System Reset: Forged in Nightmare

"You've heard, eh Alex? These rumors about a wandering blacksmith…?"

Moussa leaned across the fire, a flicker of interest in his eyes as he took the words right from Alex's mouth. It was a sign the rumor mill was properly milling when people started regurgitating your own rumors back to you. It took everything he had not to crack a smile.

"I may have heard a thing or two. But go on, tell me about him."

"Yeah Mous," Dalia said with a snicker, "tell him what we heard."

Dalia was a Polish woman with stark blue eyes and Moussa was a young man from Senegal with an easy laugh and a lazy gleam to his smile. He swilled beer from a bottle and shifted forward on one of the camping chairs his party had, gesticulating his tale. "The Wandering Blacksmith… he's illusory, you know. Is he a mage? A man? Something else, maybe? No one can say. No man has seen underneath his mask—no man that is, but his face… they say one glimpse is enough to make any woman swoon."

"Any woman?" Alex echoed with amusement. "Is that so?"

He exchanged a look with Gloomy, who just rolled her eyes.

"Not any woman," Dalia said with a teasing glower.

Moussa placed both her hands in his, chuckling brazenly. "No, no, not any woman—any other woman, though—that, yes, that. And with reason too. He makes a good sword, but he also knows how to use it."

"Ain't that right."

"It is," Moussa insisted. "They say even his earrings are swords. Small swords, but no less deadly. The one on the right has slain dragons! And the one on the left… can split a mountain in two."

He chopped down swiftly with his right hand while the rest of his party laughed. They ribbed each other and bumped elbows in that way people have about them when they don't entirely believe a rumor but still find good humor in spreading it. Most of them did, at least.

Mamadou, another Senegalese man, nodded his head along to what Moussa was saying but his expression was one of obvious dismissal, his eyes half-lidded and half-rolling. "This guy… look at what they're saying. They pretend that he is the guardian angel of Nightmare or something. Some hero that takes from the rich mages and gives to the common man like a figure out of legend."

He shook his head in disappointment.

Now that got Alex to raise his brow. "What, like a modern day robin-hood?"

"Sheu tetete…" Mamadou clicked his tongue and shook his head in disappointment, holding it in his lone remaining hand. The System gave no official translation for the gesture, but Alex didn't really need one to sense his exasperation.

"Yes, a Robin Hood! Exactly!" Moussa exclaimed, a little more enthusiastic at the idea. "Why else would he wander from path to path? The blacksmith is a giver. He gives men the weapons to defend themselves. If you give him a core, he'll forge you a weapon on the spot. And not just any, no—the weapons he forges are of the quality that can make legends out of men."

Like, Nychta communicated. The way to her heart was easy.

Alex just snorted. He couldn't say he was unsurprised at the political turn the rumors had taken. Theirs wasn't the only fire lit, nor was Moussa's the only voice doing work. It was the second to last day of the Third Scenario and they were situated on a valley stretch where the paths began to converge. Some people camped, others marched forward, but here, amidst the Scenario's main pack, few if any of them were mages. These were just the "common people" as Mamadou put it, and there were plenty who held grudges against the mages. Others just found comfort in sharing unbelievable stories.

Most of them weren't so affably-mannered as Moussa, naturally. Moussa, with his easy-going nature and flapping lips was the exact kind of person Alex had spent the last few days singling out. Now, he was seeing the fruits of his labor.

"Interesting story, eh?"

"Yeah, it's interesting," Alex admitted.

Moussa chuckled and stirred the pot on the flame between them. The scent of beans wafted pleasantly as he spiced them and up above, the sky was slowly turning a lighter shade of night.

"...But that's not the version of the story I heard."

That grabbed Moussa's attention. He stopped stirring and Alex leaned in.

"I heard the wandering blacksmith doesn't just make legends out of men but myths. The blades he forges can turn mortals into gods."

"Oh?"

"The rumors are understatements, if anything," Alex continued. "The earring on his right was forged from the scales of a world-swallowing serpent. He once used it to split a mountain and a dragon in a single swing—and that's where the tale comes from. The one on the left was forged for the goddess of all moons, but she turned it down because it was too valuable of a gift. It interrupts all divination to his whereabouts and character. That's why no one knows anything about him."

