The first thing that Allen did after waking was to immediately regret waking up. The stench of shit was overpowering and he was half certain it was what woke him up. To make matters worse, when he tried to breathe through his mouth he could taste it on his tongue, which made him gag and dry heave. He turned on his side to throw up, but there simply wasn't anything in it to vomit.
All in all, it was a rather rude awakening.
"What happened to me?" Allen wondered as he struggled to move past his headache and rebellious stomach in search of his last memories. He grasped at them, but they slipped through his fingers like smoke. Then, without any warning, they slammed into him like a truck.
"Ohh...I died again," Allen mused to himself as he rolled over onto his back, idly patting the damp cloth of his blazer that hid the wound that killed him, right over his heart. He stared up at the blue sky and did his best to ignore the stench of shit and the noise around him. A bunch of emotions swirled in his chest, but, upon reflecting on it, he realized that the one that stood out the most was the sense of satisfaction.
The first time he had died, it had been in an alleyway in his hometown on Christmas eve. There hadn't been a reason for it, not one that he was aware of at any rate. Some wanker had just run up to him as he walked home and stabbed him to death. Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe he was a target. For all Allen knew, he was murdered purely for the prick's own enjoyment.
This time had been different, though. This time, he had died for a reason, a cause even.
Allen spent a year rising in the ranks of a criminal organization once he found himself in a new world after his first death. First, he started as a dish washer but became a criminal so he could stop worrying if he'd have enough to pay rent. Time went by and thanks to luck, or in most cases bad luck, he found himself as the right hand to a man that was building a criminal empire across the country.
He did a number of jobs, going down the rabbit hole and growing stronger as he did. He enjoyed the perks, all the money and power and respect...Allen had been sixteen when he found himself in that world and at the age of seventeen, he found the world was his play thing.
Then, one day, he saw something he couldn't unsee. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how he tried to look the other way or pretend that he didn't see it, no matter what...what he saw was seared into his brain. It kept him up at night. It plagued him when he was awake and when he was alone with his thoughts, it tormented him until he was left breathless.
The image of a little girl...a little girl that was chained to a bed, her face beaten bloody and a fat old man on top of her.
Allen was a criminal. He was a drug dealer. He was a murder. Allen Walker was not a good person, he hadn't been a good person in a year. He was painfully aware of his innocence being chipped away with every murder he committed and every drug he sold.
Allen Walker knew how deep and dark the rabbit hole of crime went...and the type of people that were in that darkness. The people that thrived in it, that relished in causing pain to others, or worse, being utterly indifferent to it.
He managed to ignore it for the most part. Pretend that darkness wasn't connected to him by ordering others to deal with it. He had even managed to turn up his nose in distaste when he heard about human trafficking and pretend that he had nothing to do with it.
But Allen had. He knew that it happened, he knew there was a market, he knew that people were kidnapped, bought and then sold to the highest bidder. He knew it. He had just pretended that he hadn't. He was guilty of inaction and willful ignorance.
Until he couldn't anymore. And then it became too much. The rich foods that he ate tasted like ash. The joy he found in being respected and feared felt hollow and false. Everything dimmed, colors became dull and sounds were muted. There was nothing but that image of that little girl crying as she was beaten and raped.
Allen really hadn't planned for what happened next. He had just wanted it to stop. He wanted to stop what was happening in the back rooms of those clubs, he wanted to stop the buying and selling of people and he wanted to stop those that went in those clubs from hurting anyone else. Then, after that, he would pat himself on the back for a job well done, feel like a hero and everything would go back to normal.
Except it hadn't gone down like he was expecting.
Allen killed everyone in the club; the managers and the customers in a cold, focused rage of the likes he had never felt before. After everyone was dead and he was soaked in blood, only then did he realize what he had done but he hadn't regretted it. Not one bit. He freed those that had been abused, doing the only thing he knew how to help and just threw money at them so they could be cared for. Then he marched to Junior's office, his boss, and demanded that the practice be abolished in the criminal underworld.
They had a bit of a falling out after that. Junior wanted the business back for the money it made and Allen was against it. Then Junior tried to kill Allen, Allen tried to kill Junior and before he knew it, the empire was torn in half and plunged into a civil war.
A lot of people died. Not all of the criminals.
The end of the war hadn't been what Allen had expected. People made wars sound like they were only fought on fields and only ended when the opposing side was a pile of corpses. Instead, Junior ambushed Allen and managed to stab him through the heart. A blow that Allen returned, killing Junior.
Allen had made sure that there were others to carry on his work, making sure that there were only willing victims to the criminal underworld and Allen was sure that Junior did the same. However, he held out hope that his side would win after his second death.
"Didn't expect to wake up, though," he mused to himself aloud. However, he guessed that he shouldn't be too shocked. After his first death, he had found himself in that whiteness with those words that haunted him until this very day.
Would you like to start a new game?
He had said yes...still wasn't sure if he regretted it. When he found himself in that new world, he found himself with powers that boggled the mind.
Allen Walker was The Gamer.
'Status window,' he summoned the screen, wondering what effects death would have on his stats.
Allen Walker
Title: The Gamer
Level 1
HP: 100
Strength 5
Endurance 5
Dexterity 5
Intelligence 5
Wisdom 5
Charisma 5
Points to spend: 0
Oh, god! No..no...this can't be happening to him! All of his stat points were reduced to five?! Before he kicked the bucket, all of them were in the triple digits! They were even lower than the first time he had died! He was even a level one again...agh, ohh the humanity!
