Before they reached the library, James gained another level. His fireballs killed off goblins in ones and twos, and the more he used the spell, the more he felt confident with it. Not in a way the system recognized, he didn’t spend any of his hard-won skill points, but he felt more comfortable, nonetheless. He knew how far he could throw a fireball before it fizzled out. He knew that deep breaths would put him into a state of Meditation more quickly, and he could keep it going longer while sitting cross-legged on the floor.

  He also learned that Virgil, no matter how many times he cast Hellflame, never grew more comfortable with the spell. In fact, every time he cast it he looked less confident, like he feared the magic would turn on him like a wild animal.

  Which, for all James knew, was a perfectly reasonable concern. He still looked at his axe askance, for all that it had saved him on more than one occasion. There was a sense he had about the infernal. A wildness to it that had to be roughly tamed. To let go of the reins would be to invite disaster.

  Perhaps Virgil felt that, too.

  The last of the grass burned away, and at last the marble steps of the towering library came into view. Even in disarray, the library was an impressive sight. Crumbling stone walls revealed floor to ceiling shelves, cracked mahogany tables and high-backed chairs.

  James turned back. He could see clearly down the hill, now. All the grass which had so obscured the hill was burned away — every tenth ring or so was blackened further by the black residue Hellfire left behind. The rings, though, were not a perfect circle. Far, far down the hill, even farther than its base, the rings flattened against an invisible wall. Past that point, the grass appeared to resume, but James knew there was nothing beyond that point except illusion. For all that this floor of the dungeon looked like a corner of the world, it was not so expansive. Not really.

  That was a comfort, in a way. It meant there weren’t worlds within worlds, like some kind of metaphysical Russian Doll that turned him into a mass murderer of goblins and demons and whatever other dungeon creatures they encountered.

  Inara was right. The monsters were dungeon constructs, no more and no less.

  Not that he’d doubted her. Not really. But it was still nice to have confirmation.

  Looking down that hill, he could see how much destruction he’d caused. It had been easy, too. Not quick, but efficient. Not even dangerous after that first monstrous horde. After that, the goblins were too scattered or too scared to attack in force.

  And it had all seemed so necessary — it was so necessary. Grimora was not a peaceful planet — kingdom? Country? He wasn’t clear on the scale, yet. Either way, it was a dangerous place. The System rewarded battle more thoroughly than Earth’s own military, and he was scrambling to adjust.

  “Hey. Are you ready?”

  James nearly jumped out of his skin, but it was only Inara, looking at him with concern.

  Her eyes, he thought, were the most beautiful shade of brown. They held so much depth.

  “I am,” he said, leaving the rest of his thoughts unsaid. They were the musings of a tourist, and he was sure that such thoughts had already crossed her mind. Had probably crossed the mind of her last Hero, as well.

  “Let’s go.” James climbed the steps, and the others followed. That stood out to him. As the Hero, he was the de facto leader. Desiree and Virgil made sense — each of them, for different reasons, only had a few years experience under their belt.

  Inara, on the other hand, was undoubtedly the most knowledgeable and arguably the most powerful. If she had asked or even hinted for a leadership role, James would have abdicated in a second.

  But she never did. Either she saw something in James that he didn’t yet, or (perhaps more wisely) she understood the burden of leadership and chose not to shoulder it.

  Regardless of her reasoning, that left him at the head of the pack.

  He waved Virgil over.

  “Hero. What can I do for you?”

  “Oh, please, just call me James,” James said with a wince.

  Virgil inclined his head.

  “I keep thinking about the way you were able to use Counter Theory even on the enemy turn. And Inara did a similar thing once, where she dodged an enemy attack during their turn! I have to be missing something here, that first swarm of goblins should have killed us.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Virgil looked at him oddly. “Yes, of course. There is a small window of time during which you can move. The extent of that window is based on your AGI stat.”

  James stuttered to a stop. His jaw dropped open. “What?!?”

  Inara slapped the back of his head. “Quiet!” she hissed. “Or you’ll bring every enemy upon us.”

  James gaped at her. “Did you know agility lets you counterattack during an enemy turn?!” he hissed back.

  She blinked. “Yes. Didn’t you?”

  “What? I— No! You never told me.”

  Inara wrinkled her brow. “When we met, I asked if you understood the stats. You insisted you did not need an explanation.”

  James groaned. “Oh my fucking god.” He slapped himself in the face a couple times. “Always take the full tutorial,” he grumbled. “Always do it!”

  Even back home, that was good advice. Games liked to follow the same successful formula, but with a twist that made them stand out. As a result, as painful as a tutorial could be, it was still the most important part of the game. Just in case you learned something absolutely fucking game-breaking like, oh, being able to parry on an enemy turn!

