The alligator was large. Not, like, Hollywood large, but it was a big gator. Fortunately for Oliver, it seemed very hesitant to leave the pond. Unfortunately, it was between Oliver and the axe he was supposed to be retrieving.

“So, oh wise ring, how do I go about this?”

“The gator? You poke it. With that stick.”

Oliver looked between his stone-headed spear and the massive gator. “No grand plan to make this easier?”

“Nope. You have a pointy stick, you poke the bad guy with it.”

“Should I throw it?”

“Can you kill it in one throw? ‘Cause at this point, that’s all you’re gettin’.”

Oliver was fairly certain the answer to that question was no, even with the Perks on the spear. He took a deep breath like he could inhale courage with it, and lunged. Aiming the spear at the gator’s eye seemed like the right move, but the gator jerked at the last second. Oliver pulled the spear back with the gator still having two eyes, but now sporting a gash along its snout.

“How much health did that hit for!?” Oliver shouted.

“Health?”

“Yeah, health. Hit points? How many more times do I have to poke it?”

The ring gave another mental sigh. “This isn’t a game, Ollie. The thing dies when its heart stops and brain synapses quit firing. You could poke it in the cheek all day and not kill it.”

Oliver darted in for another stab, scoring a decent strike in its shoulder. “What about constitution? Doesn’t that have something to do with health?”

“Yeah, it makes you harder to kill. Tougher skin, bones more difficult to break, increased resistance to bacteria and viruses, all that great stuff. Even fixes the problems that cause aging, if you manage to live that long. But, no matter the constitution, you die without a working heart or brain.”

As if on cue, the alligator made another huge lunge for Oliver’s head, but Oliver was ready this time. He ducked and stabbed into the gator’s throat, ripping the spear out to the side. The gator thrashed and gurgled, but Oliver was pretty sure that was the end for the reptile.

“As much as I’m sure you’d like to wait ‘till it stops moving, we are on a timetable here,” the ring reminded him. “It won’t be going after you again, grab the axe, and let’s go.”

Oliver waded out through the waist-deep water and retrieved the surprisingly light axe from the log before sprinting back towards the village.

Sounds of battle reached Oliver before he came within view of the village. Orcs charged from the tall grass around the defenses one at a time, each from a random direction, at a pace of about one every thirty seconds. The humans had a few wounds to show for their efforts, but all of them were still standing. Barton and Trinket both still sat in the center of the village, watching the fighting around them.

“You need to get in there, the objective doesn’t complete until you return the axe to chatty guy.”

Oliver watched for an opening and charged between two of the spiked wooden defense structures, easily making it back inside the circle. The blonde man from before saw him and walked over, but once his eyes found the axe, they stayed there.

“I knew I could count on you,” he said as Oliver handed him the axe.

“No problem,” Oliver panted, winded from his run. “How goes the, uh, the siege?”

The man smiled as he hefted his returned axe. “I have to admit. This is more fun than I thought it'd be.” He pointed to another villager who was nursing a nasty gash in his side next to the hut that Oliver had started in. “You might as well take Gunjar's gear. He won't be needing it anymore.”

Oliver looked at the pile of gear next to the man, and the ring spoke up. “The boots. They’re the only thing in this stage that you can Bind.” Oliver slid the boots over his rough and bleeding bare feet and thought the Bind command.

Bind [Boots]? Y/N

[Boots] Bound.

The boots fuzzed-out and back into reality. They were still on Oliver’s feet, but now they fit like they were made for him. As far as Oliver could tell, they were still just boots, but they were a heavenly balm for his formerly bare feet.

“Alright, now we prepare for spear school. Still no throwing, yet, but we’re going to poke a lot of bad guys. I’ll help shout out directions, you move and stabby-stab. Don’t engage on your own, wait for one of the locals to engage an orc, then you step in and finish it. If we do it right, everybody lives, we get ourselves another Title, and you become semi-proficient at poking things. Savvy?”

As soon as Oliver nodded, the ring barked out, “Seven o’clock!”

Oliver spun to the left and spotted the orc bearing down with a rusty machete on a villager. Oliver charged in and stabbed the orc, just before it chopped into the villager. It may not have been an instant kill, but the villager finished the job.

The ring called out directions, and Oliver rushed to stab orcs. Oliver lost count of how many they engaged somewhere in the high seventies, but the enemies kept coming, one at a time.

Ready for another orc, Oliver was caught off guard when the ring told him to take a breather. “Regular orcs are done, one hundred even. Boss coming, but you’ve got about a minute and a half.”

“Boss?” Oliver cried out. He was covered in sweat, dirt, and blood; and could barely stand on his feet. “How am I going to fight a boss like this?”