Allen let out a groan as he bounced his head off the cobble stone that he was laying on. He wanted to scream his frustration to the heavens, letting whatever arsehole of a deity that inhabited those blue skies know what he thought of this atrocity, but he kept it in. Based on the sounds that were around him, he was in a public setting. He didn't bother looking around him; if anything, he was afraid of what he would see. The stench was awful and he was willing to be the sight would be just as bad.
Quickly moving past his frustration of being robbed of a year's hard work, of the results of blood, pain, sweat, and tears had brought him, he noticed that he had two new stats. Well, Endurance was another word for Vitality, but Charisma wasn't there before. At the same time, he was missing his luck skill entirely. Not that Allen really minded too much, his bad luck never changed no matter how high he raised it, but it was odd not seeing it there.
A quick tap on his title screen and he saw that all of the titles that he earned were missing. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from throwing a tantrum worthy of legends. It was when he was making an active effort to move past the loss, that he noticed that he was lacking his Mp bar.
'That's not a good sign,' he thought to himself. It was clear that the game's rules had changed and that he was reset back to being a newb. He was in a new world again, a new 'game', meaning that this 'game' went by different rules than the last one. Which meant that he would have to play differently. Before he had been akin to a mage character but without a mp bar, that option was no longer on the table.
It took all of his willpower to look at his Skill window and when he did, it was nothing short of a miracle that he didn't start crying.
Gamer Body (passive)- Ability to allow the user to live in reality as if it were a game.
Gamer Mind (passive)- Allows the user to calmly and logically to think things through. Immunity to all physiological effects.
God...this was awful. This was, without a single doubt, the worst thing that had ever happened to him...and he had died! Twice! All of his precious skills, all that time he spent grinding them...they're gone...
Allen groaned again pathetically, his eyes tearing up at his loss. His skills...his precious skills...gone in the wind. Never to be seen again...well, unless he grinded to get them back but holy hell, he did not look forward to spending days on end trying to get all of his skills back. He couldn't even get all of them...Gah, the thing he was going to miss the most was throwing fireballs. Like a bonafide mage!
Clenching his eyes shut for a long moment, he summoned the courage to open his inventory. However, it still took him a long moment to bring himself to actually look at it. Even with the aid of Gamer Mind, if he saw that his inventory had been cleaned out then he was going to cry his eyes out and use language so foul that the devil would jump out of his seat. Bystanders be damned.
He almost started laughing as relief washed over him. He still had most of his items. All of his posh suits, three for every day of the year, all of his food, his phone, and the few odds and ends that he kept in his inventory in case of an emergency or jokes. What he did notice was the absence of all of the drugs he kept on his person, not for him to use but to sell, all the money and his weapons. The only thing that remained in his inventory that could even be called a weapon was a small pocket knife from his original world.
That would be a loss but Allen could rationalize it. Clothing and food weren't much and his phone made the first trip with him the first world, but the others had been unique to the world. So, they were plucked from his inventory. Very annoying, but he could live with their loss. Probably.
Allen let out a sigh as he closed his eyes again, letting it all sink in. He accepted his death easily enough, but the loss of his skills and stats were a lot harder to swallow. He knew he could rise back up, possibly even better now he knew what he was doing, but it was the fact that all of that hard word was simply gone.
Now, he was most likely in a new world, again. He would have to start from scratch, again. That was what he wasn't looking forward to. He spent the last few months training his skills and when he wasn't doing that, he was relaxing near the pool. Allen was living the good life and he didn't want to wade through all that crap again just to get another taste of it.
"Oi, you dead?" Allen heard a voice ask him. He was faintly annoyed someone had interrupted his internal reflection, but he was thankful that he could understand the local language. Though, he did have an accent that Allen couldn't place. It wasn't British, like him, and it didn't sound American.
"Not yet," Allen answered opening his eyes. He saw a boy standing over him, looking at him with curious eyes. He couldn't be any older than thirteen if that. What stood out the most was the fact that his face was covered in dirt, his hair looked like it hadn't been washed in months and Allen was almost thankful that the stench of shit was clogging his nose because the child looked like he reeked.
A skill has been created through a special action
Observe Lvl 1 Exp: 0%- Paying close attention to your surroundings and gather information by doing so.
Ahh...observe. It had taken him so long to see that this skill had any use. Though, as a newb, he wasn't looking forward to the skill being created when he did every little action.
"Hmmm...you gonna be dyin' soon?" The child asked and Allen looked faintly annoyed. He glanced up at the information floating above his head.
Bronn
22
Sell-sword
"Probably but I think I have a little time before I kick the bucket again," Allen mused, craning his neck to see more of the child. It was then that he noticed something very odd.
There was a sword in his belt. Like an actual sword. Not only that, his clothing was ragged and torn, but it looked like something a peasant would wear during the middle ages. Looking past the child, he saw that he was in an alleyway and those that walked in the open road didn't look much better.
Then he noticed the buildings. The cobblestone looked old, but not ancient. The buildings were made of wood and stone, the people that walked the streets looked poor and all their clothing were of terrible quality.
What stood out the most was how much it looked like something he would expect to see on a tv show based on the medieval ages.
'Ahh...shit,' Allen thought drily as he let out a sigh. As if things weren't bad enough, he was now in the medieval ages, or at least in the past of a world that went through a similar age. He had lucked out the first time, the world he found himself had been futuristic. Now he found himself in what was called the dark ages...and he was willing to be the clothes on his back that this worlds wasn't any different than his original worlds.
