The first arrow didn't whistle. It hissed.
It struck the wooden sign of the Rusty Tankard—the one painted with a cheerful mug of ale—and burst into flame. The fire wasn't natural; it was a chemically persistent alchemical fire, designed to spread regardless of wind or rain. It was "Plot Fire."
"Inside!" Elian screamed, grabbing Sarah's arm.
They scrambled backward through the tavern door just as a volley of arrows thudded into the threshold. Elian slammed the heavy oak door shut and threw the bolt. It was a sturdy lock, designed to keep out drunken dwarves, not a military siege.
"Barricade it!" Sarah yelled. She dropped her bag of supplies and shoved a heavy oak table toward the door. Her movement was fluid, desperate. "Elian, the benches! Stack them!"
Elian grabbed a bench. His hands were shaking, but his stats—bolstered by the adrenaline of the narrative—held firm. They piled furniture against the door: tables, stools, the wine rack. It was a chaotic jumble of wood against the inevitable.
Outside, the screaming started.
It wasn't the scream of a single person. It was a chorus. The Red Hand bandits weren't just attacking; they were performing. They howled like wolves, banged shields, and chanted a low, rhythmic guttural sound that was clearly part of the game's "Intimidation Track."
Thump.
Something heavy hit the door. Dust rained down from the frame.
Thump. CRACK.
"They have a battering ram," Sarah whispered, backing away, her kitchen knife held in a white-knuckled grip. "Elian, we can't hold this."
"We don't have to hold it," Elian said, looking at the ceiling. "We just need to survive long enough for him to wake up."
He looked at Sarah. "Hold the stairs. If anyone gets through, stab them in the neck. Don't aim for the chest; they have leather armor. Neck or eyes."
"Where are you going?"
"To wake the dead," Elian growled.
He turned and sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The air on the second floor was already getting hot. Smoke was curling under the window frames, carrying the scent of burning thatch and ozone.
He reached Room 1—the VIP suite. The door was closed.
Elian didn't knock. He kicked the door open.
"Valerius! Get up! The village is—"
Elian stopped.
Prince Valerius was lying on the bed, fully armored (because Heroes never take off their armor, even to sleep). He was lying on his back, hands clasped over his chest, his golden sword resting beside him. He looked peaceful. He looked perfect.
He was snoring.
Hnnnnk-shoooo. Hnnnnk-shoooo.
It was a cartoonishly rhythmic snore. A small bubble of snot expanded and contracted from his nose with every breath.
"Valerius!" Elian ran to the bed and grabbed the Prince's pauldrons. He shook him. "Wake up! We're under attack!"
Valerius's head lolled to the side. He didn't stir.
Elian slapped him. Hard. The sound echoed in the room.
Nothing. Not even a twitch.
Elian looked above the Prince's head. A purple status icon hovered there, pulsing slowly.
[Status Effect: Deep Sleep (Plot Induced)]
[Duration: Until Tragic Climax]
"You have got to be kidding me," Elian hissed.
The System had locked him down. Valerius wasn't supposed to wake up now. He was supposed to wake up after Sarah died, or after the Inn collapsed, so he could rise from the ashes and swear vengeance. Waking up now would ruin the drama. It would turn a tragedy into a skirmish.
CRASH.
Downstairs, the front door gave way. The sound of wood splintering was followed by the roar of men flooding into the taproom.
"Get back!" Sarah's voice screamed from the stairwell. Clang. The sound of metal hitting a skillet.
Elian looked at Valerius. He looked at the window, where the orange glow of the burning village was getting brighter.
"Wake up," Elian pleaded. He grabbed a pitcher of water from the bedside table and dumped it on Valerius's face.
The water splashed over the Prince's perfect features. He sputtered, turned his head, and kept snoring. The status effect was absolute.
