Anything above rare is restricted. Only Bastion’s army can purchase it, and even then under supervision. As for arrows, bolts, and throwables, uncommon is the limit, and you are capped at five per week.”

    Per week? Bartholomew, you bastard…

    “If you want, I can sell you twenty commons.” The man chuckled.

    “Who even buys common arrows?”

    “Plenty. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have an enchanted quiver. Some poor fool gets robbed out there, or panics and drops theirs running from monsters. And then there are idiots who rolled melee classes and suddenly decide they want to try archery. They do not get starter gear from the system. So yes, commons sell.”

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