"Goddess of all moons? Is this… a constellation?"

No, she didn't actually exist.

"No, she's a creature beyond even their comprehension," Alex said instead. "Touched by his gift, she gifted him a mask that can't be removed by anyone other than himself, and a cowl that makes him impossible to recognize by physicality. Even his leather apron is enchanted—to ward off the cold, but also the heat—so he does not grow stifled and sweaty in the smithy."

Moussa stroked his chin, leaning back. "These rumors… they're rather specific, no?"

"Yeah," Dalia agreed, "you're not going to say you've met him now, are you?"

Alex split a grin, and he could practically sense Gloomy rolling her eyes again from behind his back. "If I hadn't, how could he have given me this?"

He pulled a weapon from his inventory and proffered it to Moussa for examination.

Charge-Blade

A saber capable of consuming and storing mana for a charged attack.

"Hm…" Moussa tested its sharpness with his thumb, nodding his head slightly. "Not bad, not bad, but it's not the thing of legends either. You're saying he forged this?"

For what it was worth… he hadn't, but Alex wasn't about to say that.

"It was a dark and stormy night," he said instead. "One second I was alone on my path, and the next… he arrived, accompanied by a flash of lightning and a strong, swift wind. Gloomy was there too, isn't that right, Gloomy?"

"Whatever," she said.

"See?" Alex said. "The Wandering Blacksmith forged it, all right. Not on the spot, but he did forge it. He was being chased that night, by voices in the dark. I heard hundreds of them—extraterrestrial creatures from forgotten realms, yet he was so unbothered by them that he even stayed for a short chat. This weapon here, he said it was an eyesore. A failure, and a stain on his reputation. He practically threw it at me simply to get rid of it. Then he disappeared. Before I could even offer to pay him, he was gone like the mists."

Despite what Alex said though, it was a good weapon and they both knew it. But Moussa raised a single brow, pretending not to. "Hnm. Okay. How much for it, then?"

"That Grave Phantom you were talking about… you got its core, right?"

"Ahh… you ask for too much," Moussa said. Though, Alex noted he didn't return the blade quite yet either.

Alex scoffed, playing into the back and forth. "So what, you're gonna commission a weapon from a lesser blacksmith? What would you rather have? A weapon you can use now, or a weapon you'd have to pay a fortune for to even have made?"

"Still…"

Moussa had a look of consternation on his face. At this rate, Alex would definitely fold but he wasn't really here to haggle. "Alright, alright. How about I throw these in on top?"

Alex placed between them a bag containing the bones of the Chimik Lordling, the ghouls he'd faced, and of several different creatures he hadn't. Moussa's eyes shot wide at the first real surprise Alex had given him this night. Dalia's eyes went even wider beside him.

"How did you know?!" she asked.

"Know what?" Alex said, feigning ignorance.

They exchanged a look. By this stage in Nightmare, anyone who could afford to would be wise to spend Essence on a hide-status upgrade to their interface. Except, reaching the threshold to Adept also enabled Alex to upgrade his own Inspect and they were underleveled enough that it gave him a rather probing peek.

It was enough to tell him that this party held real promise—or they would, if they were anywhere else. Moussa was just a common warrior, but at level 33, he was well ahead of most of his peers and he didn't seem to be neglecting his stats or skills either. Mamadou was underleveled by comparison, still at 14, but that just indicated he'd invested in a good skill path. Alex got the sense it was something casting based, which meant being one-armed wouldn't hamper his capabilities.

And Dalia—although she appeared to be just a common archer at first glance—had made the perplexing decision to dedicate an entire skill tree to crafting arrows. It would be a strange choice for a place like Nightmare… if she weren't crafting them from bone. She was attempting to upgrade her class to Bone-Fletcher at level 50 and Alex respected a good gamble.

"Deal!" she shouted. And she leapt forward from her chair, shaking Alex's hand in a heartbeat.

Now that Moussa didn't have to act unimpressed, he turned the blade over in his hand, his smile growing. "Generous fellow, isn't he? Giving such a fine thing away for free…"

"Yeah, one of the nicest guys I've ever met," Alex said.

