Chapter 22: Patch Notes

  The Forge - QRF Compound

  Day 22 - 0534 Hours

  "Anyone read the patch notes?" Marcus asked.

  We were in the briefing room, checking gear before deployment. James looked up from his sword, frowning.

  "Patch notes?"

  "Yeah. Like a video game update." Marcus held up a piece of paper. "ARIA posted changes to the simulation parameters. Enemy AI improvements, new threat types, enhanced tactical behaviors."

  "We're beta testers," I said, testing the edge of my blade with my thumb. "For an AI's war game."

  "At least she's documenting the changes," Okoye said. She was checking her armor straps, methodical and calm. "Could be worse. She could just throw shit at us without warning."

  "She does that anyway," James muttered, adjusting his own armor.

  Petrov was in the corner, methodically sharpening his axe. The rhythmic scrape of whetstone on steel was oddly calming. He looked up. "My father would say that "In Russia, when bear comes to village, you don't ask why. You get gun."" That was the most I had ever heard Petrov say in one go.

  "That's... actually pretty applicable here," Marcus said.

  Progress.

  "What kind of improvements?" I asked, checking my spear. The shaft was solid oak, the point freshly sharpened.

  Marcus scanned the paper. "Enhanced coordination protocols. Improved tactical decision-making. New enemy variants with advanced combat capabilities." He looked up. "Basically, everything's about to get harder."

  "Great," I said. "Just what we needed."

  "How's the shoulder, James?" Okoye asked.

  "Feels stiff for some reason. But functional." He rotated it, winced slightly. "The javelin wound from last week healed clean, so its gotta be in my head. I'll manage."

  "You better. We need you calling shots." She finished with her armor, moved to her weapons. Sword, dagger, shield. Everything checked and rechecked.

  I watched them work. The routine of it. The quiet efficiency. These were people who'd done this dozens of times, who knew their gear like they knew their own bodies.

  "Smith, you good?" James asked.

  "Yeah. Ready."

  "Petrov?"

  "Da. Always ready." He tested the edge of his axe with his thumb, nodded in satisfaction.

  James studied us for a moment. Then nodded. "All right, listen up. Mission brief." He moved to the map on the wall, tapped a location northeast of our position. "Settlement reported unusual activity yesterday evening. Large force moving through the area, different from standard goblin raids. We investigate, assess threat level, engage if necessary."

  "Coordinates put it about twelve kilometers northeast. We'll take horses, cut the travel time."

  "Horses again?" I said.

  "You can ride, right?" Marcus asked.

  "I mean... I rode on a patrol behind Okoye."

  "And in real life?" Marcus pushed.

  "I've been on a horse. Once. At summer camp when I was twelve."

  Everyone stared at me.

  "Jesus Christ, Bambi," Marcus said. "You're full of surprises."

  Petrov chuckled.

  Okoye brought us back on task. "Good. Mount up in ten. We leave at 0600."

  We finished our preparations in silence. I checked my pack, water, dried meat, medical supplies, oil flask for maintaining my gear, and of course rope. You always need rope. You never know what you will need it for but you always need it.

  The stables were on the east side of the compound. Five horses were already saddled, waiting. They were big animals, sturdy and calm. Not the sleek racing horses I'd seen in movies, but working animals built for carrying soldiers and gear.

  "This one's yours," Marcus said, leading me to a gray mare. "Her name's Ash. She's steady. Won't spook easy."

  I approached slowly. The horse watched me with dark, oddly intelligent eyes. I reached out, let her smell my hand.

  "Good," Marcus said. "Now mount up. Left foot in the stirrup, swing your right leg over. Use the saddle horn for balance."

  "Very funny..." I did. It took two tries, but I got up. The horse shifted beneath me and my stomach dropped.

  "Relax," Marcus said. "She can feel your tension. Just breathe. Hold the reins loose. She'll follow the others."

  The others were already mounted. James on a big bay gelding, Okoye on a black mare, Marcus on a chestnut, Petrov on a sturdy dun-colored horse that looked like it could carry twice his weight. They sat easy in their saddles, comfortable.

  "Everyone ready?" James called.

  "Ready," we answered.

  "Then let's move out."

  James led. Okoye fell in behind him, then Marcus, then Petrov, then me bringing up the rear. The horses moved at a steady walk through the compound gates, then picked up to a trot once we hit open ground.

  I gripped the saddle horn. Tried to move with the horse's rhythm. It was awkward at first, jarring, but after a few minutes I started to get it. The rise and fall. The way to shift my weight.

  "You're doing fine," Petrov called from ahead of me. "Just keep breathing. Horse knows what to do."

  The sun was coming up, painting the sky orange and red. The air was cool. My breath misted. The landscape rolled past, hills, scattered trees, streams cutting through valleys.

