A group of people wake up in video game world and are forced to work together to survive and find out how to escape.

Sorry it’s late I already posted it before but I guess it failed.

Chapter 42 The assignment.

The guard looks around, scanning the wreckage—the collapsed tunnel, the lingering dust, the stunned onlookers. Then he turns back to me.

“Come with me.”

I hesitate. I don’t understand. I should be in trouble—I should be back in chains. But the way he says it… it’s not a threat. Not quite.

I’m too exhausted to argue. And, honestly, I don’t think I can refuse.

So I follow.

He leads me away from the wreckage, past the stunned prisoners and the muttering guards. We don’t go back to the barracks, or the work tunnels, or anywhere I expect.

Instead, he brings me to a different building—nicer, sturdier. The kind of place the guards stay, not the workers.

I tense as we step inside. It’s cleaner, less suffocating than the barracks, but my body is on edge anyway.

He leads me through a few halls before stopping at a door.

Inside, a man is waiting.

He looks older than the others, with sharp, calculating eyes that flicker to me the moment we enter. His uniform is different—higher rank, more authority.

The guard beside me stands straighter. “Sir,” he says, nodding once before launching into an explanation of what happened.

I stand there, still covered in dust, heart still hammering.

What the hell did I just get myself into?

The man watches me carefully, his sharp eyes unreadable. Then, he speaks.

“What is your name?”

I hesitate. My throat is dry, my mind still spinning from everything that just happened. Say Artemis, I almost tell myself. But—I’m not Artemis anymore, am I?

“…Uh. Alex.”

His expression doesn’t change. He nods slightly, as if filing the information away, then leans back in his chair.

“Well, Alex, it seems you just saved my men and the other workers from some thing down there.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I shift on my feet, glancing toward the guard who brought me here. His expression is unreadable, but he doesn’t look hostile.

“…Yeah,” I say finally, rubbing the back of my neck. “I guess I did.”

The man folds his hands on the desk in front of him, studying me. Why does it feel like he’s deciding something?

I swallow hard, my mind racing.

Did I just make things better for myself…

Or so much worse?

The man watches me for a long moment, fingers tapping idly against the desk. The room is too quiet, too tense. I resist the urge to shift under his gaze.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, nodding slightly. “That was quick thinking down there.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Thanks? Like I just did some good deed and not, you know, barely survived by making the single most reckless decision possible?

I settle for a cautious, “…Yeah.”

He studies me again, his expression unreadable. Then, he leans forward slightly. “You ever fought something like that before?”

The question catches me off guard.

Fought something like that? No. I run from things like that. I survive them. But I don’t fight—at least, not without my bow, not without the game giving me skills I don’t have anymore.

Still, I can’t just say no.

“Not exactly,” I admit. “But I’ve dealt with dangerous things before.”

The man hums, considering. “You handled yourself better than most. I expected the workers to scatter. I didn’t expect one of them to be the one saving everyone.”

I shift slightly, keeping my expression neutral. “Just didn’t want to die, that’s all.”

He smirks faintly, as if that answer amuses him. Then his expression sharpens again. “Whatever the case, you’re wasted in the mines. That much is obvious.”

Something about the way he says it makes my stomach tighten.

“So here’s the question, Alex.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it now, something heavier. “What exactly am I supposed to do with you?”

I glance at the guard who brought me here, hoping for some kind of hint, some indication of where this is going. But he just stands there, silent, unreadable.

I turn back to the man at the desk, my shoulders tense. “…I’m not sure I understand.”

He leans back slightly, tilting his head as he watches me. “You’re an issue, Alex.”

My stomach twists. “An issue?”

“Prisoners break. They fall in line. They work until they die or become too weak to be useful. That’s how it goes.” He gestures vaguely toward the collapsed tunnel. “But you? You’re different. You think, you act, and now you’ve proven you can handle yourself under pressure.”

His sharp eyes meet mine. “That makes you a problem.”

I swallow hard. I don’t like where this is going.

“So.” He folds his hands on the desk. “I can send you back to the mines, pretend this never happened, and let you waste away like the rest of them.”

He pauses. Then, slowly, he smirks.

“Or… I can put you to better use.”

I don’t like the way he says that.

“Better use?” I repeat cautiously.

His smirk doesn’t fade. “You’re strong. You think quickly under pressure. And unlike most of the prisoners here, you actually have potential.” He gestures vaguely. “So why let that go to waste?”

I glance at the guard beside me again, but he still gives nothing away. Just standing there, silent, watching.

I take a slow breath. “What exactly are you offering?”

The man tilts his head slightly, considering me. Then, he leans forward. “You work for me.”

I tense.

“Not as a prisoner. Not as some nameless worker breaking rocks until your body gives out. You prove yourself useful, and in return, you get better food, better conditions… and maybe, if you’re smart about it, something close to freedom.”

Something close to freedom.

I stare at him, my heart pounding.

“And if I say no?” I ask, voice steady despite the weight of the question.