Though, if the look Gloomy gave him was any indication, he may be laying the act on a bit thick.

"Look at you, still acting like he's a real person," Mamadou said.

"Hey, you never know, friend," Moussa said with a laugh. "Maybe he is real."

"Real like the Red Devil is real?"

That sucked all the joviality out of the campfire. Alex winced as Mamadou rolled up his sleeve, revealing burn scars all the way up his arm and leading to his chest. "He cooked me alive in those flames. It took all my health potions to get out with my life, and then I hit my limit. Couldn't take anymore for a week."

Potion overload, Alex knew what that was like all too well. A simple look around was enough to know Mamadou wasn't the only one, either. The extreme conditions the wildfire started under resulted in it eventually developing into a meso-cyclone. Embers had carried even as far as other zones in Nightmare, starting new fires there before the Architects finally stopped it. Alex couldn't say how catastrophic the casualties were in the grand scheme of things, but it had affected many lives.

"The Red Devil," Moussa muttered, "That man is a disaster."

"And unlike your wandering blacksmith, he actually has a face," Mamadou said. "They call him Adowan. Red Devil Adowan, apprentice to some crazy fire magus or other. Mages."

He spat to the side.

Alex's grimace deepened further. Not all these rumors were working in his favor, and that was a rather unfortunate one to have circulating. Especially when many of his enemies knew or would soon know the truth.

"Sounds like trouble. I'll try to steer clear of him," he said. Though it pained him a little to say it. Mamadou had nothing much else to say, and like a few others in their group, grew more withdrawn. It wouldn't help much now, Alex knew, but he decided he'd give the man a bit of burn-salve as a parting gift.

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An awkward silence descended.

"But hey—on to happier things, eh? Nightmare isn't all so bad. It's united me with my true love from across the world. What is that but a miracle?"

Moussa chuckled, putting his arm around Dalia's shoulder. He had that unnaturally bright sorta smile that made you wonder whether he was being sarcastic, or if he was just that positively optimistic.

"And look, our generous benefactors have even given us a taste of home. Do they make us kill for it? Yes, maybe. But they show thoughtfulness where it counts. Now let's eat."

Mamadou seemed chagrined that Moussa got a chuckle out of him but it did wonders for the rest of their morale. Moussa passed out sliced open baguettes and began ladling tomato-stewed beans from the pot into the open sandwiches.

Gloomy refused hers.

"No? Not hungry? Ahh… No food, no talk, what do you even live for, girl?"

"She's just at that age," Alex said, covering for Gloomy. Now she was giving him some real stink-eye but Moussa accepted that with a shrug. Enjoying warm "Ndambe" sandwiches, they passed the last moments before dawn in idle chatter. After going several days with nothing but cold beans for sustenance, it reminded Alex that it wasn't the beans in the can that mattered; it was the way you prepared them. Surely there was a metaphor for life somewhere in there.

"You sure don't want to come with us?" Dalia asked.

They, and everyone else on the path, packed for the last leg of their journey. Everyone's circadian rhythms were skewed and terribly regulated, but the one thing they agreed on was they didn't want to be sleeping under the sun.

"I think I'll take it easy a little longer," Alex said.

Though truth told, he was just a little exhausted from sharing fire with so many social butterflies.

"I'll see you again," Moussa said, and Alex wondered if it was true.

Now, the sun was almost around the mountain bend and it was just him and Gloomy at the campfire. She was staring off to the East, watching the moments before sunrise as though wondering at exactly which second her skin would start to char.

"Were you always like this?" Alex asked.

"Like what?"

Gloomy glowered but her words didn't have the usual bite to them.

"No, never mind. It's time for you to get going. You remember the place?"

"I remember," she said.

Then, as Alex felt the first ray of warmth on his skin, Gloomy was gone. It was the last day of the Third Scenario. The next time they met would be when they reached the city.

* * *

An hour or two later, Alex started walking. According to his interface he was still on The Path of Buried Ghosts, but the "common path", as people had begun to dub it, was different from the path he'd traveled thus far. As more and more paths came to a convergence, and the closer they got to the city, the less it resembled an untamed slice of nature and the more it appeared like a path in actuality. The space between the mists grew wider and the ground became maintained, packed dirt rather than the twisting roots and rampant overgrowth it had been before.