There were many good reasons while that point in time was called the dark ages.
Life was brutally short and it could end for any number of a hundred reasons. Starvation, bandits, disease, crossing the local lord to just name a few. The peasantry only bathed once a year, and if that wasn't gross enough, they shared the bathwater. The food they ate lacked just about every vitamin that they needed to grow healthy; usually consisting of some kind of soup with some vegetables and a little bit of meat if they were lucky; though, it was usually wasn't prepared properly or old. The homes were little more than hovels made out of sticks and rocks. When winter came around, they did next to nothing to keep the chill out.
It was also a violent time. Knight were not good people. Stories of them saving the princesses were just that; stories. A knight was someone that was trained for years to do violence and they were trained to be brutal at it. In times of war, there was no one Allen would rather have his back, but in times of peace, they were a nightmare. People died daily because some peasant annoyed a knight said knight remembered it had been a couple of days since he killed anyone.
It was so bad that was one of the key factors for the first Crusade. Pope Urban II wanted the violent knights and soldiers out of Europe more than he wanted the Holy Land.
Chivalry wasn't what the movies made it out to be. It wasn't bowing and opening doors for women, it focused more between men. It was the code of honor that tied them and dictated how they should treat others based on the rigid social rules of feudalism. For example; a knight told another knight that he was going to kill him if he was chivalrous then he would be forced to carry out that threat in a duel. However, if that same knight went home and beat his wife black and blue then he'd still be considered a chivalrous knight because his wife and daughter were considered below him in social status; thus he could treat them as he pleased.
This was also a point in time that women weren't really considered people. Their nickname was 'breeders' because they were used for that exact reason. A woman didn't have a say in anything and if she ever acted out, death was the usual punishment. Like if a noble woman lost her virginity before she was married and a scandal couldn't be afforded, she could be stoned to death. If she was lucky, or unlucky, she would be disfigured publicly. The best she could hope for was a walk of shame and be disinherited once it was over.
Wars were waged constantly and all the shit that came with it. Rape, plundering, death, sickness...
Then there was the nobility. Peasants were slaves in all but name. They had to ask their liege for permission to do just about everything, in theory. Having kids, getting married, buying new tools, improving the home, buying cattle, trading, leaving, and more. Most nobles let the peasants have some autonomy but the fact was that at any time the noble could say no and the peasants were forced to obey.
Allen didn't even want to get started about the abuses of that power.
The point was, the medieval times was a shit point in history.
And Allen found himself in it.
Seriously, he needed to invest in luck this go around. Heavily.
"You're pretty talkative for someone who's bleedin out. From the heart by the looks of it," Bronn commented as he poked the patch of wet cloth on Allen's suit. Allen looked down and saw that his suit was mostly whole, but his blood soaked through a fair portion of his chest.
"Eh, figured I'd die as I lived. Annoying," Allen replied, shrugging as much as he could, deciding to play along purely for his own amusement. Bronn snorted a laugh at that.
"Well, not ta rush you or anything, but would you mind hurrying it up? I like the look of your shoes," he commented, giving them what could only be described as a longing gaze. Allen couldn't blame him, his dress shoes were so comfortable that he sometimes used them as slippers.
"Wow. Aren't you just a shining beacon of humanity. You see a poor, dying man laying in a shit soaked alley and your first thought is what you can nick off him after he meets his maker?" Allen asked and Bronn seemed amused by that.
"I'm better than half this lot," he gestured around them. "At least I'll wait until your dead before taking your shoes. Most of 'em would but a knife in you just so they could have 'em. And," he reached down and pinched Allen's blazer and rolled it between his fingers. He seemed impressed by the quality of it. Which he should be. Allen paid a bloody fortune for this suit.
"You don't seem like your poor," he continued, lifting up one flap of his jacket and let out a low whistle by the smooth lining. "Can I have your clothes too? Never seen anything something as fine as this," he commented, lifting the other flap and stared blankly at what he was seeing. The dress shirt underneath it was torn where an anti-armor missile had hit Allen in the heart so Bronn could see the...scar of the wound. A giant patch of stark white flesh in a jagged circle marked where his heart was supposed to be.
"Fair enough, but no. alas, I feel the ice cold hands of death receding. I'll think I'll pull through," Allen commented, lightly smacking the child's hands away. Bronn just backed up meekly, trying to process what he had seen and Allen watched as the cogs turned in the kids head. Then, just like that, the weariness receded and the look of neutrality surfaced.
"You sure? A poke through the heart is pretty fatal. I can put you out your misery if you want," Bronn offered and Allen shot him a look before shaking his head. Perhaps, in a different life, he would have been shocked at a child barely in his teens offering to off him. Now it was just amusing; mostly because Bronn seemed like he was use to killing.
That was what Allen had a little trouble accepting.
"I'm sure. Thank you for your oh-so-generous offer," Allen said, declining. Bronn pursed his lips into a line, his hand resting on the short sword at his belt. He tilted his head at Allen, considering him for a moment and Allen did the same to him, though for different reasons.
Bronn was level 22. From his glimpse at the road, he saw that the average adult was in the 10-15 range while children were in the 5-10 range. That meant that Bronn, despite being so young, had some experience. Unfortunately, due to his setback, Allen was currently level 1, so Bronn was over twenty levels above him and since Observe was also back a level 1, he couldn't see his stats either.