He smiles. “Then you go back to the mines. And next time something comes crawling out of the dark, maybe you won’t be so lucky.”

I exhale slowly, my mind racing.

He’s giving me a way out. Not a real one, maybe, but a chance to survive longer than I would down there.

But working for him?

Trading one kind of collar for another?

I don’t know if I can stomach that.

But do I really have a choice?

My fingers twitch slightly as my mind races.

If they take this damn collar off…

Shade could help me.

I could actually escape.

This could be perfect.

I keep my expression neutral, forcing down the flicker of hope rising in my chest. I can’t let them see it—not yet.

I glance at the man across the desk, his sharp gaze still locked onto me, waiting for my answer.

I exhale slowly. “…What exactly would I be doing?”

His smirk widens slightly, like he already knows he’s won. “Whatever I tell you to.”

Vague. Dangerous. But if it gets this collar off…

I meet his gaze, steady. “…Alright. I’ll do it.”

The man watches me for a long moment, his smirk settling into something more satisfied. He knew I’d say yes—knew I didn’t really have another choice.

“Good.”

He stands, moving around the desk toward me. Instinctively, I tense, but he just reaches into his coat, pulling out a key.

The collar.

I force myself to stay still as he steps behind me. There’s a faint click, and then—

The weight around my neck loosens.

I resist the urge to shudder as the metal unlocks and is pulled away. For the first time in weeks—months?—I can breathe without feeling like something’s clawing at my throat.

And more importantly—

Shade.

“There we go,” the man says, stepping back into view, tossing the collar onto his desk. “I trust you won’t make me regret this.”

I roll my shoulders, keeping my expression neutral even as my mind screams with the possibilities. Shade is back.

This is it. My chance.

I just have to play along.

For now.

“So… what happens next?” I ask, my voice careful.

The man smiles faintly. “Now?” He gestures to the door. “Now, we see what you’re really capable of.”

I roll my shoulders, the absence of the collar almost making me feel like myself again. Almost.

I meet his gaze warily. “What do you mean?”

The man’s smirk lingers as he steps back toward his desk, retrieving something—a small metal emblem, shaped like a crest. He tosses it lightly toward me. I catch it instinctively.

“You’re not a prisoner anymore, Alex. You’re under my command now. And I need to know exactly what I can expect from you.”

I glance down at the emblem in my palm. It’s smooth, polished—a symbol of rank? Authority?

I look back up. “So what? You want me to prove myself?”

“Something like that.” He nods toward the door. “You’ve shown quick thinking, but I need to see how you handle following orders. There’s work to be done, and you’re going to help me do it.”

I fight the instinct to grimace. Following orders. Right.

But this is fine. This is good.

Because now, I have options.

And Shade is finally back on my side.

I tighten my grip on the emblem, keeping my face neutral even as my mind races.

This is dangerous. I don’t know exactly what I just agreed to, or what following orders means in this place. But I do know one thing—I’m not staying here forever.

I glance at the man, who’s still watching me with that same sharp, knowing expression. Like he’s sizing me up, already deciding where I fit into whatever plans he has.

“Alright,” I say slowly. “Where do we start?”

His smirk widens slightly. “Good attitude.” He turns, walking toward the door, motioning for me to follow. The guard beside me steps back, giving me space.

I exhale, rolling my shoulders again, feeling the absence of the collar.

I follow the man out of the room, keeping my expression steady.

I don’t know where this is leading.

But whatever happens next, I finally have a chance to change my fate.

I follow the man through the hall, my footsteps steady despite the tension coiling in my chest. Every part of me is on high alert—waiting, planning.

And then—

“Took you long enough.”

Shade’s voice slides into my mind, smooth and familiar, like he never left.

I exhale sharply, barely stopping myself from reacting outwardly. Instead, I think back, quick and sharp.

“You just stopped talking.”

“What was there to say?” he replies easily. “It’s been the same every day. Break rocks. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. You weren’t exactly in the best place for conversation.”

I grit my teeth but don’t argue. He’s not wrong. Those days blurred together into something awful, something I tried not to think about too hard.

But he was still there. He could’ve said something.

“…And now?” I ask, keeping my expression neutral as I walk.

I can feel his smirk. “Now, things are finally getting interesting again.”

“So that’s how it is, huh?” I think, keeping my steps even as I follow the man ahead of me. “You leave me hanging when things aren’t interesting enough?”

Shade doesn’t answer right away, but I can feel him there, waiting.

“I could’ve really used you,” I continue, my thoughts sharper than I intend. “Even if it was just to talk.”

There’s a pause.

Then, his voice returns, quieter. “…Would that have helped?”

I swallow hard. I don’t want to admit it, but—“Yeah. It would have.”

Shade exhales, almost like he’s amused but not quite. “Noted.”

I don’t know what to make of that, so I just keep walking.

The hallway stretches ahead, lined with torches that flicker against the stone walls, casting long shadows.

The man leading me finally stops at a heavy wooden door. He pushes it open without hesitation, stepping inside. I follow, keeping my expression unreadable.