  We rode for maybe ninety minutes. The horses maintained a steady pace, eating up the distance. My thighs were starting to burn from gripping the saddle, but I was managing.

  "There," James said, pointing ahead.

  I looked. Saw the settlement in the distance. Wooden palisade, maybe thirty buildings, smoke rising from cooking fires.

  We slowed to a walk as we approached.

  "Something's off," Okoye said.

  "What?" Marcus asked.

  "The coordinates. This settlement shouldn't be here."

  James pulled out a map, studied it. Frowned. "She's right. According to this, there's nothing at these coordinates. Just empty terrain."

  "Maybe the map's old," Marcus suggested.

  "It's from three days ago." Okoye looked at the settlement, then back at the map. "This place just... appeared."

  "Aria," I said.

  Everyone looked at me.

  "She can modify the simulation. Add new elements. We're in a virtual environment, she can spawn whatever she wants, whenever she wants."

  "So she just... created a village?" Marcus said. "Overnight?"

  "Why not? It's all code. She probably generated it while we were sleeping."

  James was quiet for a moment. Then: "That's unsettling."

  "Very," Okoye agreed.

  We kept moving toward the settlement. As we got closer, I could see what Okoye meant. The buildings looked new. Fresh timber, clean construction. Not the weathered, lived-in appearance of the other settlements we'd seen.

  "This is maybe a day old," Marcus said. "Look at the wood. No weathering. No wear."

  "The gates are open," Okoye noted. "No one on the walls."

  "Could be abandoned," I said.

  "Or everyone's dead," James replied.

  James dismounted. "We go in on foot. Tie the horses here." He pointed to a cluster of trees about fifty meters from the gate. Perfect, I had rope. "Out of sight, but close enough to reach if we need to run."

  We dismounted. My legs were shaky from the ride. I tied Ash's reins to a low branch, made sure the knot was secure.

  "Wedge formation," James ordered. "Marcus and I take point. Okoye, center. Petrov, left flank. Smith, right flank. Watch the rooftops and windows. Weapons ready."

  We moved toward the gates. Slow. Careful.

  The silence was wrong. Even abandoned settlements had sound, wind through buildings, birds, something. This was dead quiet.

  The street was empty. Doors closed. No bodies. No blood. Just... nothing.

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  "I don't like this," Marcus whispered.

  "Nobody likes this," Okoye replied. "Keep moving."

  We advanced down the main street. I had my spear ready, scanning windows and rooftops on the right side. Petrov mirrored me on the left, his axe held low and ready. My heart was hammering. The quiet was worse than combat. At least in combat you knew what was happening.

  This was anticipation. Waiting for something to go wrong.

  It went wrong fast.

  The first javelin came from a rooftop. Heavy, metal-tipped, thrown with precision. It punched through James's shield and into his shoulder. He went down with a scream. I wondered idly if it was the same one he had injured before.

  "Contact!" James shouted through gritted teeth. "Rooftops!"

  My brain suddenly registered I was in combat. I spun, saw movement. Something on the roof. I braced my spear, ready.

  It dropped from the roof and landed in a crouch, rising to its full height.

  Not a goblin.

  Taller. Human-sized, maybe six feet. Broad-shouldered and heavily muscled. It wore actual armor, not scavenged pieces, but proper military gear. Leather cuirass reinforced with metal plates across the chest and shoulders. Bracers on the forearms. A helmet with cheek guards. The armor was well-maintained, functional, designed for combat.

  It had green-gray skin and prominent tusks jutting from its lower jaw. But the eyes were what caught me. Intelligent. Focused. Calculating.

  It held a sword, forged steel, not scavenged iron. The blade was clean, sharp, well-balanced. A soldier's weapon.

  More dropped from the rooftops. I counted eight, then ten, then twelve. They moved with discipline, forming up in pairs, covering each other's movements. One of them barked orders, actual words in a language I didn't understand. The others responded immediately, adjusting their positions.

  These weren't monsters. These were soldiers.

  More javelins rained down. We scattered, looking for cover. I dove behind a water trough as something heavy whistled past my head and embedded itself in the wall behind me.

  I looked up. More orcs on the rooftops. They had the high ground, clear sightlines, and they were using them. Javelins flew with precision, forcing us to stay pinned.

  Marcus formed up with his shield. I moved behind him, spear ready for anything that got close. Petrov had taken cover behind a cart, his axe ready, eyes scanning for targets. The orcs had cover, were using it intelligently.

  One of them, larger than the others, with more elaborate armor and a red plume on its helmet, barked another command. The orcs on the ground began moving, flanking left and right.

  They were executing a coordinated assault.

  "Left side!" Petrov shouted.

  Three orcs came around the building on his side, moving in formation. The lead one had a shield, the other two flanking with swords ready. They advanced with discipline, shields up, covering each other.