But the greatest change was the people. To his left and to his right, there was now always someone there. Multiple someones. Ahead and behind as well, walking in a tired procession. Alex would end up making eye contact occasionally and they'd take a second to inspect and check his skull marks. Then they'd either greet him back or disregard him. A friendly few might approach him for a short talk, usually with ulterior motives, and always reticent beneath the surface.

Men like Moussa were no exceptions to that trend. For the first hour, Moussa had been prepared to kill Alex if he made a wrong move, and he sensed that same intent from everyone around him. These people were denizens of Nightmare. Behind their small talks and greetings, they harbored needles. Their intent wasn't malicious, mostly, it was like the prick of a porcupine. They knew what people were capable of, they knew what they were, so they couldn't help but prepare for the worst. Alex understood. Even though the worst of the Third Scenario was over, they'd been changed by the experience. Their sense of community had been diminished; they couldn't take comfort in numbers anymore. Because the worst of Nightmare was still to come, and they all knew that.

That reticence came from the part of them that remembered this wasn't normal. A discordant twinge of sorrow or loss at their new reality. With time, that discomfort would fade in many of them. Humans adapted. It was how they survived.

Most of them.

"G'day mate. One lonely bloke to another, how about some chit-chat to pass the time, ey?"

A man walked up beside Alex. He pinched his eyes, stifling a groan. This made three familiar faces since he'd met Eric's party—and dear god, why were all three people who'd once tried to kill him?!

"Name's Jackie Smith," the Aussie said, holding his hand out in greeting.

His hand hung there for a little bit before Alex decided to finally shake it. "John Williams."

A lie for a lie.

"Well it's some nice weather we're having, John. How many people do you reckon survived?"

"Frankly, I don't feel much like talking right now," he said.

"Aight, have it your way."

And Alex did, for a solid minute or two at least. Jackie was a shorter guy with a thin goatee and a nose that looked to have been broken in a few too many times. He wore a sword on his hip, which Alex knew for certain was a throw-off, because he had never seen the man use anything other than a knife, gun, or occasionally his own fists.

Jackie, or Robbie as Alex had only known him, also happened to be a hitman. And perhaps even more unfortunately, a complete chatterbox too.

"…Could be as low as twenty thousand, by my count," he rattled on. "I mean, think about it. Every other bloke we see's got like, what? Three or four skulls a piece? Don't reckon they're faring better in the other zones, nahh, well… hm, I dunno. I guess they don't got some fair dinkum nutcase setting blaze to their entire place, ey? Aight, twenty-two then. Final wager."

"Wow," Alex muttered, "your optimism is really what I needed right now."

"Glad to be of service."

"To someone, I'm sure."

Jackie hawked up phlegm and spat to the side, giving Alex a toothy smile when he noticed him trying to use Inspect. Unsurprisingly, it didn't tell him much. He hadn't known Jackie was another survivor of Nightmare, but seeing him here, Alex got the sense the apocalypse didn't come as a huge surprise to him. Killing certainly wasn't anything new to the man, and the fact he was already near his rank-up threshold suggested he'd taken a considerable few jobs already. Leveling up was always quicker when you didn't even have to adapt.

If Alex sensed even the slightest bit of ill intent he'd be even more on guard. As of now, he was already half-tempted to err on the side of caution and just kill him. The way Jackie's smirk spread said he knew exactly what he was thinking too. But… they'd worked out their differences before, and they could do it again.

"Alright, I'll just come out and say it. Are you already bought?"

"Me? Oh, nah mate. Your name's been floated once or twice, and aye, I said I'd consider it, but I've developed a kind of sense for these things. Figured this was one of those times worth pursuing a counter-offer, if you catch my drift."

Yeah, Alex was catching it plenty. Jackie's drift was he was about as disloyal as they came in the apocalypse. Worse yet, he was good at what he did. Enough so, that even despite knowing he might be a thorn in his side, Alex couldn't help considering the upsides to letting him live for now.

"These prospects of yours have names?" Alex asked.