"Who are you?" Bronn asked suddenly, his eyes darting down to the wet patch on his blazer. Luckily the spear that killed him had missed the blazer on the front side since Allen had it open when he fought. Though there would still be a hole on the back side but Allen could deal with that problem later.
"I'm me," Allen stated, looking baffled by the question, though he hid a grin. "Who else could I be?"
Bronn didn't look pleased with the answer, "you're dressed all fancy like but I found you bleedin out in some alley in fleabottom! Then, all of a sudden, you ain't bleedin out anymore and that scar where you heart is looks likes it old but the blood on that coat of yours is fresh as can be! Who are you?" The child demanded again, gripping his sword and making a show of it.
Allen almost forgot to be intimidated by the show, momentarily forgetting that he might not win this fight against this child. However, he smiled before bowing at the waist, surprising Bronn into taking a step back.
"The names Allen Walker. As for why I'm suddenly not dying...well, that's a bit of a long story. Let's just call me a quick healer," Allen said with a shrug. Before Bronn could press what he meant about that, Allen made a show of glancing down at the sword at the child's waist before meeting his eye again.
"You sell that sword?" He asked, already knowing the answer thanks to his title. Bronn looked a little surprised by the sudden shift in topic but a glimmer of greed entered his eyes as he squared his shoulders, smelling profit. He still had a lot of questions but Bronn clearly had his priorities straight.
"Aye, I do. You wanting to buy it?" He asked, trying to make himself seem like an adult. Allen smiled, fond memories of trying to do the same when he knew he was in way over his head surfaced. Just like that, Allen took a liking to the child.
"I do. I don't have any money-" Allen began and the professional look evaporated like water thrown on a fire, replaced with annoyance.
"Then why you offering to buy it then?" He snapped at Allen, his temper flaring. Time was money and wasted time was wasted money.
"Instead, I'll pay you with these," Allen continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. He reached into his coat pocket, though he reached into his inventory, and pulled out a pair of shoes.
Bronn's eyes went the size of dinner plates as he numbly took the shoes that were placed into his hands. His jaw dropped as he looked between the shoes and Allen, trying to piece together what he just saw. He knew for fact that there weren't any shoes hiding about when he checked Allen's jacket, yet here they were.
After trying, and failing, to understand just where Allen had pulled the shoes from, he gaped at Allen's grinning face. It looked a lot like a cat who was about to eat the canary.
"Who are you?" Bronn couldn't stop himself from asking again. He heard stories about magic growing up, tales of old men with pointy hats and long bearded doing things that normal people couldn't explain. Things like lighting candles from across the room or lifting things with their minds. Magic...wizards...that was the only thing that he could think of when he looked down at the shoes that Allen had made appear from thin air.
"I told you, the names Allen Walker," Allen beamed at the child, basking in his confusion. It was thoroughly amusing. "And, your new employer," he continued, giving the child a pat on the head. He instantly regretted it, his hand slick with grease and he rubbed it off on the child's sleeve.
Bronn just looked up at him dumbly before he shook his head.
"The pay better be good," he muttered more to himself as he kicked off the rags he called shoes and put on his new ones.
Allen smiled as he waved off Bronn's concerns, "don't you worry about that. One of my only redeeming qualities is that I take care of those that work for me." He assured as he walked past the child and into the street. Yep, it looked exactly as terrible as he expected a medieval city. The paint was chipped away and faded due to time and neglect. The streets were a murky brown color and Allen idly realized that he knew why as a woman threw the contents of a pot onto the street.
Allen gagged as he stepped around the disgusting contents, shooting a look at the woman before all but diving out the way when she tried to empty another pot on his head.
So...he was in a new world again, but this time, he wasn't going to luck out a meet someone that liked his face enough to offer a job. He was going to have start from scratch and he couldn't count on anyone's help.
"I have to be a self-made man," he mused, not pleased with the prospect. He already made himself a self-made man before, not counting the fact that it was mostly due to dumb luck and lying, so he wasn't looking forward to repeating the process over again. What could he do, though?
'First things first, I need money,' Allen thought to himself as he wandered aimlessly through the streets. A quick look over his shoulder and he saw Bronn following him, looking utterly amazed by the quality of his new shoes. That was good, it would keep Bronn interested in working for him until he could afford to pay him again and Allen doubted that he would accept another pair of shoes.
Allen, despite all of his griping and complaining, was actually more prepared to face this new world than he was the first go around. He had a better handle on his Gamer abilities, he didn't have a mental breakdown and an existential crisis, and he had experience being his own man.
Not only that, this was startlingly similar to several daydreams that he had back during his maths when he was supposed to be doing work. It was a fantasy that everyone had at least once; what would he do if he found himself back in time with all his modern knowledge?
The trend was him bringing modern technology, or at least less archaic, and getting rich off it. Then he would gather influence with that money, which he would turn into power. With that power, he would bring enlightenment to this backwater time, dispel their ill-conceived notions of the shape of the planet and its place in the universe before destroying the ideas that a woman is good for nothing other than having children and the gays needed to be set on fire. He would throw away feudalism along with the idea that blood determined right and ability.
By doing so, Allen would usher in a golden age that would last for a thousand years and be remembered as the greatest badass that there ever has, and ever will, been. That's how it always went in his head for the most part.
It was time to live out his daydreams and flip this world on its head. First things first, he needed to overcome his first obstacle in the way of greatness.
Poverty.