“Thanks to the axe you brought back and every villager surviving, the fight is pretty easy. Comparatively,” the ring assured him.

Somewhat mollified, Oliver crashed to the ground and hung his head between his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“Break’s over,” the ring informed him a minute later when the whole village shook with a roar. “Hey, have the dog do the thing. Cry of Strength.”

Oliver looked over to where Barton stood, watching him with worry, and asked, “Hey, bud. Wanna try out your new skill?”

Barton responded by tipping his head back and howling. Oliver and all of the villagers gained a light cloud of red dust circling around them like a tiny tornado, and Oliver immediately felt some of his strength return.

The ring answered Oliver’s unspoken question. “Don’t worry, only those under the effect of an aura can see it on allies. Aaaaand here’s the big bad guy!”

A new orc came charging into the camp, this one easily seven feet tall. The other orcs had been well-muscled, but none had been that much taller than Oliver. The boss was.

Another roar blasted out from behind Oliver, and he turned to see the villager that had met him in the hut, now brandishing his returned axe, charge towards the orc boss. He swung the axe in a massive overhead swing, but the orc caught the strike on his plank-sized rusted sword. While the strike didn’t get through, the impact forced the huge orc to his knees.

“Face your death with some courage!” the viking man shouted, raining spittle down on the orc, and then the rest of the village was there. They mobbed the orc, stabbing and slashing and swinging. It looked like Oliver wouldn’t have to do anything.

The tide shifted in an instant. Oliver felt the blast that radiated out from the orc, throwing the villagers several meters away from their target, all of them landing on their backs, seemingly stunned. The orc had used some kind of skill to clear the area around him, but he wasn’t looking so hot. Cuts and bruises covered its body and it held on to its huge sword with one hand while the other arm dangled at its side.

“Advantage to finding the axe and saving the villagers, the more people you save, the bigger a beating they lay on the bad dude until it’s one-on-one.

Oliver stuck the butt of his spear on the ground and used the weapon to help himself stand. He was sore and tired, but the enemy boss was in much worse shape.

The orc charged, with much less vigor than before, and swung his sword in a wild upwards swing. The weapon was clearly meant to be used with two hands, and the useless arm at his side wasn’t contributing to the effort.

Oliver ducked under the wild swing and stabbed up with his spear into the orc’s side. He yanked the spear back out, and the enemy orc fell to one knee. Oliver didn’t waste the opening and struck forward, right where the orc’s heart should be. The orc struggled for a moment before Oliver yanked the spear back out, then the orc fell to the ground.

Oliver expected to see the Stage Complete message and be right on to the next challenge, but the world stayed right where it was. The villagers all regained their feet and cheered, clapping Oliver on the back and praising him.

The blonde, axe-wielding villager clapped him on the shoulder, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “It has been an honor.” The other villagers cheered and began clearing the area from the battle.

“What’s going on?” Oliver asked the ring. “Why aren’t we moving on.”

“Hmm? Oh, this is a rest Stage. It’ll complete when you go to sleep, but before that, the Tutorial will provide you with food and drink in the form of a feast from the surviving villagers. Another perk from saving them all, the quality of the food goes up tremendously for each villager saved.”

The remnants of the battle were cleared away surprisingly fast, and a feast brought out from seemingly nowhere. The villagers put Oliver in a seat of importance around a blazing fire and began cooking. There were cuts of several different kinds of meat roasted over the fire, various vegetables sauteed in large cast-iron skillets, flatbreads baked on stones, and a bowl of fresh-picked berries. The villagers offered Oliver a mead-like drink of some kind as well as a mug of dark fruit juice. Oliver chose the juice.

The villagers celebrated loudly into the night, while Oliver ate his fill from their feast. He ate some of a roast bird of some kind that might have been turkey, roasted carrots and sauteed squash, and a handful of the dark berries. Barton enjoyed a large cut of what might have been venison before he came and sat in front of Oliver. Oliver knew what he wanted and invited the dog into his lap. Barton had a weird habit of keeping his back feet standing on the ground and resting his head and front legs on a lap. It looked uncomfortable to Oliver, but Barton seemed to like cuddling that way.

Oliver gazed up at the myriad stars, completely unrecognizable from the stars he and Jamie used to gaze at from the roof of their house. They’d climb out the attic window and lay on the roof, glad to be just far enough from the lights of the city to be able to enjoy some of the stars at night. However, this alien sky brought Oliver no peace.

Trinket, meanwhile, had discovered the joys of fireflies and chased the glowing bugs all around the camp, yet never catching one. Sitting in the villagers’ chair, watching Trinket’s great hunt, and rubbing the long fur on Barton’s ears, Oliver sat until he fell into a restless sleep. His dreams only of reliving the accident that took his wife from him, over and over again.

Stage 3 Complete!