Numbers. Mean nothing, I projected. Already killed. Many warriors.
"And nearly got d-destroyed," he countered. "You caught them off guard before; they'll be more w-wary of you now. And there are a lot of them. Even if their levels are low, they'll swarm anyone who causes t-trouble."
I flexed my wooden fingers, remembering how easily my previous mechanical body had been torn apart. The crude armor I'd constructed from shed materials wouldn't fare much better against determined attackers.
"Then there's Chanos." Harke's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "He m-may only be level eleven, but-"
Only? Isn't that. High?
"For regular people, yes. But for a combat class? He d-doesn't really compare to higher ranked adventurers. But it's n-not just about levels." Harke opened his notebook, showing me detailed notes on various camp members. "Chanos is an Axeman. Personal talent affects how the System distributes stats when l-leveling up. His speed and agility are far beyond what you'd expect."
I remembered how quickly the slaver boss had moved, dodging all my strikes with ease. At how his axe had carved through my metal body like paper.
"That's why he runs this c-camp," Harke continued. "Nobody here can match him in c-combat. Even if you managed to deal with all the other slavers, Chanos would-"
Find way, I cut him off. Must be. Weakness.
"If only I had my bow." Mallie kicked at a loose board, her small face scrunching up. "I could take care of that big oaf myself."
How? I asked, intrigued by her confidence.
"Simple." She mimed drawing a bow. "One arrow, right in his eye. He wouldn't even see it coming."
Harke shook his head. "M-Mallie, Chanos is too dangerous. You c-can't just-"
"I never miss." She crossed her arms. "That's why the War Academy wants me. Got the letter and everything, right before..." Her voice trailed off, shoulders slumping.
My wooden fingers creaked as I shifted position. War Academy?
"Oh, right. She means the Kaldos Academy of War. It's the finest school for warriors in the world," Harke explained, his stutter momentarily forgotten. "They only accept the most gifted students." He turned to Mallie with new respect. "You received an invitation? At your age?"
"Been shooting since I could walk." Pride crept back into her voice. "Pa always said I had a gift. Last harvest festival, I hit every target they set up. Even the ones they hid behind trees and rocks."
You must be. Very skilled.
"Best archer in three villages." She beamed. "The Academy scout said he'd never seen anyone shoot like me before. Said I was a natural talent!"
"The War Academy doesn't give out invitations lightly," Harke said. "Most nobles would kill to have their children accepted there. For them to invite a village girl..." He shook his head in wonderment.
The revelation changed how I viewed the small girl before me. Behind that gap-toothed smile lay remarkable ability. Yet here she sat, trapped in a slave pen instead of pursuing her destiny at the Academy.
Another reason to ensure these slavers paid for their crimes.
"I should have known." Harke ruffled Mallie's hair. "My Analyze sh-showed you at level 2. That's impressive for someone your age."
Analyze. You mention. Before. What is?
"It's an ability that lets me read parts of someone's status screen." He held up his notebook. "That's how I knew what you were when you first arrived. My rank is B level, which means I can see information like name, species, level, and core attributes."
Useful. Can you. Teach?
"Well, only caster classes can..." His voice trailed off as a realization dawned across his face. "Wait. Y-you're a monster."
Yes. I. Know.
"No, I mean, monsters don't have classes like humans do! The System treats you differently." He flipped through his notebook with growing excitement. "Humans are restricted by their c-c-class. A warrior can't learn magic abilities, a mage can't use weapon skills. But monsters... you're not b-bound by those limitations."
Can learn. Anything?
"In theory, yes. You're only limited by your at-attributes and whatever the System decides you're capable of." He scratched his chin. "That's why some monsters c-can use abilities that seem impossible together. I once saw a basilisk that could breathe f-f-fire and ice."
Mallie's eyes widened. "Does that mean No Eyes could learn to shoot a bow too?"
"If the System allows it." Harke turned back to me. "Would you like to try learning Analyze? It might work, though I've never heard of teaching abilities to monsters before."
Yes. Show me.
Harke sat down on the dirt floor, settling in front of me with his notebook balanced on his knee. "The k-k-key to Analyze is focus. You have to want to know about the target."
How focus? The concept felt foreign through my fractured memories.
"C-close your eyes- ah, sorry." He cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. "Just concentrate on me. Try to see beyond the s-surface."
I directed my attention toward him, though without eyes the process felt strange. Nothing happened.
"Think about what makes a person who they are," he continued. "Their essence, their b-being. The System captures all that information. We just need to access it."
Nothing happens.
"Keep trying. Sometimes it takes hours for people to get their first read."
Mallie watched from her perch on a crate, legs swinging. "Took me three whole days to learn Focused Arrow. Pa said learning's like that sometimes."
I concentrated harder, reaching out with whatever senses allowed me to perceive the world. Harke sat before me, a blur of life and energy. But I needed more than that surface impression.
"Remember," Harke said, "you're not just looking at m-m-me. You're looking through me, into what the System sees."
The System. The force that labeled me a monster, that displayed those blue boxes. I shifted my focus, trying to perceive Harke the way those status screens might.