Inside is a large room—part office, part armory. Weapons line the walls, racks of swords, spears, and crossbows neatly arranged alongside shelves of armor. A map is pinned to one side, markings spread across it.

Several men are already inside, standing at attention. They glance at me but say nothing.

The man turns to face me, arms crossed. “Let’s see if you’re as useful as you claim to be.”

I exhale slowly. Here we go.

“What do you want me to do exactly?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.

My eyes flick to the walls, to the racks of swords and spears. They’re not seriously about to give me a weapon, are they?

The man watches me for a moment, then gestures toward one of the racks. “Take your pick.”

I blink. What?

I hesitate, glancing between him and the weapons. This has to be a test. No way they’re just handing me a blade and trusting me.

“You don’t seem eager,” he notes, raising an eyebrow. “Most men would jump at the chance to hold steel after spending weeks in chains.”

Yeah, well, most men aren’t secretly planning their escape.

“Just being careful,” I say, stepping forward. My fingers hover over the hilts, but my mind is spinning.

If they’re giving me a weapon, it means they think they can control me. Or maybe they’re watching to see if I’ll try something stupid.

Either way, this is an opportunity.

I just have to play this very carefully.

I step closer to the rack, eyes scanning over the weapons.

Swords—short, long, curved. A few axes, their edges sharp and well-maintained. Spears and halberds, heavier, meant for reach. Even a few crossbows, already strung and ready.

They’re really trusting me with this?

I run my fingers just over the hilts, not touching, just thinking.

A sword would be the obvious choice. Balanced, reliable. But I’ve never been much of a swordsman. Axes are too heavy—same with the halberds.

My eyes land on the crossbows. I know ranged combat, knew it when I was Artemis.

“Take your time,” the man behind me says, watching closely. “But choose wisely.”

No pressure or anything.

I exhale slowly. What’s the best option here?

I don’t even know what I’m picking for. A test? A fight? Just to see if I’ll hesitate?

Normally, I’d go for the crossbow—ranged combat was my thing, or at least it was when I was Artemis. But now? No game-assistance if my theory is right, no skills guiding my hands. And in a room this small, where I don’t even know what I’ll be up against?

A crossbow would be useless.

I exhale sharply, my fingers shifting toward a sword. Not too long, not too heavy. A simple, reliable weapon.

My hand closes around the hilt, the cool metal pressing against my palm. It feels… foreign. Wrong.

But I lift it anyway.

I turn back toward the man, keeping my grip steady. “Alright. Now what?”

The man watches me, his sharp eyes flicking from the sword in my hand back to my face. He looks… pleased. Like he was waiting for me to make a choice, and I chose correctly.

He gestures to an open area in the room, where the stone floor is scuffed from past training. “Now, you show me what you can do.”

I resist the urge to sigh. Of course.

A test. A fight. Something to prove I’m worth keeping around.

I glance around the room. The other men are still watching, their expressions unreadable. One of them—bigger, bulkier than the rest—steps forward.

Great.

He draws his own sword, rolling his shoulders as he moves into position. Unlike me, he’s comfortable with it. Experienced.

I shift my stance, gripping the sword tighter.

I really wish I had my bow.

“Begin,” the man in charge says simply.

No countdown. No warning.

My opponent moves fast.

I barely have time to react before he’s on me.

He swings—a wide, testing strike, meant to see how I’ll react. My body moves on instinct, jerking back just enough that the blade hisses through the air where my chest was a second ago.

Too close. Way too close.

I tighten my grip on the sword, adjusting my stance. My movements feel awkward, slower than I want them to be. When I fought as Artemis, I was faster. But now?

The man smirks slightly, like he already knows how this is going to go. “Come on,” he taunts. “That all you’ve got?”

I grit my teeth and swing.

He deflects it easily, twisting his blade to knock mine aside, stepping in close. I barely bring my sword up in time to block the next strike, the impact jarring my arms.

Damn it, he’s strong.

He pushes me back, forcing me to stumble. My breathing is already heavier than I’d like, and he hasn’t even really started yet.

“If you’re going to give up, do it now,” he says, raising his sword again. “No point wasting time.”

I adjust my grip, my jaw clenching.

This fight isn’t fair. It was never meant to be.

They want to see how I handle myself, sure—but more than that, they want to see me lose.

I can hear it in the way my opponent moves, the way he holds himself. He’s relaxed. Confident. He knows I’m outmatched.

“I can even the odds,” Shade murmurs, his voice smooth in my mind.

I barely dodge another swing, my own counterattack knocked aside easily.

“I can’t reveal any sort of powers without knowing how they’d react,” I think back, gritting my teeth.

“I’ll hide it.”

I hesitate. Just for a second.

Then—“Okay. Do it.”

Something shifts.

I don’t see anything, don’t feel anything obvious—but the moment my opponent moves again, I react faster.

His next strike comes high. I move before I even think.

I duck low, my feet adjusting smoothly, my sword already coming up to meet him. When our blades clash this time, I don’t stumble—I push back.

His smirk fades just slightly.