"Bronn," Allen said as he came into what looked like a market area. The buildings stopped being so jammed together and made a large square that was filled with stalls and people screaming before shoving stuff in his face. His bodyguard snapped to attention, managing to break free of his wonderment at the sound of his name and his eyes narrowed.
"How do you know my name?" He demanded, not sounding pleased at the prospect of an all knowing employer. It was weird enough that he's pulling things from thin air, but knowing things that he shouldn't was where Bronn drew the line.
"Because it's hanging over your head," Allen answered, giving Bronn a crooked grin. "It's the same way I knew you were a sell-sword," he added, telling the truth. Allen let out a bark of laughter as Bronn looked up, searching for the information and he only stopped when Allen snapped to get his attention.
"Do you know how to pick a pocket?" He asked, getting to the point. Bronn's grumpy and confused expression melted into neutrality as he gave a half-hearted shrug.
"Depends, you paid me for my sword. You didn't say nothin' about stealing," Bronn said, doing his best to sound like an upstanding citizen. He failed miserably.
Allen just reached into his blazer and pulled out half of a sandwich. Bronn tried as hard as he could but he couldn't stop the hungry look in his eye as he stared at the sandwich with the intensity only those that went hungry had. That was ham, fresh by the looks of it, and that green leaf stuff looked tasty as well.
Allen tore the half sandwich in half before handing it to Bronn, who wolfed it down in a single bite and licked his fingers greedily once he was done. Bronn eyed the other half but Allen pulled back just enough that Bronn could still focus on him out of the corner of his vision.
"It was good, right? If you pick two heavy wa-purses, then I'll give you a sandwich that's a foot long." He offered before plonking the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. Bronn disappeared into the crowd faster than he could blink.
Chuckling to himself, Allen entered the market district looking for a mark himself. Having more money was never a bad thing and it would let him reclaim one of his favorite skills.
Allen forced his way through the crowd, looking for someone that seemed like they could miss a few coins without going hungry. It was difficult, everyone was dressed in rags and covered in dirt and grease. Almost everyone looked like they were a day away from starving and that was those with money to buy food with. The beggars that hovered on the edges of the square looked like they hadn't seen a meal in weeks.
He had to walk up some steps before he stumbled into the richer market district. It was a little more spacious, enough so that he saw Bronn darting between people. The quality of the customers went up a little but it still took some time before Allen found someone that met his standards.
'Observe,' Allen used a mental command to activate the skill.
Quentin Rosby
12
Heir to house Rosby
Opinion of you: ?
Traits: ?
Stats:
Strength ?
Endurance ?
Dexterity ?
Intelligence?
Wisdom ?
Charisma ?
Luck ?
Son to ?. Here to buy perfume for his beloved ?.
Ohhh! What was this? Opinion of him? Traits? Those were new! They were missing because of his Observe being so low, but Allen made it a priority to grind the skill. Opinion could be a life saver and knowing someone's traits would make judging people's character much easier. It would also make knowing who to trust so very simple; a quick look at their opinion and if they had any bad traits that prompted disloyalty and that was that.
Suspecting that his opinion would have gone down if he knew what was about to happen to him, Allen walked towards the man as he haggled with a merchant. Pretending to be interested in the wares, Allen reached into his pocket and pulled the pocket knife out of his inventory. Once he was close, thanks to the knife being razor sharp, Allen sliced the string that connected it to his pants before tucking the pouch of coins into his inventory.
Through a special action, a skill has been created!
Pickpocket Lvl 1 Exp:0%- Going through someone's pockets and taking what you like as your own.
Ignoring the distressed cry, Allen opened his inventory and looked at his money counter. Unlike before, it didn't show dollar and cent signs. Now it showed gold, silver, and pence. The last one he recognized as his homeland's version of the penny and here he was guessing it represented bronze. The money system was straight forward, but he didn't know how much they were worth.
What could he buy with two pence? A silver stag? What could he buy with a golden dragon? Allen didn't know if he had a fortune in his pocket or if he was just a step above broke. Currently, he had five silver stags and fifteen pence. With any luck, Bronn would be able to answer some of his questions after handing over his ill-gotten gains.
Allen tools seat on some steps that overlooked the marketplace and flipped a coin in between his fingers as he waited for Bronn. After a few minutes, he frowned as he glanced down at the coin, thinking that he should have gotten a point for dexterity by now since the stat was so low.
However, before Allen got the chance to analyze the lack of results, Bronn entered his vision, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. He tossed three bags at him in quick succession, which Allen caught deftly.
Through quick reflexes, your dexterity has risen by 1.
Allen dismissed the window with a mental command before shoving the pouches into his inventory. His money counter spiraled upwards until it showed that he had eighteen silver stags and fifty-six pence.
"Good," Allen praised, sparing Bronn a glance. The boy was staring at him, trying to figure him out but judging by the constipated look on his face, Bronn wasn't making much progress. Allen wasn't exactly helping by actively trying to be mysterious just to screw with him.
"You're not going to count it?" Bronn asked, sounding baffled.
"No need. Not counting the money that you pocketed," Bronn went ramrod straight at the accusation. He opened his mouth to defend himself but Allen waved the concerns away lazily.
"You're a starving kid and a greedy one at that. I'd be shocked if you didn't," Allen said before he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the sandwich as promised. Bronn was practically salivating as he looked at it before doing his best to make it disappear once Allen handed it over.