  James took a moment to bang his head against a wall and thank his lucky stars that he’d at least just poured ten more stat points into AGI. That had just become the most important stat in the game— no, in the world. It was the most important stat in Grimora, and he had been squandering points in INT and WIS trying to be some kind of wizard, when the true power was going to be in a rogue-type build.

  “Hero, please, you’ll hurt yourself.” Virgil fluttered at James’s side.

  Inara merely watched with one eyebrow raised. She knew better than anyone how odd a Hero could be.

  Finally, James sighed. He straightened. If he could go back and do it all again, he’d start with an agility build. Maybe instead of Fireball he could have learned Fire Dart, or something sufficiently roguish. Hell, if he could go back just a few hours, he could have practiced finding that parry window against the horde! What better opportunity to learn than against a hundred weak enemies?

  But there were no restarts here, and he would have to continue as he was. As painful as that was.

  “Hey, at least you know now!” Desiree piped up, ever cheerful. “I bet there’s more goblins in the library you can practice on, too.”

  James couldn’t help but smile in response. The girl’s positivity was infectious.

  “Alright,” he said. “Let’s find the library boss. What do you think it’ll be? A goblin librarian?”

  “Ooh, he’ll be mad about overdue books!” Desiree giggled.

  James pulled open the large wooden double doors, and the party entered the library. Desiree’s giggled quickly died down.

  James could imagine what the library looked like, once. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves, the kind with rails on the top for a ladder that would glide around the room.

  Three out of four walls held on to their former glory, but the fourth looked like it had been smashed in by a catapult. Huge chunks of wall were knocked out, books and rubble scattered across the room. Yet even with sunlight pouring through the holes, the library felt darker than it should. There was an eerie feeling to the darkness, and the air felt stale.

  They walked forward slowly, stepping carefully.

  Virgil trailed his fingers along the spines of the books. He felt something when he looked at them. He felt… familiarity wasn’t quite the right word. But there was something there. Like he’d seen this place before.

  He pulled a book off the shelf: The Crown of Secrets. It was a children’s story, a picture book. He flipped through it, already knowing what to expect and only confirming it as the scanned the pictures. It was a story about a king who made a deal with a witch, in order to end a war and save his people. In return, he promised to deliver his daughter on her 18th birthday, so the witch could harvest her soul for a ritual that would make her the most powerful witch in the world. As the day approached, the king regretted his decision, but it was too late. His daughter set off, without a word to anybody, to do her duty for her country.

  The princess’s best friend noticed her absence and chased after her, hoping to stop her from sacrificing herself to the witch. In fact, she arrived at the witch’s lair before the princess. The witch mistook her for the princess and tried to use her soul to finish the ritual. The ritual required a royal soul, and because she used a commoner’s soul instead, the ritual backfired and killed the witch. The king and the princess were spared.

  Virgil’s lips pressed into a line, and he replaced the book on its shelf. He’d never liked the ending of that story. He wasn’t a writer himself, but even as a child it had bothered him that the witch was the one punished, when it was the king who reneged on the deal.

  As a child… He held on to that thought. One memory led to another, and then the library truly was familiar.

  “It worked!” he said, too loudly. Something fluttered in the rafters, knocking dust and debris down to the floor, then settled down.

  “It worked,” he whispered. Hellflame did bring back his memories. The good… and the bad. He strode more quickly through the library. He knew this place. It was Ren's favorite library.

  The other chased after him, startled.

  "Slow down!" Inara hissed. They hadn't run into any goblins inside the library yet, but she wouldn't put it past them to be hiding behind a bookshelf or around a corner.

  But Virgil continued on, heedless of the danger. He was pulled forward by something more powerful than fear. It was a need for confirmation. He had to know-- while at the same time, hoping with all his soul that he was wrong.

  He turned into a small room. The walls were lined with shelves, and at the center was a mahogany desk. It was a private study, reserved for Ren. The man was here so often, and he was so charismatic with the library staff, that it was unofficially reserved for him, at all times.

  Once Virgil reached the door, he slowed. This close to his objective, he found it more difficult to continue.

  The party followed him inside. Inara ushered them in and stood watch at the door.

  Virgil reached out to the desk, but his fingers stopped an inch away, like he was afraid to touch it. Because he was, he was afraid of what he would find. Even though, he already knew.

  On top of the desk was an old, battered journal. The pages were dirty, and the black leather cover was worn soft with age and use.

  As if someone else was controlling his motions, Virgil reached for the journal. He flipped to the end -- to the final entry -- and began to read.