A flicker appeared above his head.
Something. There.
"Good! Keep going. What do you see?"
I pushed harder, willing the shimmer to solidify. Letters began forming in my mind.
Name: Harke of Vensor
"Yes!" He practically bounced in his seat. "That's Rank E Analyze. You did it!"
A blue box materialized before me:
"Remarkable," Harke muttered, scribbling in his notebook. "I've never seen anyone pick up an ability so quickly. Then again, I suppose monsters do learn faster than humans..."
Simple. Just name.
"For now. But with p-practice, you'll be able to see more information. Level, species, attributes; everything the System tracks about a person."
I turned my attention to the Mallie, focusing as Harke had taught me. The same shimmer appeared, coalescing into clear text in my mind.
Name: Malladay of Weath
Found yours, I projected to her.
She wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, did you have to look at that awful name?"
Malladay. Not bad.
"It's terrible! Everyone calls me Mallie!" She kicked her feet against the crate. "Ma's the only one who uses Malladay, and that's just when I'm in trouble."
"Names in the System are tied to our true identities," Harke explained, still writing in his notebook. "They reflect who we really are."
"Well, the System got it wrong." Mallie crossed her arms. "I hate being called Malladay. Wish I could just change it."
Harke looked up from his notes. "Actually, you c-can. If you become famous enough, the System might offer to update your registered name."
Her eyes lit up. "Really? To anything I want?"
"Within reason. The System usually suggests variations based on what people actually call you. So 'M-mallie' would probably be an option."
"What if I wanted to be called..." She tapped her chin. "The Arrow Princess of Doom!"
Harke almost dropped his notebook. "That's not how it-"
"Or maybe The Legendary Bow Mistress!" She stood on the crate, striking a dramatic pose. "The Terror from Weath!"
"Mallie, please." Harke pinched the bridge of his nose. "The System won't let you pick something so... elaborate."
She has. Spirit, I commented, amused by her antics.
"Too much spirit, I think," Harke muttered, but I caught the hint of a smile beneath his mustache.
Mallie plopped back down on her crate. "Fine. Plain old Mallie will do. Still better than Malladay."
We need. Escape, I projected to Harke. But first. Need better body.
He ran his fingers through his unkempt hair. "It's impossible. The g-g-guards watch everything. Even if we got past them somehow, Chanos would hunt us d-down."
Not impossible. Just difficult. Need materials. Metal, strong parts.
"And where exactly do you plan to g-get those?" Harke's voice carried an edge of frustration. "They keep everything valuable under lock and key."
Where. Store weapons?
"There's a supply tent near the m-m-main gate. But it's guarded day and night. Three m-men at all times, more when shipments arrive." He shook his head. "You wouldn't get within twenty paces."
Not what asked. Where. Broken weapons? Damaged armor?
Harke's eyes widened slightly as he caught my meaning. "The slavers don't bother fixing anything that's too damaged. They just..." He wrinkled his nose. "They t-toss it all by the latrines. Sometimes right in them, the lazy bastards."
Perfect.
"Perfect? It's filthy! And half-rusted through-"
Can work. With rust. Clean metal. Make it. Strong. I flexed my crude wooden fingers. Better than. This.
"Y-y-y-you want me to dig through the..." He grimaced. "To bring you pieces from there?"
Yes. Much as. Can carry. Small amounts. Don't draw. Attention.
"They'll notice if I keep going to the latrines with empty hands and c-coming back with arms full of metal."
Be subtle. One piece. At time. You visit. Many parts. Of camp. Yes? As healer?
"Well, yes, but-"
Pick up pieces. Hide in. Robes. Bring to me. When can.
Harke sighed, shoulders slumping. "I suppose I could... but it will t-take time to gather enough."
Time. I have. Patience too.
"F-fine." He stood, brushing dirt from his robes. "But if I get caught stealing rusty sword p-pieces from the latrine pit, I'm blaming you."
Fair trade. Freedom worth. Worse things. Than digging through. Waste.
"Easy for you to say," he muttered. "You don't have to smell it."
"What are you two talking about?" Mallie bounced on her toes. "Your faces got all serious, and No Eyes keeps tilting her head."
Harke glanced at me, and I nodded. He explained our plan to gather materials from the waste pits to help rebuild my mechanical body.
"Oh! Oh! I can help!" Mallie's eyes lit up. "I'm small, I can squeeze into places and nobody pays attention to us kids anyway-"
Too dangerous, I projected. If caught-
"But I won't get caught." She planted her hands on her hips. "I'm good at being sneaky. Papa used to say I was worse than a fox in the henhouse, always getting into places I shouldn't."
Guards. Would hurt you.
"She has a point though," Harke said, able to piece the one sided conversation through Mallie's words alone. "Two p-people could gather materials faster than one. And the guards really don't watch the children as closely."
"See? Even Harke thinks it's a good idea!" Mallie beamed. "Please let me help!"
I studied her determined face, seeing that same fierce spark that had drawn me to help her in the first place.
Promise. Be careful.
"Yes!" She jumped up, pumping her fist. "I promise! Super careful, like a mouse in church!"
