When Stick awoke the next day, he felt dreadful. Although staying inside the communal tent overnight was far warmer, he hadn’t anticipated how much the snoring, tumbling, and turning of the other miners, practically piled on top of each other, would affect his sleep quality. It was a struggle to stay awake during breakfast. The warmth of the bowl in his freezing hands was so comforting that he kept nodding off, nearly dunking his face into the stew. By the time the lords were to be greeted, his bowl was still half full. Perhaps the world can wait a day or two for the Greatest Hero to get a proper night’s sleep.

  When the knights finally arrived to take them to the mines, , he got an idea. He just needed to trick Reacher into healing him. His eye bags would surely convince the Mace that he was too unwell to work. Despite Stick’s best attempt at a convincing coughing fit, Reacher didn’t dismount his horse that day.

  “Get in line,” he simply ordered.

  Stick felt unable to keep himself awake. He had to appeal to Reacher’s fondness for Players, even if the others frowned upon it. He tried to sound as hoarse as he could.

  “Please, I can barely stand.”

  “No more healing. No exceptions. Baron’s orders,” Reacher declared.

  Stick gasped but tried to maintain his composure. Becket snickered at his reaction, and Stick immediately realised what was happening. That snitch!

  “You’re definitely a Player,” Reacher said, as if to reassure himself.

  “What?” Stick asked.

  “NPCs only become ill when afflicted by disease as a game mechanic. It’s usually a specific debuff. You, on the other hand,” Reacher said, “just have a simple cold.”

  “Is that so?”

  Reacher didn’t respond. He looked shocked.

  “What’s wrong?” Becket asked, but no immediate answer came.

  Reacher pointed to Stick. “His Status.”

  Becket led his horse closer to Reacher’s, his eyes widening. “Stick… Arslan? What? Is that supposed to be a joke?”

  “Explain yourself!” the Mace barked.

  How do they know my name?

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re taking us for fools?” Becket asked. “The name on your Status wasn’t there before. How did you do it?”

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  “What? Really?” Stick completely forgot about his supposed hoarse voice, sounding a bit too cheerful despite his sleep deprivation.

  Reacher didn’t care about the feigned illness either, instead growing increasingly mad at the name. “How did you hide it?”

  “I didn’t!” Stick explained. “I just named myself yesterday.”

  “And we’re supposed to believe that?” Reacher seemed ready to dismount and throw punches, but Becket ordered him to stand down.

  “Arslan is not a surname,” Becket grunted, shaking his head.

  “What did you say?” Reacher’s frustration shifted to Becket.

  “If we are to believe his amnesia, then this would be the first time he named himself,” Becket explained. “It seems plausible that this is just a boy without memories playing dress up.”

  Reacher raised an eyebrow. “So the game accepted the first name he gave himself because it doesn’t know his real one?”

  Becket shrugged. “That’s game logic for you. Do you have any other ideas?”

  Reacher sighed. He seemed less convinced by the explanation than Becket. Once again they’re in their own world.

  “What sort of name is Stick anyway?” Reacher retorted like a petulant child.

  Without further comment, the slaves set out for the mines. The trek was particularly arduous that day because they had to trudge through freshly fallen snow. Stick rubbed some on his face to wake up more effectively. If it weren’t for his feet slowly numbing from the cold, he would have said that day felt warmer than the previous ones, with the snow having settled. Luckily, the God of Life protected their limbs from freezing entirely and withering. Damn, it’s cold.

  That didn’t mean he wouldn’t immediately use his torch to warm his stiff toes as soon as they entered the cave. And so he did. The unpleasant sensation of ants crawling all over his feet was unpleasant, but still a welcome change. I have to move if I want to have dinner though!

  Once he began to feel the ground beneath his feet again, he quickly descended into the deepest part of the mines, passing the others who had entered before him with a grin on his face as he searched for his hidden stash. He found the bag in its usual spot, untouched, and pulled out two gems. It’s all used up now.

  A wave of melancholy engulfed him. So much of his effort were now gone. The stash was an answer to the suffering he had endured after Montgomery vanished. During those gruelling months, he felt like this day would never come. That he was striving so hard for a time that would never be realised. But now that he had his stronger body, his followers and friends by his side, and an escape plan that would even persuade Sir Moore, things were different. It was either hope or lunacy that got him here. He felt a tinge of nostalgia, pondering the past. It’s only just a few more days.

  He knew he needed to find at least five more gems if he wanted priority at dinner that evening, so he hastily made his way to the tunnel, discarding the now empty sack into the large hole on the way. When he arrived at his usual spot beside PP, he quickly struck his pickaxe into the wall. It didn’t take long to find his first gem. He soon found the second, the third, and... something different. A diamond!

  Inspired by his discovery, he ploughed through the wall with relative ease, hitting it repeatedly. With powerful swings, he cleared more and more rubble and gravel. That way he could easily—

  Someone grabbed him by the makeshift mantle he wore and yanked him back. He choked on the knot tied around his neck to keep the mantle secure, so he attempted to slip out of it. He found himself thrown onto his backside just a few metres away from where he was working. Since they never lit their torches down there, he couldn’t see what was happening. What the hell is PP doing?

  The Prized Possession, the only other man down there with Stick , placed a hand on his shoulder.

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