A miracle is an inexplicable phenomenon. It’s a word that Faoros hated because he couldn’t understand it but it was the most fitting for his current situation. Instead of being forced out of the Game, his body no longer ached, and Fablo and his cronies had left him alone. An older man sat by his side and tended to his wounds. He was in his fifties, with black hair and gray temples. His tiny, oak-hued eyes brimmed with an unyielding will to live. He wore light clothes, a brown shirt and black, tight trousers. There was a short blade and a gun in his belt, but no visible hint of a merit being used to power it.

  “Where...where am I?” Faoros muttered. His sides hurt, and his throat felt hoarse. He looked around, hoping to find his backpack. He yearned for water but in the small wooden house, there was only a bed on which he was lying, a wardrobe, and a chair. The windows were sealed with planks of wood, and the door was pinned shut.

  “I have seen impolite younglings like you before,” the old Native groaned. His chair creaked on the floor. “But not one was ungrateful enough to not thank and greet his savior.”

  “What?” Faoros scratched his head. He couldn’t grasp his current situation. “I am Faoros. I think I was in the middle of a fight.”

  “That’s the truth.” The old Etal laughed heartily, as if he had just heard the funniest joke of his life. “I am Neonoro. You were lucky that this bright light went off, allowing me to pinpoint your location. It’s a rare gift, but luck is on your side. Nowadays, world’s gone crazy enough to run charging outside the wall, or even visit the tunnels beneath the ground. Be thankful and don’t follow suit.”

  “Light? Tunnels?” Faoros shook his head. He had heard of this before. He closed his eyes shut, the memories of Fablo and his cronies ganging up on him resurfacing in his mind. Still, he didn’t remember any light or Neonoro’s appearance.

  “Put these thoughts away. The catacombs aren’t a place for the living.” Neonoro headed to the wardrobe. He grabbed Faoros’ backpack from inside and threw it at him. He returned to his position and fixed his grizzled gaze on him.

  “What?”

  “Explain yourself. Your story. Who did I save?” He picked up his gun and caressed its cold surface. “Was he worth the chance?”

  “My story?” Faoros paused for a moment. He was an Alter, a person from reality who had been planted into this world. What kind of floppy story could he have? His eyes remained fixed on the rising fist tattoo on Neonoro’s arm while he remained silent.

  “Go ahead. You are still young and haven’t got your tattoo but that doesn’t mean you are free from suspicion. You certainly didn’t come from the catacombs but that doesn’t make you any less suspicious.”

  “There isn’t much to tell.” Faoros sighed deeply. “I am but an orphan of the beasts. Someone who had just had a fight… with his best friend.” His throat formed a knot, like a person who was about to cry… or someone who was greatly disgusted by what he was saying. “We were friends before the beasts came. We competed, whether it was to see who was stronger, faster, or more cunning, or even to see who could get a plate of food first. He was my rival… and friend.” Tears flooded his face. Instead of the Native Neonoro, Faoros imagined that a teacher stood in front of him; a teacher he had to trick to skip classes. “We were separated after the outbreak. I was fortunate enough to meet a group of guards. They saved me and helped me recover. I bid them farewell, hoping to find Fablo but I was too late. The Plunderers got him.” Fablo kicking the air out of his lungs resurfaced in his mind. “An old Nightmare ordered him to loot my belongings. It turns out, he is no longer the friend I had known…”

  “I figured that much. This is the title of a plunderer boss. Better stay clear of them.” Neonoro lowered his gun. “I’ve been eyeing them since they entered the inn. They were hotheaded and didn’t bother to hide their allegiances. Still, I have a few more questions for you before I let you go. Where did you get these?”

  His throat grew dry when Neonoro pointed at his backpack. “Sector C,” Faoros replied bluntly, naming the only sector he had a better impression of.

  “Good.” Neonoro picked up his backpack and pushed his hand inside. Faoros’ eyes widened when he watched Neonoro take out his gun, the tiny merit clearly attached above its trigger. “Then explain this.”

  “Are…” Faoros lowered his head. “Are you like Fablo? Are you after this backpack? It is my loot.” He raised his gaze, anger brewing behind his eyes. “It is my fortune. I found it in the Danger Zone. It is mine.”

  His words echoed through the small room before silence settled in. Neonoro remained still before he put his gun away. “It seems even younglings can have a knack for treasure. These are the Scavenger’s devices. You are indeed fortunate that you met his corpse and not a breathing one.” His expression finally warmed. “I am glad I did not save a scumbag by accident. You are free to go.”

  “Free to go?” Faoros’ expression darkened, and, despite his aching muscles, he mustered the strength to stand up. “Perhaps you have mistaken me. I may be young, but I’m not stupid. The moment I step outside, Fablo will come after me and my belongings. You are my savior, and I thank you, but I don’t want to roam helplessly in Sector B. Please let me help you until I can leave this place. I know how to fend for myself, I won’t be dead weight.”

  “Overconfident, aren’t you?” Neonoro nodded in satisfaction. “I am too old to get every job done by myself now. I wouldn’t mind the extra hands. If you prove useful, I will show you the way back at Sector A.”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  *

  Sector B was a brewing pit of conflict and strife. There were no citizens outside. Instead, the beast’s howling cries, along with the occasional rumbling of rocks and breaking glass, pierced through the silence. Faoros had helped Neonoro during the past few days with mundane tasks and seized every opportunity to learn more about the current situation in Sector B.