  Petrov didn't wait. He charged forward with a roar, his axe swinging in a wide arc. The lead orc raised its shield but the force of Petrov's blow drove it back. The axe bit into the shield's edge, splintering wood.

  "Right side!" I shouted.

  Two more orcs were coming around my flank. One threw a javelin at Marcus. He caught it on his shield but the impact staggered him back a step.

  I twisted, yanked the spear free. Blood sprayed from the wound but the orc kept coming.

  The second one reached Marcus. Sword against shield. Marcus blocked, countered, but the orc was strong. Fast. It pressed the attack, forcing Marcus back with a series of heavy blows.

  I moved to help. My spear caught the orc in the side, between the armor plates. It roared, spun, grabbed the spear shaft and yanked. I stumbled forward. The orc's sword came down and narrowly missed my head.

  On the left, Petrov was holding his own against two orcs now. His axe work was brutal and efficient, no wasted movement. He caught one orc in the leg, brought it down, then spun to block the second one's sword with the axe haft.

  We fell back toward a larger building, looked like a meeting hall or storage building. Two stories, solid construction. Petrov covered our retreat, his axe keeping the orcs at bay. We dragged James inside, slammed the door.

  James was pale, shaking. The javelin was still in his shoulder. Pulling it out would make him bleed faster. I was trying to stabilize it, wrapping cloth around the wound.

  Marcus had a deep cut across his thigh. He was wrapping it with cloth, jaw clenched.

  Okoye had taken a sword hit to her shield arm. The armor had stopped most of it but her forearm was swelling, probably fractured.

  Petrov had a gash across his ribs, blood seeping through his armor. He pressed a hand against it, grimacing.

  "They're surrounding us," Okoye said, looking out a window. "At least twenty now. Maybe more. They're not rushing in. They're setting up a perimeter."

  "They fight like humans," I said.

  "Because that's what they are," Okoye replied. "Simulated humans. ARIA's training us to fight against organized military forces."

  Outside, I could hear the orcs. Barking orders. Moving into position. They were patient. Disciplined. They knew we were trapped.

  "We can't stay here," James said through gritted teeth. "They'll just wait us out or burn us out."

  "Ideas?" Okoye asked.

  I looked around the building. Wooden construction. Dry timber. Oil lamps on the walls. My pack with the oil flask.

  Looked out the window at the surrounding buildings. All wood. All close together.

  "We burn it instead," I said.

  Everyone looked at me.

  "What?" Marcus asked.

  "The village. We burn it. All of it." I pointed out the window. "They have the high ground. They can see us from the rooftops, throw javelins, coordinate their movements. But if we set fire to the surrounding buildings, create smoke and chaos, they lose that advantage."

  "And we burn to death in here," Marcus said.

  "No. We set the other buildings first. Then we set this one and use the smoke as cover to escape. They won't be able to see us through the smoke. Can't throw javelins if they can't see the target."

  Okoye was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then: "It's insane."

  "You have a better idea?"

  "No." She looked at James. "Your call."

  James grimaced, shifted his weight. The javelin moved and he hissed in pain. "Do it. We're dead if we stay here anyway."

  "All right." I pulled the oil flask from my pack. "Marcus, Petrov, you have oil too?"

  They checked their packs. Nodded.

  "Good. We need to make molotov cocktails. Tear cloth, soak it in oil, stuff it in the flasks. Light it and throw."

  We worked fast. Tore strips from our clothing, soaked them in oil, stuffed them into the flask openings. We started a small fire with some hay that quickly gave off smoke.

  Three molotov cocktails. It would have to be enough.

  "Windows on all sides," Okoye said. "We throw simultaneously. Hit the buildings closest to us. Then we set this place and run."

  "East side," James said. "That's our exit. Shortest path to the horses."

  "Agreed." Okoye positioned us at the windows. "On my mark. Three. Two. One. Throw!"

  I lit my cloth wick with a burning stick, threw the flask through the window. It arced through the air, smashed against the building across the street. Fire spread instantly, racing up the dry timber.

  Two more crashes. Two more fires. Within seconds, three buildings were burning.

  The orcs started shouting. Confused. Moving away from the flames.

  "Again!" Okoye ordered.

  We threw timber soaked in oil. Not as effective but more buildings caught. The fires were spreading fast, jumping from roof to roof. Smoke billowed up, thick and black.

  "Now this building!" I shouted. "Then we move!"

  We spread burning hay on our own walls. The dry wood caught immediately. Flames raced up the interior walls.

  "Go! Go! Go!" Okoye shouted.

  We burst out the east door. Smoke everywhere. Visibility down to maybe ten feet. I could hear the orcs shouting, but couldn't see them.

  We ran.

  James between Marcus and me, half-carried. Okoye leading. Petrov covering our rear, his axe ready.