"Anyway, we have eighteen stags and fifty-six pence adding it all together. Is that a lot-don't speak with your mouth full, it's bad manners." Allen chastised when Bronn tried to answer, chewed up sandwich trying to make a break for it out of his mouth. Obediently, Bronn swallowed before speaking as quickly as he could so he could get back to finishing the half devoured sandwich.
"Well, you could get a room at a nice inn for a night or, you could get a couple days worth of food. It's not a lot, but it ain't nothin to sneeze at either." Bronn answered, giving him an odd look as he took a much more muted bite of his sandwich. Allen rose an eyebrow, waiting for the question that the child wanted to ask. Bronn made sure to swallow before asking.
"Why don't you know what coin is worth? Haven't you ever bought somethin before?" Bronn asked quickly before eating again. Allen just chuckled as he shrugged.
"I have, but I've never used gold and silver before. Where I'm from we used paper for the most part," he answered before cutting Bronn off when he tried to hastily swallow to shoot off another question. "Can I pay someone to take me with them on a caravan or a ship with this much?"
Bronn shrugged helplessly, "dunno. I've never traveled on a ship or with a caravan before," he said honestly. When Allen looked disappointed by the answer, he was quick to offer a solution, "But we can find out if we head to the docks. I know fer fact that much will get you a spot in the cargo bay, at least."
"Perfect," Allen said, a plan slowly forming in his mind. One thing was for certain, he was leaving this city even if it was the last thing he did. Even in the past hour, he hadn't gone nose blind to the stench of shit that clung to everything and he wasn't planning on staying long enough to become nose blind to it.
"Lead the way," he ordered, glancing up at the huge castle that stood out against the skyline. It was very imposing and the red and black banners with a three-headed dragon only added to that. Though, he hoped that wasn't a sign that dragons existed in this world because that was a whole lot of fire breathing nope as far as he was concerned. Maybe when he wasn't a newb, he'd consider becoming a dragon slayer but until then he wanted the overgrown lizards to stay the hell away from him.
Breaking his gaze away from the castle, with a mental command, he summoned his map function. He saw a little arrow representing him and golden arrows that he was guessing represented the place's, which was called Kings Landing, version of the police. Zooming out until he was looking at continents.
The one on the right was called Westeros and the one on the left was Essos. Very clever. Zooming in a little, he saw little icons that spotted the area across Westeros and with the key, he saw that they were villages, cities, and castles. There was a filter to show the nobility of Westeros and Allen pressed it before taking a long look at the names. Tygarians, Lannisters, Tyrells, Baratheons. Starks...those seemed to be the names worth knowing by the looks of it but the rest of the names were a jumbled mess.
Allen didn't really understand what he was looking at too much and that frustrated him to no end. Before he could have glanced at this map and knew everything about it but now it felt like his thoughts were moving at a snails pace. Allen hadn't really ever notice himself becoming a genius because the stat increases had been gradual, however, now that it was in the lower single digits he felt like an idiot in comparison.
It was the same with all of his other stats as well. His body felt stiffer and weaker, like his spine might as well be a steel rod while his arms could be wet noodles for all the strength they had in them.
Yet, he had still managed to catch the bags, so his dexterity was still there. Before his first death, he wouldn't have made those catches and he wouldn't have made it some time afterward either. His dexterity, his reflexes, were still there. It was just felt like they were painfully slow.
Realizing that he was getting sidetracked, Allen tapped one of the filters on the edge of the map; development. Just like that, Allen decided that Westeros wasn't the place for him at the moment. Almost all of the North was blacked out with specs of gray. The rest of Westeros was much the same, specs of brighter shades of gray in almost random places. From what he was seeing, the only places in Westeros that were worth living in was in the Reach or Dorne.
Maybe he would have considered living there, but his attention was drawn to Essos, or rather the several cities that were larger than the rest of the smaller ones that dotted the coast. They were almost white, meaning that they were very developed, especially in comparison to Westeros.
Disguising it as scratching his nose, Allen pressed on the city called Myr, seeing that it was the whitest one out of the three cities near what was called the Disputed Lands. A rough summary appeared revealing next to no information, but it was enough for him to get an idea of what the city had to offer.
From the looks of it, it was almost like Venice during the Renaissance. A great focus on music, arts, and learning; something about being the best glass blowers and crossbows. He zoomed in and while the picture was 2D, Allen thought it would look rather pretty if it was as rich as it sounded. A quick press on the economy filter and Allen confirmed that it was.
'You'll do just nicely,' Allen thought to himself. If he really was going to even try this whole 'flip the world on its head' thing, then he needed somewhere to build a power base. Considering how rigid feudalism was, he was going to have trouble doing that here unless he became a knight or something. The only way that would happen was if there was a tourney open to peasants or if there was a war and after a quick check to with the waring filter, he saw that there wasn't.
There was one in Myr over the disputed lands against Tyrosh and Lys, making it even more appealing. War, as terrible as it was, breed opportunities. Maybe he could become a sell-sword like Bronn and make a little gold that way while grinding to earn his previous levels and stats back; two birds with one stone. It had been much the same reason why he became a criminal on the planet Remnant.
It didn't take long for the stench of rotting fish with a twinge of salt was added to the usual smell. Then a minute later, Allen came face to face with the docks. It wasn't as large as he was expecting but there were at least a dozen boats with their white sails standing tall as sailors carried crates from the hold.
There was a strip of buildings that looked like they could be warehouses and...oh...boobs...yeah, that was probably a brothel. Some of them, however, seemed in better condition and Allen deduced that they where they housed the managers for various businesses.