Now we have a real fight.

He mocks me as we fight.

“Seriously, that’s it?” he sneers as he knocks aside another of my strikes. “I thought you were supposed to be useful.”

His tone is cocky, meant to rattle me, to make me doubt myself. It doesn’t work.

It ticks me off.

And that only makes me fight harder.

My movements become sharper, more aggressive. Every time he swings, I meet him with more force. Every taunt, every smirk fuels me.

His confidence wavers. I see it in the way his feet shift, the way his stance tightens. He wasn’t expecting this.

I slam my blade down into his, forcing him back with a sharp clang of metal on metal. The vibration rattles up my arms, but I don’t stop. I press forward, refusing to give him space to recover.

He stumbles.

And for the first time—his smirk is gone.

He holds his sword up with both hands, straining against me, his muscles tensed to keep from buckling under the force.

I don’t stop.

I swing—again and again, the rage blinding me. My sword crashes into his over and over, each strike heavier, more relentless.

Clang!
Clang!
Clang!

He doesn’t counter, doesn’t move—just blocks, barely holding his ground. His arms tremble under the force, his breath coming faster.

But I don’t care.

I don’t even try aiming for anything else—I just keep swinging.

All the anger, the exhaustion, the weeks of helplessness flood through me. Every ounce of frustration, every second I spent breaking rocks, every moment I felt powerless.

And then—

Crack.

His sword snaps.

“That’s enough.”

I freeze, my breath coming in heavy gasps as the words cut through the haze in my mind.

Slowly, I turn toward the lead guard. He watches me carefully, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—something calculating.

I glance down at my opponent. He’s still standing, gripping the broken remains of his sword, his chest rising and falling quickly. He looks stunned. Maybe even a little shaken.

I exhale, my grip loosening on my own sword. My hands are trembling—not from fear, but from the sheer force I’d been using. I barely even noticed.

The lead guard steps forward. “Your skills are heavily lacking,” he says, his voice even. “But… your rage.”

He pauses, tilting his head slightly, like he’s seeing something in me that I don’t quite understand yet.

“That, we can use.”

The guard steps closer, holding out the emblem I was given before. I glance down at it, still catching my breath, my fingers curling around the cool metal.

“What is this?” I ask, my voice rough from exertion.

He studies me for a moment before replying. “Your place here.”

I frown, turning the emblem over in my hand. It doesn’t feel like much—just a carved piece of metal, polished and smooth. But something about the way he says it makes it clear it’s more than that.

“You proved yourself,” he continues. “Barely. But that anger? That instinct? With time, it can be sharpened into something useful.”

I glance at my opponent, who’s still gripping the broken remains of his sword, his expression tight with frustration.

“So what?” I ask, looking back at the guard. “I’m not a prisoner anymore?”

He smirks slightly. “Not if you don’t give me a reason to make you one again.”

I grip the emblem tightly, glancing between the guard and the broken sword still clutched in my opponent’s hands. My breathing is steadier now, but my mind is still racing.

“So what does that make me?” I ask, my voice low.

The lead guard tilts his head slightly, smirking just enough to put me on edge. “That depends on you.”

I narrow my eyes. “Not exactly an answer.”

“You’re not a prisoner,” he says simply. “You’re not free, either. You’re useful.” He gestures to the emblem in my hand. “That means you take orders. You fight when told. You prove that this was the right decision.”

I glance down at the emblem, running my thumb over its surface. It doesn’t feel heavy, but the weight of its meaning settles over me.

I was already a prisoner. Now I’m something else.

Something just as trapped.

“So who exactly am I fighting?” I ask, rolling the emblem between my fingers. “I can’t imagine all I’m supposed to do is fight guards.”

The lead guard smirks slightly, as if amused by the question. “No, we’re not wasting resources just to have you swinging a sword at our own men all day.”

He steps past me, gesturing toward the map pinned to the wall. “There’s plenty of work for someone with the right… disposition. Bandits, mercenaries, rogue magic users—” he glances at me pointedly at that, “—even the occasional beast problem.”

I frown. “So I’m just… what? A soldier?”

He shakes his head. “Not exactly. You’ll be given tasks as needed. You take orders, you get better conditions, and if you prove yourself, who knows?” His smirk widens slightly. “Maybe you’ll even earn something close to freedom.”

“There’s one more thing,” the lead guard says, his tone shifting—cool, controlled. Too controlled.

I tense instinctively.

“Trust is earned,” he continues, watching me carefully. “And you can’t be using magic until we can trust you.”

What?

Before I can react, before I can move, something clamps around my neck from behind. Cold metal snaps into place, locking tight with a sharp click.

I freeze, my breath catching as my fingers fly to the collar.

“Don’t think me a fool,” the guard says smoothly. “It’s clear you have some form of it.”

My pulse pounds in my ears.

I was careful. Shade hid it. But somehow, they knew.

And now… I’m back where I started.

I whip around, my hands still gripping the collar, anger burning in my chest. The guard who locked it on me stands there, expression unreadable, his hand still hovering near the latch.