Elian felt the panic rising in his throat. It tasted like bile. If Valerius didn't wake up in the next thirty seconds, Sarah was dead. And if Sarah died, Elian would be the only one left to explain why the "Love Interest" perished off-screen.
He needed something stronger than water. He needed damage.
Elian looked around the room. His eyes landed on the bedside candle. It was a thick wax pillar, burning with a steady, yellow flame.
He grabbed it.
"Forgive me, My Lord," Elian muttered. "But this is for your own character development."
He ripped the blanket off Valerius's feet. The Prince was wearing armored greaves on his shins, but—miraculously—he had taken off his sabatons (boots) for comfort. His socks were made of fine, white silk.
Elian didn't hesitate. He jammed the lit candle against the sole of the Hero's right foot.
For a second, nothing happened. The System tried to process the input. Wait, the Hero is sleeping. He cannot feel pain.
Then, physics overrode the narrative. Fire is fire.
The silk sock blackened. The skin beneath it blistered.
[Damage Taken: 1 HP (Fire)]
Valerius's eyes shot open.
"YAAAAAAARGH!"
The scream was not heroic. It was the high-pitched shriek of a man who has been rudely awakened by thermal agony.
Valerius sat bolt upright, his hand instinctively grabbing the hilt of [Solaris]. He swung the sword in a blind, panicked arc.
"Assassins! Demons! My foot! My royal foot!"
Elian ducked just as the glowing blade sliced through the bedpost, severing it cleanly. The canopy collapsed, draping Valerius in heavy velvet curtains.
"Get up!" Elian shouted, pulling the curtains off the flailing Prince. "We're under attack! The Red Hand is downstairs!"
Valerius scrambled out of bed, hopping on one foot, clutching his scorched toe. "You! Innkeeper! Did you burn me? I will have you flogged! I will have you deleted!"
"Look outside!" Elian pointed to the window.
Valerius hopped to the window. He looked out.
The village of Oakhaven was gone. In its place was a sea of fire. The bakery was a torch. The smithy was glowing white-hot. And in the streets, dark shapes were moving, cutting down anyone who tried to run.
The reflection of the fire danced in Valerius's eyes. The anger vanished, replaced by a sudden, chilling stillness.
"Oh," Valerius whispered.
He straightened up. He ignored the pain in his foot. He smoothed his hair.
"They have come," Valerius said, his voice dropping into its practiced, deep register. "The forces of darkness have come to my doorstep."
"They're downstairs!" Elian yelled, grabbing his arm. "Sarah is fighting them alone!"
"Sarah?" Valerius frowned. "The barmaid? Why is she fighting? She is a civilian asset."
"She's dying, you idiot!"
CRASH.
The sound of furniture breaking came from the stairwell. Then, a scream. Sarah's scream.
Elian didn't wait for Valerius. He turned and ran.
He sprinted down the hallway and reached the top of the stairs. The scene below was a nightmare.
The barricade was gone. Five bandits stood in the taproom. They were clad in crimson leather armor, their faces covered by iron masks.
Sarah was backed into a corner near the hearth. She was bleeding from a cut on her forehead. She held her kitchen knife in one hand and a heavy iron lid in the other.
"Come on!" Sarah spat, blood on her teeth. "Is that all you have?"
A bandit laughed. He stepped forward, raising a jagged scimitar.
Elian froze. He had no weapon. He had a Red Pen and 4 Ink.
Think.
He looked at the bandit. A nameplate hovered over him: [Red Hand Thug (Lvl 2)].
Elian looked at the environment. The chandelier above the bandit. The loose floorboard. The spilled ale.
He focused on the chandelier. It was held by a rope tied to a cleat on the wall near the stairs.
[Skill: Nudge]
Target: Rope Knot.
[Cost: 2 Ink]
Elian visualized the knot slipping. He didn't cut it; he just convinced the friction to give up.
The knot unraveled.
WHOOSH.
The heavy iron chandelier, laden with unlit candles, plummeted.