Neither of them really bothered keeping their voices down. A fight had broken out by the side of the path and most people had stopped to gawk.

"They might," Jackie admitted. "But I'm not really keen on sharing them. Professional courtesy and all."

Alex snorted. "Not keen, or won't?"

Jackie just shrugged. So it wasn't Anne then, or anyone else he'd be too frightened of to sell out. It wasn't the Constellations either, they would've just sent one their own chosen to the job instead of some Aussie hit man. Then odds were it was just some uninvolved faction or another that got burned by the fire and somehow caught wind of who set it. Multiple probably, since it seems he got more than one offer.

An unsettling thought arose. "Have you received any hit requests for Adowan?"

"The Red Devil?" Jackie blanched. "Oi, I ain't cracked in the head, just the nose, mate. Them I refuse on principle. I ain't doing it, okay?"

"Probably a smart choice."

"Jesus—thought you were asking for a second! Don't scare me like that, man. You seemed like a pretty sensible guy, and that doesn't need to change."

"Uh-huh."

Alex was under no illusion of the same for Jackie. But at the very least, it seemed no one told him why they wanted Alex dead, so he wasn't just being coy, calling him a nutcase to his face. On the other hand, the fact that Adowan's name was also making the circuit was concerning. That meant it wasn't just "the mundane" who had the wrong idea, a lot of mages did too. Did Orion intend for this? Or was this someone else's doing? Maybe it was just a coincidence, but it was troubling nonetheless.

Adowan, The Righteous Blaze was garnering a rather different reputation for himself this time around. Alex didn't know where that'd lead, but the power balance amongst factions was undoubtebly skewing off from what he remembered. It was happening faster than he could control.

If so, then…

"You're a savvy one, aren't you?" Jackie said.

Alex twitched his eye, annoyed to have been dragged from his thoughts.

"Hm? How so?"

"Just got that look about you. All silent contemplation. No fuss. That's the look of someone convinced they're playing checkers while all them other numbskulls make fools of themselves playing chess."

"You have that idiom backwards," Alex said. "Chess is the more complicated game."

Jackie flicked his nose. "See? What did I tell you? Now, how about we get down to fixing a—"

"I don't need the names."

"You…" Jackie blinked. "…What? You don't need the—are you crazy? They're trying to get you killed, you know!"

That last part came out in an aggressive whisper, and after Alex remained silent for a moment, that toothy smile returned. He began to feel an inkling of killing intent from the man. Jackie wasn't explicitly running an extortion per se, but he really only left Alex two options: pay him or kill him here.

And Alex had already killed the assassin—which was probably why Jackie was seeing so much business anyway. Killing Jackie too just meant he would relinquish the grip he might have on the mages' seedier dealings. So with a heavy sigh, Alex drafted a contract and forwarded it over. Regrettably, he also attached a large chunk of the Essence Crystals he gained from killing the assassin, should Jackie choose to accept it.

Jackie let out a low whistle. "And here I thought you'd gone stingy on me, bud."

"I'm not paying out my ass just for a few names."

"What?"

"Christ, read the actual fucking contract. Don't just skip to the part that has your pay."

His eyes scanned the empty space before him, but Alex decided to make himself extremely clear. "First, you're going to go back to everyone who gave an offer and tell them you're busy with other work. Then from here on out, you work for me. Anyone who wants me dead, anyone who wants anyone dead, you come to me for permission first and you give me their names. That should appease your professional courtesy, correct?"

"The price—"

"Is not up for negotiation. Either take it or leave it. You leave it, I leave your body in a ditch somewhere."

It spoke volumes of Jackie that he just took that in stride. He'd probably heard that line several times before, though he seemed smart enough not to test the waters this time. At least, not while Alex was treating him like royalty.

"And this is just the down payment…"

"Regrettably," Alex muttered.

He was also promising to pay Jackie for each name the median price between what they each thought it was worth, as well as half that for any hits that didn't directly involve him. Ultimately he'd probably make more by not killing than he would've accepting other jobs. Not to say Alex was making a pacifist of him. He planned to put out hits of his own eventually, but he needed to recalibrate what allegiances lay where before he decided on any targets.

"What's this about commissioning a weapon of choice?" Jackie asked.