  Most of the time, they helped the remaining citizens get through the sector, took note of the various trails Etal left behind, and even scavenged through the ruins of buildings. This seemed a great irony to Faoros. Neonoro hadn’t disclosed his reason for coming to Sector B, but after so many days, Faoros guessed that he wanted to uncover the details of the sector’s sudden downfall.

  “It’s the work of Scavengers again.” Faoros emerged from the ruins of a building holding a dimly lit sword with a broken blade.

  Neonoro sighed and put away his gun. “With this year’s autumn wave before our gates, this is a strange coincidence. I have seen similar stories turn ugly really fast.”

  Faoros jerked his head. The situation in Sector B was rather troublesome. The Guards’ former command post was in total ruins, and the beasts had broken free from their territories. “Even if they defend against the first one, there should be two more before the end of the year. Sector B will turn into a huge Danger Zone.”

  “That’s exactly what we’re trying to avert. Keep up the good work, and I’ll get you out of this messy place soon.”

  For a difference, Faoros was doing some honest work. They never left a survivor alone or any work undone at the first cry of an Etal. A hint of growing fear spread throughout Sector B while the first wave drew closer. Citizens migrated from areas closer to the wall, heading toward Sector A. There were many details Faoros failed to grasp, but he was certain of one thing; trouble was brewing, and it would erupt soon.

  “Today marks our last objective together. It will be dangerous, but that’s the way we carve forward, ain’t that right, youngling?” Neonoro let out a hoarse laugh. He walked forward, picking up a torn letter from the rubble of a collapsed home. There was barely any information left on the dirty paper, but Neonoro carefully moved aside the roof tile covering it before placing it in his backpack.

  “Where are you heading next? Will it be the wall?” Faoros wanted to probe for information, but he was also genuinely interested in where this old fellow was going.

  Neonoro smiled in understanding. “More or less. I’ve seen this play before. There are many signs that the Scavengers have been active in Sector B for a long time. When in doubt, always blame the Scavengers.”

  Faoros forced a half-smile. “I have a hunch that you're already certain the Scavengers chased the Guards away from here.”

  “I have seen chaos more than once, and this is the worst possible outcome. When a faction loses its superiority in a sector and there is no successor, everyone pays the price. The problem with the Scavengers is that they never seek to stabilize a sector; all they want is to maximize their profits.” Neonoro stopped and raised his gun, pointing it at the ruins of a huge building. “They razed the Guard’s base to the ground and disappeared. That’s Scavenger work, all right.”

  Faoros almost choked when he saw the destroyed building. “What kind of weaponry is capable of this destruction?”

  “You’d better never find out. They say their leader has built devices capable of things beyond our imagination.” Neonoro pointed to the firm walls standing on the distant horizon. “But that’s not what truly matters. What is important is helping those in need here and defending them against the imminent invasion. The Scavengers will pay in due time.”

  “I hope I get to meet you again.” His heart was twitching but he meant every word.

  "Rich words, young Faoros. For your own good, let this be the last time we meet. I never like the newer generations to walk in our footsteps.” Neonoro pressed forward, with Faoros following behind.

  “Thank you,” he muttered, his mind confused by the simulated Etal. Neonoro was a strong and experienced fighter who acted alone. He didn’t talk much about himself, but his words hinted at experiences he preferred to keep hidden. Faoros had started seeing him as a worthy role-model for any young Etal. Was the Game supposed to be this way?

  By the time they reached the borders of a rather large Danger Zone, the sun was setting. The scarce clouds revealed a profound sense of serenity in the blue skies beyond. “Don’t space out,” Neonoro warned. He had knelt and checked the rocky ground. “The moment you are most relaxed is the moment you die. Take it from experience.”

  “Will do.” Faoros remained vigilant by his side.

  Neonoro kept digging the same spot, taking regular breaks to place his ear on the ground. He wore a complicated expression, his teeth clenched tightly. Suddenly, he jumped up and searched the pockets of his pants. Without elaborating, he took out a pencil and a notebook and flipped through the tattered pages. Seeing his nervous movements, anxiety filled Faoros, and he instinctively looked around. Apart from crumbling buildings and barren land, there was nothing. But before he could sigh in relief, Neonoro put his notebook back and picked up his gun. “Good instincts, youngling. They’ve been following us for the past hour, but they wanted to make sure we didn’t have any reinforcements.”

  “Wh—” Faoros’ words were cut short by the appearance of a gang of Etal. His lips tightened while his expression took a darker shade. They were no strangers to him.

  “Different faces, but same story.” Neonoro raised his gun, and, without any warning, shot at the one standing at the front. In the span of a breath, Faoros saw the young Etal fall to the ground. He wrapped his hands around his injured stomach, the wound bleeding helplessly.

  “A-are we fighting? We are outnumbered!” Faoros quickly put down his backpack and took out his gun. He wasn’t sure how a normal gun compared to one powered by merits, but it was his best shot against these odds.

  “No, keep your bullets. You won’t find any easily. You should save ’em when your life is in danger. These young troublemakers are hardly worth our time.”

  With Neonoro’s calculations, that meant each facing two plunderers, but Faoros didn’t point this out. He unsheathed his blade and prepared for combat. Just a few days before, he was amazed how fast Fablo had changed in the Game. Now, he was undergoing a similar transformation. Was this the masterpiece of Principal Wineom? An environment where the Etal learned the harsh reality outside of the warmth of the academy? Faoros didn’t have the answer, but he was now certain about one thing; Miss Vione’s advice was for show. With his life on the line and his emotions running high, how could he convince himself that this was a lie? Would he be able to return to Etal Academy and look at Fablo the same way after this? No, their lives would be different after this exchange. This was a different reality, and he had to face it.