My teeth clench, fists tightening at my sides. “You had this planned the whole time.”

The lead guard doesn’t even pretend to deny it. “Of course.” His voice is calm, almost bored. “We don’t take risks with people like you.”

People like me.

My grip tightens on the collar, nails digging into the metal. Shade is silent in my mind, but I can feel his frustration mirroring mine.

I was so close.

And now?

Now I’m chained again.

I glare at him, my fingers still curled around the collar. “How is this any different than me being a prisoner?”

The lead guard smirks slightly, tilting his head. “You are a tool to be used.”

His words are blunt, without hesitation or shame. Like he doesn’t even see me as a person—just something useful for now.

“Prove yourself,” he continues. “And that collar could be removed. Fail… and you return to the mines.” He pauses, his gaze steady. “Assuming you live.”

I grit my teeth, swallowing down the fury rising in my chest. This is all a game to them. The collar, the illusion of choice—all of it.

“Now come,” he says, turning toward the door. “I’ll show you to your new living space along with your new attire.”

I don’t move right away, my hands still twitching at my sides. The weight of the collar is a fresh reminder that I’m still not free.

The man glances back at me, smirking faintly. “You can call me Director Varcen.”

I exhale sharply, forcing myself to follow. I don’t have a choice—not yet. But I will find a way out of this.

One way or another.

I follow the man—Director Varcen—my steps steady despite the frustration boiling under my skin.

The halls are quieter here, cleaner, the faint flicker of torchlight casting long shadows against the stone walls. It’s nothing like the barracks or the mines. This place isn’t meant for prisoners.

Which means I really am something else now.

I keep my gaze forward, ignoring the weight of the collar around my neck.

Varcen doesn’t look back as he leads me through another corridor. Eventually, he stops at a door, pushing it open without hesitation.

“Welcome to your new quarters,” he says simply.

I step inside.

It’s shockingly nice compared to where I’d been. A real bed, an actual desk, even a small shelf against the wall. The air doesn’t reek of sweat and dirt, and there’s no damp stone pressing in from every side.

But even with all that, it’s still clear this room isn’t meant for someone free.

There are no windows. The door has a heavy lock, one that likely only opens from the outside. Even the furniture, while practical, is plain—functional, not comfortable.

A gilded cage is still a cage.

Varcen steps inside after me, crossing his arms. “You’ll stay here when you’re not on assignment. Meals will be brought at designated times. If you prove yourself, you may earn certain privileges.”

I glance around once more before turning back to him. “And if I don’t?”

His smirk returns. “Then you won’t be needing a room anymore.”

“Your new clothes are on the shelf,” Varcen says, nodding toward the neatly folded set of garments. “I’ll see you in the morning for your first assignment.”

With that, he turns and steps out, the heavy door swinging shut behind him.

Click.

The lock slides into place.

I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair as I take in the room again. It’s better than the mines—hell, it’s better than anything I’ve had in weeks. But the locked door is a stark reminder.

I’m still a prisoner.

Just one with a nicer cell.

“At least now you have a way out of the collar,” Shade says, his voice smooth, almost amused.

I scoff under my breath, pacing toward the shelf where my new clothes sit. “Do I?” I think back. “Can I really trust these people? How long would it even take for them to actually remove it?”

Shade hums thoughtfully. “Depends. Could be weeks. Could be months. Or maybe they’ll just keep dangling that promise in front of you forever.”

I clench my jaw, gripping the fabric of the clothes without really looking at them.

I need to get ahead of this. I need a plan.

Because waiting around for them to maybe free me?

That’s not going to happen.

Then again, I’m in the same situation as before—forced to wait, forced to watch for an opportunity to escape.

I exhale sharply, turning back to the shelf. The clothes are simple, made of brown leather and cloth. No armor, nothing reinforced. It’s clear that if I don’t do what they want, they want my death to be easy.

A disposable soldier. A tool.

I grip the fabric tightly for a second before shaking my head. Fine. I’ll play their game—for now. But I won’t wait forever.

I’ll find a way out.

For now, though, I have space to breathe. To think. To plan.

Over the next few days, there are no threats, no assignments—nothing. I’m left in this cell, receiving food three times daily instead of twice like before. How generous.

With nothing else to do, I fall into a new routine, cycling between working out, eating, and resting. My body still remembers the labor of the mines, and now, without the constant exhaustion, I can push myself harder. Strength is something I can control.

Shade stays mostly quiet, watching, waiting. Neither of us has forgotten the real goal here.

I’m not staying here forever.

Halfway through the day, the routine finally breaks.

A guard unlocks the door without warning, stepping inside with the same cold indifference they all have. “Get up,” he orders. “You have an assignment.”

I don’t hesitate. I’ve been expecting this since the first morning.

I stand, rolling my shoulders as I glance at Shade’s silent presence in the back of my mind. Here we go.

The guard doesn’t wait, turning and stepping out. I follow without a word, ready to see exactly what I’m being forced into.