With a path in mind. He started down the steps, a...well, sad wasn't the right word. Disappointed that Bronn's easiest, and best paying, job was coming to an end was closer to the mark. He trailed behind Allen, hand resting on his sword and tried to not look disappointed as he scanned the ships.
Allen saw this and gave the child a pat on the back, "don't look so down. You'll be coming with me," he informed and Allen feared Bronn would get whiplash with how fast his attention snapped to him.
"I'm what?" Bronn demanded, sounding too surprised to sound angry.
"I can't say for certain since I don't know how much a dragon is worth, but those shoes of yours are worth at least one," Allen informed and Bronn's jaw dropped. He stared down at his feet in disbelief before he realized that he did believe it. The shoes were so comfortable that it was what he imagined walking on a cloud would be like; they were without a doubt the nicest things he had ever seen, much less owned.
Shutting his jaw with a click, knowing that he'd sooner part with his life before these shoes, he nodded in reluctant acceptance. It wasn't like he had anything that was weighing him down in Kings Landing and Allen paid well, better than any previous employer. So, he was going to chase the money and stick with Allen until he ran out of coin or he was offered more.
"I've never been on a ship before," he admitted before looking back at the ships with renewed interest. "where we goin'," he asked, glancing up at Allen.
"Myr. Know anything about it?" Allen asked, expecting the shake of Bronn's head. "Me neither, but I'm hoping that it doesn't reek of shit and there's more opportunity there to make a fortune."
"You plannin on being a sell-sword?" Bronn asked, looking surprised. Every sell-sword worth their salt knew about the three free cities and the lands they fought over. Allen idly thought with some amusement that Bronn was going to be experiencing that a lot with him.
"More or less, at least until I have enough gold to start a company," he replied as he scanned the information of those that walked by the, searching for someone that was either a captain or knew a captain going to the free city. From what he was seeing, the average dock worker was level 15 and they looked exactly like they do in the cartoons. Big bald men with tattoos of mermaids and anchors.
He had a general idea of what he needed to do thanks to years upon years of daydreams. Now it was just enacting that plan that he never thought he would use.
"You know how to fight?" Bronn pressed and Allen gave a half hearted shrug. While he had been a force to be reckoned with before, he wasn't sure how he would stand up to the world's population. Unlike his last world, assuming that this was a normal medieval time period and not a fantasy one with elves and dwarves, the people of this world probably didn't have abilities akin to superpowers.
The bar was a lot lower than the one Allen was use to fighting at. It was just Allen's stupidly low stats that had him worried.
"Even with the..you know?" Bronn continued to press, checking to see if anyone was listening. Allen let out a laugh at both the question and how suspicious he made himself look by doing it.
"Yes, even with the you know. Speaking about the you know, you're reacting to that very well," Allen observed. From his understanding of the medieval times, the knee-jerk reaction to seeing something that you didn't understand was to set it on fire.
Bronn shrugged, looking like he wanted to ask a thousand questions but didn't know how to start. Allen watched the cogs turn in his head, opening his mouth to say something before closing it with a click. He shrugged again and let out a breath, a look of resignation on his face.
"I'm not," he said honestly, "but if you don't do anything too queer then I won't let it bother me."
"Fair enough," Allen admitted as he saw what he was looking for out of the corner of his eye. Ignoring the absolutely perfect pair of breasts that tried to attach themselves to his arm, something that Bronn struggled with significantly more, Allen walked into the tavern/brothel. It only took a little bit of common sense to figure out what a bunch of men would want to do after spending so much time on the sea.
The tavern looked well maintained, better than he was expecting but Allen figured that made sense. They had great, constant business so they would have the money to make sure that the place didn't look so filthy you could catch a venereal disease just by walking through the door. Barely clad women served as both the waitresses and the -er, entertainment. The room was filled with a mess of noise; music, talking and the sounds of sex. The smell was terrible but it was better than what he was dealing with before.
Walking up to the barkeep, he took a seat and rose a two fingers. Bronn took a seat next to him, his eyes glued to a pair of bouncy breasts and Allen just shook his head in exasperation. He wasn't going to pull the holier than thou attitude because he was certain that he was just as bad when he saw boobs for the first time.
It took some time for his drinks, which seemed to be ale, though Allen knew precisely piss all about alcohol, and he gave the barkeep a winning smile. The older man rolled his eyes, already knowing what this was about before he grabbed a glass and spat in it before taking out a dish rag that looked like it was also soaked in spit. Suddenly, Allen didn't want to drink his ale anymore.
"Whatcha want to know?" He asked as he 'cleaned' away, his thick moustache twitching occasionally.
"Where's a captain that can take me to Myr? If not there, then one of the other free cities?" Allen asked, deciding to get right to the point. The barkeep seemed to ponder the question for a long time and it was Allen's turn to roll his eyes. He placed a silver stag onto the table and it was snatched up before he could blink.
"The dark skinned one in the corner on the right. He's a merchant, didn't say in what, but he's taking passengers since his usual run is a bit small since it's the start of winter n' all," the barkeep was happy to inform and Allen gave him a painfully fake smile. Now that he was broke again, every pence was painful to give away.
Grabbing his untouched drink, and Bronn by the shoulder to break him out of his daze, he crossed the room towards the man sitting in the corner. He was drinking alone, but that seemed to be by choice based on how fine his clothing was. Unlike everyone else in this shit-reeking city, he wasn't dressed in old stained rags. He was also clean, planting him at number two of his favorite people in this world.
