Accidental Healer

The next few days blurred together. The seven fighters pushed themselves hard, to clear all three dungeons. Their teamwork was rough, full of frayed edges, but it was improving.

By the third dungeon confidence was high—but that didn't make them easy.

They'd expected answers about their families. About how to navigate the world, survive, thrive.

But as each dungeon fell, all they found were more monsters, more loot, more levels—and no answers.

No one said it aloud. But the silence spoke volumes.

Then, on the morning after their third dungeon run, a new objective flashed across Matt's screen.

A raid was coming. Three raids to be exact.

[Success: Unlock the land and establish your own faction.]

[Failure (or retreat): Lose the territory to the invaders.]

[Time until attack: 7 days.]

Matt sighed.

Jared, who was securing a wooden barricade, saw the look on his face and asked, "What is it?"

Matt read the objective aloud.

Someone swallowed audibly. A slow, creeping weight settled over the camp.

Jared exhaled, rubbing his temples. He looked around at the camp, the half-finished barricades, the people still catching their breath from the last dungeon.

"Seven days." He rested his hand on the half finished barricade. "That's a long time to prepare."

Matt nodded, shifting into full strategy mode. "Agreed. We are going to need these walls finished." He scrutinized the haphazard walls. "Jared, great job on getting an early start."

Jared bristled. No one had even voted Matt as the leader. Why did everyone just hand on his every word?

"One week. Plenty of time."

The camp was a beehive of motion for the next seven days. Everyone helped, even the fighters.

By day seven they had built a respectable barricade of cut logs. Inside the walls was a large cabin that could shelter all 40 campers. It was the best they could manage. They'd also constructed three towers for Richard and the other two archers.

Richard complained the entire time. "We should be leveling, not stacking logs like goddamn lumberjacks. You wanna play settler? Fine. Just don't come crying when XP matters more than a fence."

Matt had enough. "Richard. We all agreed levels aren't guaranteed. Defenses are. If you are so worried about it then go."

Matt and Richard had butted heads several times just like this. Richard complained, Matt ignored. On and on it went. Several times, Richard had packed his things, walked to the edge of camp, looked at the trees… and stopped.

Why? He had no damn idea.

He told himself he didn't need them. But if that was true, then why was he still here?

Time marched on. The barricades stood. The towers were ready. The camp held its breath.

***

Exactly seven days later to the second the raid came.

Just outside the camp, the air rippled and twisted, like heat rising off sun-scorched pavement.

Then—they stepped through.

Fifty or more bipedal lizard-warriors emerged from the portal, clad in ill-fitting leather armor. Their weapons were crude—jagged clubs, rusted pitchforks, and makeshift spears—but their numbers alone made them a serious threat.

At their head, a larger lizard, draped in dyed animal hides, barked guttural orders. Its yellow eyes gleamed, scanning the camp.

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Richard was calm in his tower. His palms felt warm against the wood of his bow.

They didn't look particularly strong and Richard hated to wait. He raised his bow and loosed the first arrow.

The leading lizard shrieked and crumpled. For a second, the enemy forces froze, stunned.

Richard admired his shot.

In a second he had eliminated the raid leader. And what did Matt do? Nothing but wait.

The Lizards charged.

"Here they come!" Matt bellowed.

More arrows zipped from the towers, striking deep into the raiders ranks.

The wooden barricades slowed their advance, forcing them to funnel through the narrow entrance—exactly where Matt stood with Alex and one other with a spear.

Shield up. Sword ready. The first lizard crashed into him, club swinging.

Matt braced. The impact rattled his bones. A second attacker lunged. He twisted—caught the second strike on his shield—countered with a brutal thrust to the gut.

The lizard choked, eyes wide, it collapsed onto the dirt. More of them piled in, their guttural shrieks filling the night air.

In the tower, Richard knocked another arrow.

Surviving wasn't enough for him. Level up. Take what's yours. He pulled the string taut—and fired.

Another direct hit, the lizard spasmed and dropped. More surged forward, scrambling over their fallen kin.

Richard was rhythmic.

Draw, fire, repeat. An arrow flew, a lizard died. He shivered. Each dead raider was another step toward more power.

Below, Matt fought like a storm. His shield absorbed another heavy blow—too heavy. The raider used a skill. The impact sent him stumbling, his boots dragged in the dirt, but he recovered fast.

With a roar he lashed out with his sword, it carved through the lizard's scaly rib cage.

"Elise!" he barked. He was hurt. Not bad, but enough.

A surge of warmth coursed through him as Elise's magic took hold, his wounds knit shut even as he moved to intercept the next attacker.

"Try and take out the pitchforks!" Matt shouted up to the towers. "They've got more range!"

Richard gritted his teeth. Just another order from Matt.

But even as resentment flared, his hands moved on instinct. His next arrow tore through the gut of another pitchfork-wielding raider. When Matt ordered, even Richard listened. Why?

Richard was more deadly than Matt. It was his idea to complete the dungeons and face the first trial together. But did anyone notice?

The battle pressed on, but the tide had shifted. Their archers were the real difference.

But Matt—still in the thick of it—held the line. Jared and Elise pulled the wounded back, leaving only Matt and the towers.

And that's when Richard saw it. The way the others watched him. How their eyes followed him—not Richard.

Not the one who had landed more kills than anyone. Not the one whose arrows had done the most of the work.

Just Matt. Matt the leader. Matt the hero. Matt the one everyone admired. Even the damn system chose Matt.

His eyes twitched. How had they missed him? Without Richard, Matt would be dead. Even now, he could tell just how tired Matt was. Sweat poured down his red face. His stance lagged just enough to be noticed.

He could let it happen. Just wait. Then they would see just how important he was.

The thought festered. Its stinking corpse shriveled into something even worse. A thought so dark it sent a shiver up his spine.

Could he really do it?

A single mistake. Easily explained.

That's all it would take to create a world where Matt wasn't in the way.

A world where they finally saw Richard for what he was.

A leader. A survivor. A hunter.

Richard hesitated. He pushed the thought away. He wasn't a murderer. There were only a few raiders left. He took a breath and looked at Janette.

She was standing in the doorway of the small cabin. Richard shot her a small grin. She wasn't looking at him though.

She was looking at Matt.

Something deep inside Richard broke. In one fluid motion he raised his bow, drew back an arrow, let his skill charge, and lined up the shot.

A shot aimed at the enemy. But destined for something else.

Matt blocked a strike, his sword sinking deep into the raider's chest. He took a step forward, boots scraping the bloodied dirt—

The moment came.

Richard let the string slip off his fingers.

It jumped off like a missile, easily piercing the raider's back—punching straight through.

Matt's body jerked as if yanked by an invisible string. His breath hitched—sharp and ragged.

The pain came a second later, burning through his stomach.

He staggered.

"What…?" An arrow? His hands grabbed the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers.

The raiders didn't have bows.

His gaze snapped upward.

Richard?

Their eyes locked. Matt's were filled with confusion. Why?

Richards eyes were wide, his expression practiced—feigned shock. Slowly, he lowered his bow, like he was just now realizing what happened.

Matt's shield slipped. His knees faltered.

The final raider, still barely alive, saw the opening.

It raised its club. And smashed it into Matt's skull.