I follow the guard through the dimly lit halls, my footsteps steady despite the tension curling in my chest.

This is what I’ve been waiting for—my first real look at what they actually want from me.

We take a few turns before stopping at a familiar door. The same room where I fought that soldier. The same room where Varcen gave me the collar.

The guard pushes the door open, and I step inside.

Varcen is there, leaning over a large wooden table, studying a map. A few other men stand nearby—officers, from the look of them.

He glances up as I enter, smirking faintly. “Ah. There he is.”

I say nothing, waiting.

Varcen taps a spot on the map. “Your first assignment is simple.”

He straightens, crossing his arms. “A group of prisoners escaped last night. Normally, we’d track them down ourselves, but since you seem so eager to prove yourself… you’re going to bring them back.”

I stiffen slightly.

Prisoners.

People like me.

I keep my face neutral. “Dead or alive?”

Varcen chuckles. “Alive, if possible. But if they resist…” He shrugs. “Make an example of them.”

I exhale slowly, my fingers twitching at my sides.

I keep my expression neutral. “How did they escape?”

Varcen waves a hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter.”

Of course it matters, but I don’t push. He’s not going to tell me, and pressing the issue will only make him suspicious.

“You’ll have two guards with you,” he continues. “But they’re only going to observe. You will be required to handle this alone.”

I exhale slowly, glancing at the map again. This isn’t just a mission—it’s another test.

They don’t care if I succeed. They care how I handle it.

And more importantly, they want to see if I’ll follow orders.

Varcen smirks, watching me closely. “Something wrong?”

I shake my head. “No. Just wondering how long I have to track them.”

“Until the job is done.”

Great. No time limit. No backup. Just me and two guards making sure I don’t run.

I tighten my grip on the emblem at my side.

“Fine. Where do I start?”

Varcen gestures back to the map. “They were last seen heading south, toward the forest. We don’t know if they have supplies or if they had outside help, but that’s for you to figure out.”

I step closer, studying the marked area. The forest isn’t far, but once they’re inside, tracking them will be harder. A good place to disappear if you know what you’re doing.

Varcen turns to the guards near the door. “Take him to the armory and then head out.”

One of them nods, motioning for me to follow. I glance at the map one last time before turning away.

I feel Shade shift slightly in the back of my mind, his presence lingering like a shadow.

“So what’s the plan?” he finally speaks, his tone unreadable.

I don’t answer right away, stepping into the hall.

Because I don’t know yet.

But I do know one thing—I’m not killing some prisoners just to prove myself.

I’m given the same sword I’d taken before and led out through the main gate.

To think… after all this time, I’m actually outside. Almost.

The weight of the collar on my neck is a sharp reminder that I’m still not free.

“If you hadn’t agreed, you probably could’ve escaped with the others,” Shade says casually.

“Thanks for the reminder.”

I exhale slowly, gripping the sword tighter as I walk. It’s strange—when I was in the mines, I barely noticed the other prisoners. They all just… did what was required. No talking, no rebellion, no hope.

Or maybe I’d fallen so far into routine that I’d stopped paying attention.

I glance behind me at the two guards following closely. One holds a crossbow, the other a sword. They’re watching me, but not speaking.

I raise an eyebrow. “You two got names?”

The one with the crossbow snorts. “You don’t need to know them.”

The other one just keeps walking in silence.

Great. Looks like I won’t be making any friends on this trip.

Last seen headed south toward the forest…

I glance ahead, the towering treeline visible in the distance. The sun is high, casting long shadows across the dirt road leading out of the compound. The further we walk, the more the weight of the open sky above me sinks in.

It’s been weeks since I’ve seen anything beyond stone walls and tunnels. The fresh air, the vastness of the landscape—it feels surreal. Almost like I’ve forgotten what freedom looks like.

“Don’t get any ideas,” the crossbow guard mutters, noticing my gaze lingering on the open road. “We’re not letting you out of our sight.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know the deal.”

But my mind is already working, turning over possibilities. The forest is dense—perfect for hiding. But if the prisoners had a head start, tracking them won’t be easy.

Assuming I even want to bring them back.

I follow the path they took as best I can, scanning the ground for anything—footprints, broken branches, crushed leaves. Any sign that they passed through here.

The forest is dense, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in scattered patches. The further I go, the quieter everything feels. No distant voices, no movement ahead—just the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.

The tracks aren’t perfect, but they’re there. A few partial footprints in the dirt, a snapped twig that wasn’t broken naturally. They were in a hurry, but not careless.

The guards stay behind me, watching but not interfering. It’s clear they expect me to work for this, to prove myself capable.

I crouch near a muddy patch in the trail, fingers brushing over a deeper set of prints. Someone stumbled here—maybe from exhaustion, maybe from injury.

“They’re slowing down,” I murmur, mostly to myself.

I push forward, stepping carefully over roots and uneven ground, following the faint trail they left behind. The forest thickens, shadows stretching longer as I move deeper.

Then—through the gaps in the trees and bushes—I see them.

A small group of people, clustered together in a clearing.