"Take that as an incentive for if you do well. You'll understand its value soon enough and just how much it's wasted on you."

"You really got a hard-on for me, don't you?"

Trying to kill someone in their sleep wasn't how you make a good first impression. But he could hardly tell him that so he just shrugged.

Jackie chuckled through his grin. "I knew I had the right of it. You're everything I hoped for, Alex Smith."

He held out his hand for another shake and Alex gripped it much harder than he needed to. "Right back at you, Kenneth."

For once, the hitman was not smiling.

Alex held his gaze, letting him know exactly what would happen if he crossed him. Then he let go, wiping his hand on his pants. "Head into the mists before you accept the contract. Don't let anyone see you spasming in pain, and don't come back. I don't want to see you again until you have what I want."

"Right-o champ. However you like it."

Jackie did as told, and after a brief bout of agonizing pain, Alex was finally able to enjoy his walk in silence. It'd be his last time being surrounded by nature for a little bit, though he couldn't say he'd terribly miss it.

The rest of his month-long hike was uneventful for the most part. There were a few more fights, usually accompanied by bets, but they were closer to angry brawls than the cut throat killing they'd all experienced. Turns out, most people didn't like to kill when they didn't have to. And most who did still didn't like to be seen doing so in front of large swaths of people.

There probably wouldn't be any repercussions for it. It wasn't likely anybody watching would stick their necks out for strangers. And yet, people capable of such violence cared enough to show restraint. That was another part of what made them human. They were all social creatures, and regardless of how this world twisted their humane qualities, people would always care what others thought about them. They would always be human.

And right now, they were all alive. This path he walked… this path… Alex rubbed his eyes, dragged from his melancholic bliss by hooting and hollering from further up the path. The path continued onto a stone bridge spanning a wide river and when he edged through the crowd he saw… miscreants. Exhibitionists reveling in their orgy and having rowdy sex over the stone railing… "Christ."

Scowling, Alex quickened his pace until he was past them and out of earshot of their yowling. Then he stared directly at the setting sun to bleach the sight from his memory.

Where was he…?

…Right, these were all living, breathing humans. Not walking corpses. Not figments of his past. It still took effort to remind himself that sometimes, but it was important that he did. These were human lives he was playing with, and regardless of whatever divinity his core had, he was not a god. He was not here to play around.

He walked this path, and countless others walked it beside him. Strangers from all walks of life. Afterall, Misting Valleys drew from the largest swath of countries out of all the zones in Nightmare. China's and India's populations were so dense that the entirety of the Americas would only make up two-thirds of each. So Misting Valleys pulled from many countries across Europe and Africa that bordered the North Atlantic, and even some on the east coast of Asia. Nightmare's criteria were never without exceptions, but for the most part that was how it went.

As a result, Misting Valleys held by far the most diverse population in all of Nightmare.

And by far, Misting Valleys saw the fewest survivors.

There were too many factions. They'd seen too much infighting. The vampires alone were united to take advantage of it. In the 5th Scenario, Misting Valleys was the only zone that even came close to falling under the assault of the Undead Lord. And what remained for those who survived that massacre was a hell far worse than anything that came before it.

Alex wasn't going to fix all that. He probably couldn't even if he tried, and he wasn't going to put that kind of responsibility on his shoulders. But he and Gloomy were going to decimate the vampires anywyay. And even though Lionheart didn't have it in him to make the request, Alex was still going to run Nychta through William the Berserker's undead corpse and free the Undead Lord like he had for his son. And if, in doing all that, Alex could keep as many people alive through the Fifth Scenario as his fire had killed in the third, then he could chalk this all up as a win.

He resolved himself and soon his path came to an end. As dusk fell, Gryndal appeared on the horizon. Gryndal was an ocean-side city built into the face of a mountain, with passages that burrowed deep into its depths. Alex entered with the last wave of survivors and shortly after, at the toll of midnight, curtains fell on the Third Scenario.

Congratulations! The Third Scenario has been cleared!

Players in Nightmare: 41,533

Players in Misting Valleys: 13,126

…

Please sit tight! Rewards will be allotted after performance review.

The Fourth Scenario will begin after a short reprieve.