Darren and Wilson left the inn, and Darren gagged as the smell hit him. Now he had finally cleaned up and no longer stunk to high heavens himself, the receptors down in the ol’ factory had decided to end their week-long strike. Apparently, in the break they’d gained some work ethic and were now working overtime to process new and exotic smells.

  He opened his mouth, regretting that move too, as now he could taste the feces, sweat, and piss mixed with stale mud.

  “Can you smell?” he asked Wilson as he hurried through the crowd back up the hill to Suave Wears.

  “Nup,” Wilson said cheerfully. “How’s it? Bet you’re lovin’ Eau de Civilisation.”

  “This dump barely qualifies as civilisation,” Darren muttered, dancing around puddles and trying to avoid his new clothes being splattered by the traffic meandering along the busy street.

  They made it back to Suave Wears right as Tarlia emerged from the store, locking the door behind her. There was no sign of the chest; he assumed she had it stored in her inventory.

  “There you are,” she said, almost sounding disappointed at the sight of them.

  He flashed her a grin. “Wouldn’t miss it!”

  “He walked really fast…” Wilson said, “to get out of the poor quarter.”

  Tarlia cast a critical eye over the pair. “I suppose I can present you to the Countess now.”

  They made their way in silence up through the town toward the fort at the crest of the hill. Darren was happy to note he drew far less attention now. Though Wilson still garnered some glances.

  The number of guards patrolling the streets increased as they entered the main road leading to the fort's gates. The fort was an impressive structure—given that this was one of the fairly minor islands in the game. The walls were relatively short, only five metres, but he knew they’d be impressively thick to withstand cannon fire.

  A five metre wide moat filled with sharpened logs sat in front of the fort’s gate, and a heavy, iron-banded drawbridge lay across it. An iron portcullis sat raised at the far end, ready to drop on a moment's notice and seal the gateway.

  The gateway itself was a solid eight metres across, allowing a steady stream of traffic through. Only four guards were visible in the deep gateway, but there was likely a small garrison nearby, and he could see dozens of kill slots in the walls and ceiling of the gateway. As well as holes likely used to pour hot oil and other fun liquids down on invaders.

  They crossed over the drawbridge and entered the gateway. A guard glanced their way, saw Tarlia and gave a casual wave. She gave a nod in return. Darren nodded a greeting, but was met with a glare.

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  “Merry bunch, eh?” Wilson murmured.

  They entered a wide courtyard filled with guards, and the sounds of an army washed over them. Thuds of practice swords on skin, accompanied by grunts of pain. Thwaks of arrows hitting targets. Rhythmic clanging of hammers on anvils. Conversations mixed with the bark of orders.

  All around the wide courtyard, guards and soldiers trained, loitered, and looked tough. There were easily several hundred packed in the space.

  “Bloody hell,” Darren said, “does the countess expect a raid?”

  Tarlia made a shushing gesture with her hand as she gave him a glare.

  Unease stirred in Darren’s gut, and he could feel Wilson tensing on his shoulder. Something was off here… Years of gaming had tuned his paranoia to epic levels. Everything about this situation screamed ‘boss fight!’, and he wasn’t keen on one at level 5. Especially given that a simple port guard was already level 24.

  And yet… he was unwilling to back out now. His curiosity was well and truly piqued. So he pressed on, following Tarlia as she effortlessly wove through the crowd of guards.

  It didn’t take long for them to reach the keep proper and pass through the open doors to the dimly lit corridors within. A butler met them, and, after a quick word between him and Tarlia, he disappeared.

  They stood to the side, waiting quietly.

  A minute later, the butler returned and ushered them forward.

  They followed him into a vast chamber, which could only be described as a throne room. Tall pillars in two rows lined the hall, holding up a massive arched ceiling. A guard in plate armour stood before each of the 14 pillars. A red carpet ran ?the length of the hall. At the end of the room, six steps led up to a platform with a throne in the centre.

  Behind the throne, covering the entire wall, was a giant stained glass window depicting a pale woman in golden armour holding a severed head by its hair in her left hand. The headless corpse dressed in pirate garb lay at her feet, and a storm raged behind the woman, whipping her blonde hair to the side. In her right hand, she held a bastard sword with a giant ruby in the pommel.

  Darren turned his attention to the throne. A pale, blonde woman with golden armour—the typical fan-service type, designed for sexiness, not for practicality—sat on the throne. Across her lap lay a sheathed sword with a giant ruby in the pommel.

  “Subtle,” Wilson muttered.

  The woman, doubtless the countess, caught the direction of Darren’s gaze, and a smirk twitched the corner of her lips.

  Oh boy… There was no way in hell this woman was gonna let go of the Swashbuckler’s outfit. Though why she wanted it when she was clearly running a heavy armour build was beyond him…

  They approached the throne and came to a stop at the base of the stairs.

  “Tarlia Reid, Darien Cortez, Wilson Cal Coconut,” the butler said, “The Countess Pescado Podrido De La Cruz.”

  Darren blinked. Her name meant rotten fish of the cross? What the hell?

  Then it clicked.

  The person sitting on the throne wasn’t a Local. They were a player, one of the stress testers hired to exploit the game. And with that name, he knew exactly who it was.

  The Swashbuckler’s Ensemble made more sense now. Of course a player would be attempting to game the system and gain a significant advantage before the game launched. Though why switch from heavy plate to light armour?

  He schooled his expression, hoping against hope the player hadn’t seen his shock. The man was one of the most well known exploiters around. But not known for his manipulation of games… Far worse. He was known as a sadistic prick who very publicly loathed Darren. Darren had posted a video exposing the man’s torture of players in VRMMORPGs, which subsequently tanked the man’s viewership and led to class-action lawsuit

  Darren received a notification alerting him of being Inspected. He swallowed, his mouth dry, and thanked God that Poseidon had let him change his name earlier. Biggus Bottomus would have been a dead giveaway to his true nature.

  But that was the least of his worries. Now he had to navigate a conversation without giving away who he was…