But something’s wrong.

They don’t look like prisoners.

No ragged clothes, no exhaustion weighing down their movements. Their faces aren’t hollow with hunger, their bodies aren’t slouched from days of labor.

They look… normal.

Worn boots, traveling cloaks, weapons at their sides. They aren’t starving, they aren’t broken. They stand alert, speaking in hushed voices.

These aren’t escaped prisoners.

They were never prisoners at all.

So who the hell are they?

I step back, turning to the guards, my voice low but firm. “These aren’t prisoners. Who are they actually?”

The two exchange a glance, something unspoken passing between them before one finally responds. “They tried to break out a prisoner.”

I stare at them.

That’s it?

I look back at the group in the clearing. They aren’t criminals. They aren’t escaped slaves running for their lives. They’re people who tried to help someone.

And now, I’m supposed to drag them into that life.

I swallow hard.

I wasn’t just sent to bring back escapees.

I was sent to capture brand new prisoners.

Somehow, that feels so much worse…

It’s not just hunting down people who ran—it’s enslaving people who were never supposed to be prisoners in the first place.

But I don’t have a choice.

It’s them or me.

If I refuse, if I fail, they’ll send me back to the mines—or worse.

My grip tightens on the sword at my side. My body feels heavy, like every step forward is dragging me deeper into something I don’t want to be a part of.

But I move anyway.

Through the trees, toward the clearing, toward the people who don’t even know I’m coming.

Five of them in total.

I glance back at the two guards, keeping my voice low. “Stay clear. I don’t need you giving anything away or scaring them off.”

The crossbow guard gives me a look but doesn’t argue. The other just nods slightly, stepping back into the cover of the trees.

Good.

I take a slow breath and move toward the group.

They’re still talking quietly, unaware of me. Closer now, I get a better look—two of them are armed with short swords, another has a bow slung over his shoulder. The last two don’t seem to have weapons, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous.

I step forward, just enough for them to notice.

One of them—a woman with short, dark hair—turns first, her eyes widening slightly as she reaches for her weapon. “Who—”

I raise a hand, keeping my stance neutral. “I’m not here to fight.”

It’s not a lie. Not yet.

The woman’s gaze flickers to my collar, her expression shifting slightly.

Then—“There’s two guards behind me,” I say, keeping my voice level. “And they want me to arrest you for them.”

Her jaw tightens, but before she can speak, one of the men scoffs. “Just kill him so we can get back to planning the escape before I have to go to work.”

My breath catches for a split second.

Work?

I watch them carefully, the way they hold themselves, the casual frustration in his voice.

They’re players.

And they don’t seem to know I’m one.

Or that I’m trapped here.

The woman hesitates, looking between me and the others. She’s cautious, but I can tell she’s weighing her options.

“Wait,” I say quickly, holding up a hand before things spiral out of control. “I don’t want to do that. So I’m gonna need some help making it look like I tried.”

The group stiffens.

“And in return?” the woman asks, voice edged with suspicion.

I take a slow breath. “I can help you get your friend out of there.”

Silence.

They’re listening now.

I just have to make them believe me.

“You guys are players, right?”

They exchange looks of confusion, their stances shifting. For a second, I can see it—the unspoken question between them, the way they hesitate, like I just said something I shouldn’t know.

The woman narrows her eyes. “How do you—”

“I am too. Sort of.”

That gets their full attention.

I exhale sharply, lowering my voice. “Listen. If you can damage this collar and run off, I can help you get in there tonight and get your friend out.”

More silence. More hesitation. But now, there’s something else—interest.

They’re considering it.

I just need to push them over the edge before my ‘escorts’ get impatient.

“Listen," I say firmly, keeping my voice low but urgent. "I need you to believe me right now. If you don’t, I can’t help you."

The woman watches me carefully, still weighing her options. The others shift uneasily, exchanging uncertain glances.

“How do we know this isn’t a trap?" the bowman asks, his fingers twitching near his weapon.

I shake my head. "Think about it. If I was really trying to capture you, why the hell would I be standing here talking instead of calling for them?" I glance back quickly to make sure they haven’t moved closer. "I need you to trust me for five seconds. Do this, and I swear, I’ll get you inside."

The woman exhales sharply, glancing at her group before turning back to me. "Fine." She steps forward, her eyes locking onto mine. “But if you’re lying?"

“Then you’ll get the chance to kill me after all," I say flatly. “Now hurry—before they get suspicious."

I lift the sword, adjusting my grip just enough to make it look right. If the guards are watching, they need to see a fight—something believable, something that doesn’t get me killed in the process.

The woman nods slightly, understanding the plan without me having to say a word. She takes a step back, shifting into a stance that looks defensive. The others follow suit, spreading out just enough to make it seem like they’re preparing for a real fight.

“Make it loud,” I mutter under my breath. “Make it messy.”

Then I lunge.

She moves fast, blocking my swing with a clash of steel. The sound echoes through the trees. She pushes back just enough to force me a step away, her expression a mix of determination and something unreadable.