  Something emerged from the smoke. Big. Armored. Sword raised. I managed a lucky stab into its unprotected throat. Blood fountained over me as I withdrew my spear and ran to keep up.

  We made it maybe fifty meters before we hit the next group. Three orcs, disoriented by the smoke. They saw us, raised weapons.

  "Through them!" Okoye ordered.

  She hit the first one with her shield, knocked it back. Marcus stabbed the second. Petrov's axe took the third in the chest, dropping it instantly.

  We kept moving.

  The smoke was everywhere now. The entire village seemed to be burning, even the palisade. I could hear buildings collapsing, wood cracking, flames roaring. The heat was intense.

  Another orc appeared. Petrov took it down with a brutal axe swing before it could react.

  We burst out of the smoke into clearer air. The eastern gate was ahead. Beyond it, the trees where we'd left the horses.

  We didn't stop.

  Behind us, the village was an inferno. Smoke rising in a massive column. I could hear the orcs, but they weren't pursuing. They were dealing with the fire, trying to salvage what they could.

  We reached the trees. The horses were there, nervous from the smoke and noise but still tied.

  "Mount up!" James ordered. "Fast!"

  We helped James onto his horse. He gritted his teeth, gripped the saddle horn with his good hand. Marcus mounted behind him, steadying him.

  Petrov mounted his horse with a grunt, one hand pressed against his ribs.

  "Move out!" James called.

  We rode. Fast. The horses sensed our urgency, broke into a gallop. I held on, leaning forward, trying to stay balanced.

  Behind us, the smoke column rose into the sky. The village was gone. Destroyed.

  We'd survived.

  We rode hard for maybe twenty minutes before James called a halt. We were far enough away. Safe.

  We dismounted. Collapsed. Gasping. Bleeding.

  James was pale, shaking. The javelin was still in his shoulder. I sawed off the main shaft but left the head in, then wrapped it with bandages, trying to stabilize it for the ride back.

  My side had a gash from something, sword or javelin, I wasn't sure. I pressed my hand against it. The wound was deep. Not fatal, probably, but it hurt like hell.

  Petrov's rib wound was still bleeding. He let me wrap it with cloth, his jaw clenched against the pain.

  "Define alive," Marcus said.

  "Breathing counts."

  "Then yeah. Barely."

  James did a quick headcount. Five of us. All wounded. All exhausted. But alive.

  "That was new," Marcus said.

  "No shit," I replied.

  I was watching the smoke column in the distance. The orcs hadn't followed. They'd stayed to deal with the fire.

  Disciplined. Tactical. Smart.

  "They fought like humans," I said.

  Everyone looked at me.

  "What?" Marcus asked.

  "The orcs. They used formations. Hand signals. Coordinated tactics. They fought like trained soldiers, not monsters."

  Okoye was quiet for a moment. Then: "Because that's what we're training for."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The Forge. ARIA. All of this." She gestured around us. "It's not about fighting goblins or trolls or orcs. It's about conflict resolution. Human conflict resolution."

  "So the orcs-"

  "Are practice. For fighting other humans. Other soldiers." Okoye looked at each of us. "The escalation makes sense now. Goblins were basics. Hobgoblins were intermediate. Orcs are advanced. She's preparing us for the real thing."

  "The real thing being what?" Marcus asked. "Actual combat deployments?"

  "Eventually. Maybe." Okoye shook her head. "I don't know. But those orcs used military tactics because ARIA wants us to learn how to fight against military tactics. Against people who think and adapt and coordinate."

  I thought about that. About Aria studying us. Learning what worked. What didn't. Adjusting the difficulty. Making us better.

  Making us into weapons.

  And creating entire villages overnight just to test us.

  "We need to move," James said, wincing as he tried to adjust his position. "Get back to base. Get patched up."

  "Can you ride?" Marcus asked.

  "Not really."

  We helped him back onto his horse. Marcus mounted behind him again, keeping him steady. The rest of us mounted up.

  The ride back was slower. Careful. James was fading, the pain wearing him down even if blood loss wasn't really a thing here. We stopped twice to check his wound and give him a break from the movement, make sure the javelin hadn't shifted.

  By the time we reached the compound, the sun was high overhead. We'd been gone maybe six hours. It felt like days.

  Medical was waiting. They'd seen us coming. They took James first, rushed him inside. The rest of us followed, limping, bleeding, exhausted.

  I sat on a cot while a medic cleaned my side wound. It was deep but clean. Would heal. Everything would heal.

  That was the beauty of this place. The horror of it too.

  We'd survived. Barely. Against an enemy that fought like we fought. That thought like we thought.

  And somewhere, Aria was watching. Learning. Planning the next test.

  Creating villages overnight. Spawning new enemies. Adjusting the difficulty.

  I wondered if we'd survive it.