Alim Nazzier
15
Merchant
"Evening," Allen greeted placing his drink on the table before sliding it over to Alim. The deeply tanned man rose an eyebrow in response as he took the beverage. Allen gestured to the chair and Alim did the same, signaling Allen could sit down.
"I heard that you're sailing to Myr and had some room in your ship," Allen said as sat. Bronn took a chair next to him and he did his best to act like he was paying attention.
"In a sense. I have business in Volantis but my final destination is Myr," Alim corrected, glancing at the barkeep with an unreadable expression. When he looked back at Allen, he asked, "you wish to come? The two of you?"
"I do, and my ah," Allen floundered for a moment as he looked at Bronn. "Little brother will be coming as well," he decided and Alim cocked his head to the side, eyes darting between them.
"You look nothing alike," he said after a moment. Bronn had chestnut brown hair and matching eyes. Allen's hair was gray with patches of black while his eyes were silver with strands of black appearing almost randomly in his iris. At least until they hit a ring of black around his iris, making the fact that his eyes were silver stand out strikingly.
He looked like no other that Alim had ever seen before, including the Targaryens, meaning that there wasn't much of a family resemblance. Not only that, Allen was dressed in clothes of the likes Alim had never seen before; the sticking was so fine it rivaled silk in its smoothness. If it weren't for the small tears and the bloodstains, Alim would even go as far as to say they were clothes fit for a king.
Bronn, on the other hand, was wearing a tunic that started off as white but the original color was lost due to yellow sweat stains, dried blood, and dirt that had gathered in the past year since he washed it.
Allen also glanced at Bronn, who wasn't even acting like he was paying attention anymore due to committing the sight of boobs into his memory as if he would never see them again, and let out a chuckle.
"He's adopted," Allen explained simply before he reached into his blazer and pulled out one of the pouches of coins and slid it over to him. Alim picked it up, noting that the string had been cut, and tested it's weight.
"Silver?" He questioned as he tossed the bag up and down a few times, the coins jiggling.
"For the most part. A few pence added into the mix," Allen informed and Alim nodded slowly. However, hiding it as well as he did, Allen saw the glint of greed that entered his eye. He knew it well enough because he saw it every time he looked in a mirror.
"This much will get you into the hold-" Alim began explaining before another pouch was tossed in his direction. It was just as heavy as the first one, making the merchant smile. Allen idly noted that he was missing his canine teeth, for what reason he had no clue.
"How about a cabin?" Allen questioned and Alim let out a huff of laughter.
"Very well, my friend. A cabin," he agreed before reaching over the table and offering a hand. "Speaking of friends, I believe I should know your name."
"Allen Walker," Allen introduced himself as he clasped hands. "The little one that's seeing breasts for the first time is Bronn," he said, giving a firm handshake. Firm enough to show, that yes, Allen was very much a manly man, but not hard enough for it to seem that he was trying to intimidate him.
"Aim Nazzier , at your service," Alim introduced himself, bowing his head with a flourish.
"Well then, Alim, when do we set sail?" Allen asked, thinking the sooner the better. Allen would have feared that he was becoming delirious at all of the methane if he didn't know that Gamer Mind protected him from metal status effects, but he thought he was getting use to the smell. That was bad. That was very, very bad. Allen had standards to maintain and dealing with people that bathed once a year fell dreadfully short of those standards.
"In the morning before midday. I wish to see if anyone else will be joining us before we set sail," Alim responded and Allen nodded, feeling incredibly thankful. He would have to use the last remaining coin purse to rent a room, leaving him broke, but it was a small price to pay.
With their business concluded, Allen paid for a room in the tavern and waited for tomorrow.
…
Allen breathed in the fresh air, relishing in it. Three full days at sea and the novelty of having air that didn't reek still hadn't worn off. Currently, he was standing at the bow of the ship, looking off into the distance and just relaxing. Apparently, it would take about two weeks to reach Volantis, a few days less if they had favorable winds.
It didn't really bother Allen too much, taking the time to unwind for the first time in a year. He had risen to the top of the criminal organization so quickly and work upon work was thrown in his direction when he proved himself capable. Looking back on it, Allen realized that the entire reason the criminal empire had come to be was because of him and his bad luck making things go horribly wrong. Because of that, the little down time that he did have was spent grinding to make sure that he didn't die when something blew up in his face or, better yet, swing things his way when everything went to hell in a hand-basket.
It also gave him time to refine his idea's for taking over the world. He had the basics down well enough, but it was figuring out how to put those ideas into actions that was the tricky part. Even if this whole 'drag the medieval age to the modern age' thing didn't work out, Allen still needed to plan on how to get his hands on more money.
Few things sucked as much as poverty did.
Allen let out the breath, basking in the sunlight. He felt the tension leave his body from the war he had fought in his past life and the stress melted away. He was in a new world, facing new challenges but he knew how to overcome them. He wasn't a lost boy anymore; he was a man that knew what he wanted and knew how to get it.
However, as Allen watched the sun slowly dip downwards, the view was suddenly obscured by a box.
A quest has been created!
Title: Life of chains
Main Objective: Resist a life of slavery by overtaking the slave ship
Additional Objectives: Commandeer the ship before reaching Slavers Bay
Refusal consequence: Mandatory quest
Failure: Slavery or death
Rewards: Freedom. Galley 'Iron Maiden' and it's contents. 500 Exp.
"Shit."