Behind her, one of the others grabs a rock.

Good. They understand what needs to happen next. I think.

I press forward, swinging again—deliberate, controlled, just enough to make it look like I’m trying. She meets my blade, steel scraping against steel, her movements fast but off just enough to keep me from getting hurt.

Behind her, the guy with the rock moves into position.

I sidestep, shifting my weight as if adjusting for a better angle, giving him an opening.

Then—

CRACK.

A sharp, jarring pain explodes across the back of my head, white-hot and blinding. I stumble forward, my vision spinning as I drop to one knee. The impact wasn’t enough to knock me out, but it hurts.

Not exactly what I intended but hopefully it did enough to the collar and not just my head.

I hear the crossbow guard shout from behind me, his boots crunching against the dirt.

The woman lunges at me again, slamming her sword against mine hard enough to send it clattering to the ground. She kicks me in the chest—not enough to actually hurt, but enough to send me sprawling backward.

I hit the dirt, groaning for effect.

"Go!" she shouts to the others.

They take off into the trees, vanishing into the underbrush.

I clutch my head, forcing my breathing to slow as I hear the guards rush forward. Time for the second half of the act.

I hear the sharp twang of the crossbow firing—then a solid thunk as the bolt embeds itself into a tree.

Too late. They’re gone.

“You let them get away!” the crossbow guard snarls, stomping toward me.

I push myself up slowly, groaning as I press a hand to the back of my head. “What was I supposed to do?” I snap, letting my frustration sound real. “There were five of them, and they weren’t exactly coming quietly.”

The other guard steps forward, glancing between me and the trees, his hand still on his sword. “You’re saying they overpowered you?”

I scoff. “What does it look like?” I gesture to my discarded sword, to the bolt still lodged in the tree instead of a person. “If you two had actually backed me up instead of standing around, maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

The crossbow guard grits his teeth, clearly pissed, but the other one hesitates. He’s considering it.

Good.

I just need to make sure they take the blame for this—not me.

“Come on, let’s follow them,” the sword guard says, already stepping toward the trees.

“No.” The crossbow guard’s voice is firm, final. “We return.”

I tense.

“He’s already shown this was a mistake.” His eyes lock onto me, cold and full of judgment. “It’s time he returns to the mine.”

I push myself to my feet, shaking off the lingering dizziness from the blow to my head. “I had no chance against five of them alone.” My voice is sharp, controlled, but there’s an edge of desperation I can’t fully mask. “You want to explain to Varcen why we lost an entire group because you decided to cut our losses too soon?”

The sword guard hesitates.

The crossbow guard doesn’t. “We wouldn’t have lost them if you’d done your job.”

The guards argue for another moment, but it doesn’t matter. I already know what’s coming.

They’re taking me back.

I resist the urge to touch the collar, to check if it’s been damaged. If that rock hit hard enough, then when I’m back inside, I should be able to break it off.

I just have to act like I’ve lost.

Play along.

Let them think they won.

And when the time comes—I’ll open the gate for the others, get them inside…

And get out myself.

“Well done, Alex,” Shade murmurs, his voice curling through my thoughts as I’m forced back toward the prison.

I keep my head down, my posture tense, playing the part of the defeated soldier being dragged back in disgrace.

But inside?

I’m calculating.

The plan is already in motion. If the collar is damaged enough, I can break it. If I can break it, Shade can help. If Shade can help, I can open the gate.

One step at a time.

The walls of the prison loom ahead, just as imposing as before.

But this time?

I’m not here to stay.

Those people were players. But not like me. Not stuck in this nightmare with no way out.

But still real people.

Maybe… maybe if I help them, I can ask for help in return. Real help.

If they escape, they could do something. Start an investigation, report what happened—anything in the real world.

I swallow hard as the gates creak open ahead of me, the guards leading me back inside.

If I get them out, I need to make sure they don’t just disappear. I need to make sure they remember me.

At this point, I have no idea where I actually am. No idea how far I’ve been taken from the city, from the Nexus, from the others.

No idea how to get back.

I might never get back.

This might be my only chance.

Not just for me—for all of us.

If I can’t reach Lorien, Kaida, Hrothgar, and Veyron… if I can’t find my way back to the people who actually know me… then I need to make sure someone out there knows what’s happening.

Because if I fail here, if I disappear into this prison forever…

But how do I get them to believe me?

I certainly wouldn’t believe me.

Oh yeah, my name’s Alex, and I got trapped inside the game somehow along with others. And if we die here, we die for real. Please call the police.

Yeah. That would go great.

They’d think I was just roleplaying—or messing with them.

I need proof. Something that makes them stop and actually listen.

But what?

If I could get them to look me up online… maybe I’ve been reported missing.

My family, the college, work—someone has to have noticed I’m gone, right?

If my name is out there, if there’s even a single missing person report with my face attached to it, that might be enough to make them consider that I’m telling the truth.

It’s not a guarantee, but it’s better than nothing.

I just have to make it out of here first.

End of chapter 42.