So that was how this worked? No experience. It wasn’t even killing Navalik that leveled me up; he had died on his own. It was picking up that black cube that did it.
I glanced at my stat window:
Convict Scyth, level 1
Vitality: 1.
Strength: 2.
Speed: 1.
Agility: 1.
Defense: 1.
Health points: 10/10.
Damage: 4.
Fatigue: 1%.
Damage was obviously calculated with the rock I’d picked up. If I dropped it, the numbers would be cut in half. I glanced at the progress bar:
Total surviving convicts: 716 of 981.
Almost a hundred and fifty dead in the first minute! I couldn’t afford to waste time. Otherwise everyone else would level up before I knew it, and I wouldn’t have a chance.
With amazing calm considering the high stakes, I rushed to the arena, which was already fraught with battle. I felt some confidence from the fact that at least we all started with the same stats. With that thought, I ran thirty yards…
The edges of my field of view turned red and a system notification popped up:
Fatigue at 100%!
I felt pressed to the ground; I couldn’t even stand. My legs just collapsed under me, my arms turned to jelly. Another difference from Dis discovered…
“Aaaaaahhhhh!”
The earsplitting roar came from ahead. Holding a club that looked more like a tree trunk in his hand, a huge orc rushed toward me, his eyes wide and white, the ground shaking beneath his feet.
Convict Zaremba, level 2
Could have been a player or an NPC — there were none of the usual labels next to the name. And I didn’t care! My Fatigue had gone down a few percent, but the enemy was only around twenty yards away.
I panicked, threw my rock at him — and hit! The orc lost a point of health and the rock bounced off into the chasm. The bastard just grinned, still running.
Learned Throwing Stones!
+10% damage with stones per skill level.
Pulling his arm back, Zaremba jumped at me from three yards away. I rolled to the side an instant before the club would have landed on my head. Crunch!
Learned Dodge!
+1% chance to dodge successfully per skill level.
The orc worked his club furiously, pouring all his strength into each strike, but there was a two to three second pause between each hit. I dodged, rolling around and trying not to slip off the edge into the abyss.
My Fatigue dropped by 1% with every heartbeat, and that saved me, giving me strength to dodge and roll. But after rolling to the side, I still couldn’t get up. Zaremba redoubled his efforts. There was no way I could stand.
“Ughhh!” came a sharp cry from the orc with the dull thud of wood on stone.
Dodge +1. Total: 2.
The Fatigue bar was almost full red. A few more successful rolls raised my Dodge skill to four and brought Zaremba to a fury. I didn’t fully dodge the next attack, just moved my head and shoulder away. The club split my ear and I lost a point of health, but managed to do what I’d done a thousand times beneath a pile of mobs in Gloomwood, the Lakharian Desert and Terrastera, — I punched him three times.
Learned Unarmed Combat!
+10% unarmed combat damage per skill level.
Unarmed Combat +2. Total: 2.
The orc’s leg twisted and he lost his balance, missing his swing. The club glanced off my shoulder and I lost another two health points, but managed to get up. The orc, on the other hand, fell down to one knee, breathing hard. He was exhausted. I couldn’t let him recover!
A kick to the temple and Zaremba fell to his side, dropping the club.
Unarmed Combat +1. Total: 3.
One more hit would finish him off. The orc tried to get up, but all he could do was raise his head…
A “whoosh!” whistled through the air.
A blade burst from Zaremba’s throat, followed by a spear haft. Showers of blood erupted from the wound. The lifeless body shattered into pieces and the spear fell at my feet. Stunned, I missed my chance, and the nimble elf who owned the weapon reached the black cube first.
Groaning in disappointment, I picked up what was left:
Spear (damage: 4)
“Give it back,” the former spear-thrower said peacefully. “Let’s stick together! We can unite with the other players against the NPCs! What do you say?”
Convict YourMajesty, level 3.
Definitely a player. Only they could have such dumb names. And an elf, of course. I shook my head. He kept showing me his teeth as he edged closer to the late Zaremba’s club.
“Come on, why not? We players have to stick together! That’s the only way to survive, by joining forces! Team play, you know?”
“Of course, YourMajesty,” I laughed and lunged at him with the spear. “Of course…”
He reeled back and I kicked the club over the edge, into the misty chasm. It had less damage and there was nowhere to hide it, and my hands were full with the six-foot serrated-tipped spear.
“Alright, we don’t have to be friends if you don’t want.” The elf shrugged. “Just leave me alone.”
I moved toward him and waved my spear. He started jabbering in panic:
“You don’t get it! I’ve put six years and a ton of money into this toon! I can’t lose it! Let’s just pass at the edges…”
The sharp tip of the spear aimed at his chest grazed his side, cutting a hole in his shirt — the elf had managed to dodge out of the way. He slipped by my next thrust too, and generally