The bandit looked up. "Wha—"
CLANG.
The chandelier crashed directly onto his head. The bandit folded like a wet napkin, his health bar dropping instantly to zero.
"Elian!" Sarah shouted, seeing him at the top of the stairs.
The other four bandits turned. They saw the unarmed innkeeper. They snarled and charged up the stairs.
Elian backed away. "Valerius! Now would be a good time!"
The door to the VIP room exploded.
Splinters showered the hallway. Prince Valerius stepped out. He wasn't hopping anymore. He was gliding. His armor glowed with a blinding, holy light. His sword, [Solaris], was wreathed in actual flames (a [Holy Fire] buff).
"Villains!" Valerius roared. "You dare disturb my slumber? You dare threaten my... uh... service staff?"
The bandits froze. They looked at the glowing golden god descending the stairs.
"It's the Hero!" one shouted. "Get him!"
Bad AI. They should have run. instead, they charged.
Valerius laughed. "Experience points delivered to my door!"
He leaped from the top of the stairs. He didn't use the steps. He just jumped, performing a mid-air spin that defied gravity.
"[Solar Cleave]!"
He landed in the center of the group. A shockwave of light exploded outward.
The floorboards groaned. The bandits were thrown backward as if hit by a cannonball. Two of them disintegrated instantly into loot bags. The other two slammed into the walls, stunned.
Valerius stood in the crater his landing had created. He flicked his hair back.
"Is that all?" he scoffed. "I expected a mini-boss."
"Behind you!" Sarah screamed.
A sixth bandit—a rogue in stealth—dropped from the rafters behind Valerius. He had a dagger raised, aiming for the gap in the Prince's armor at the neck.
Valerius was posing. He didn't see it.
Elian saw the flag: [Critical Hit Imminent].
He didn't have enough Ink to nudge the bandit. He looked at his own hand. He looked at the [Red Pen].
Can I edit a person?
He pointed the Pen at the bandit falling through the air.
[Skill: Red Pen - Basic Strike]
Target: Bandit's Dagger.
Edit: Durability -> 0.
[Ink: 2 -> 0]
[HP: 6 -> 5]
Elian felt a sharp pain in his chest, as if he had been punched.
The bandit landed on Valerius's back. He drove the dagger down with lethal force.
SNAP.
The steel blade shattered against Valerius's neck. It didn't pierce the skin. It crumbled like glass.
Valerius turned slowly. He looked at the bandit, who was staring at his broken hilt in confusion.
"Did you just try to stab me..." Valerius whispered, "with a shard of glass?"
The bandit trembled. "It... it was steel! I swear!"
"Pathetic," Valerius said.
He backhanded the bandit. It wasn't a sword strike; it was a slap. But with Valerius's strength stat, the bandit was launched across the room, crashing through the front window and landing in the burning street outside.
Valerius turned to Sarah. He looked at her bleeding forehead. He looked at the wreckage of the tavern.
"You fought well," Valerius said, nodding at her. "For an NPC."
Sarah didn't answer. She slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor, the knife clattering from her hand.
Elian ran down the stairs. "Sarah!"
He checked her. She was breathing hard, but alive.
"I'm okay," she wheezed. "Just... winded."
"We did it," Elian said, looking around the room. The bandits were dead or gone.
"Not yet," Valerius said.
The Prince walked to the broken front door. He looked out at the village. The fire was roaring now, consuming the night.
"This is merely the trash mob wave," Valerius said, raising his sword. "The Boss is coming. I can feel the frame rate dropping."
Elian stood up. He walked to the door and looked out.
In the center of the burning village square, a figure was waiting. It wasn't a bandit. It was a Knight clad in black iron armor, carrying a greatsword that seemed to suck the light out of the fire.
[Boss: The Black Iron Captain]
[Level: 10]
Valerius smiled.
"Finally," the Prince said. "Something worthy of my time."
He stepped out into the inferno.