Quiet, I projected. Don't want. Guards hearing.
She clapped both hands over her mouth, but her eyes still danced with excitement. When she lowered them, she whispered, "When do we start?"
"We should wait until after the evening meal," Harke said. "The guards get l-lazy then, especially if it's been a quiet day."
Mallie nodded eagerly. "I can pretend you sent me to fetch something near the latrines. The guards won't think it's strange if I'm alone."
I felt a twinge of worry. Small pieces only. Nothing obvious.
"I know, I know." She rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid. I'll only grab bits that look like regular trash. Promise."
Good girl, I projected, and her face lit up at the praise.
Harke traced patterns in the dirt with a broken twig. "So what kind of b-body will you make? Once we get enough materials?"
I considered his question. My first instinct was to recreate my previous design; the five-legged frame had provided excellent stability and strength. But memories of Chanos shattering my limbs like dried sticks gave me pause.
Different. This time, I projected. First body. Too slow.
"Too slow?" He raised an eyebrow. "It seemed quite m-mobile when you were fighting the guards."
Not enough. Chanos. Too fast. The memory of his fluid movements, the way he'd danced around my attacks, still burned. Need speed. Agility.
"Ah, I see. You're thinking of something more... streamlined?"
Yes. Two legs. Like human. But stronger. Better joints. I flexed my wooden fingers, imagining the improvements. Lighter materials. Better balance.
"But won't that make you more vulnerable? Less armor..."
Can't beat Chanos. With armor. Need to match. Speed. I remembered how easily he'd penetrated my defenses. Keep strength. But add mobility.
"Makes sense." He nodded slowly. "Like a d-dancer with steel muscles."
The analogy sparked something in my fractured memory: a ballroom, rarely used, filled with swirling figures in elaborate costumes. But like all my memories, it slipped away before I could grasp it.
Yes. Exactly. Will use. Joint designs. From first body. But improved. I projected images of my plans into his mind: ball-and-socket connections that would allow for fluid movement, counterweights to maintain balance, reinforced pivot points to handle sudden directional changes.
"That's... actually quite brilliant." Harke leaned forward, studying my wooden arm with renewed interest. "You're not just rebuilding, you're evolving the d-design."
Learn from. Mistakes. Won't let him. Break me. Again.
"No, I suppose you w-won't." He smiled slightly. "Though I hope it doesn't come to another fight."
Always comes. To fight. With men like. Chanos.
"Unfortunately true." He sighed, then perked up. "Oh! What about the arms? Will you still make two?"
I flexed my wooden fingers, considering Harke's question. The ragged flesh behind my right shoulder drew my attention, and I traced the scarred edges with my makeshift hand. Something nagged at my broken memories, phantom sensations of limbs that weren't there.
More arms, I projected. Not just. Two.
"M-more?" Harke's brow furrowed. "How many were you thinking?"
I touched the torn flesh of my back, feeling the rough edges where... something... had been torn away.
Four arms. Total.
"F-four?" His eyes widened. "But... how would you even control that many?"
Controlled five legs. Before. Four arms. Not difficult.
I sent him mental images of my design: four limbs moving in perfect coordination, each wielding a different weapon.
More options. In combat.
"But the human brain isn't meant to-" He stopped himself, giving me a studying look. "Though I suppose you're not exactly h-h-human anymore, are you?"
No. Not human. The admission hurt less than it should have. Monster now. Different rules.
"Still..." He rubbed his chin. "Four arms. That's... ambitious."
Will work.
I projected images of how I'd managed the five-legged form, showing him how naturally it had come to me.
Like breathing. Don't think. Just do.
"If you say so." He still looked skeptical, but didn't argue further. "And what would you do with four arms? Besides f-fighting, I mean."
Many things. Climb better. Carry more. Work faster. I paused, considering. Build better. More hands. More efficient.
Mallie, who had been quiet during our exchange, suddenly piped up. "You'll be like a spider! But with weapons instead of a web!"
The image made me pause. Yes, exactly like that: swift, precise movements, multiple limbs working in perfect harmony.
I nodded at her. Good comparison.
"A heavily armed spider," Harke muttered. "That's not t-t-terrifying at all."
Already terrifying, I projected, gesturing at my eyeless face. Might as well. Be effective too.
"What about weapons?" Harke asked. "For your new body?"
Depends. On materials. I flexed my wooden fingers. Need light. Fast weapons. Spears maybe. Lances. Longswords.
"Not axes or h-hammers?"
Too slow. Need range. Speed. I projected images of fluid combat moves. Strike before. They reach me.
"Like how Chanos fights," Harke nodded.
Yes. Beat him. At own game.
I projected to Mallie what I had just told Harke, and she immediately perked up. "Could you make a bow?" Her eyes sparkled with hope. "For me, I mean. I'm really good with one."
I turned my eyeless face toward her.
If bring. Materials. Right ones. Wood. String. Yes.
"I could find those!" She bounced on her toes. "There's lots of broken wagon parts, and-"
The thought sparked something in my mind.
Could make. More weapons.
"More?" Harke's brow furrowed.
For others. The slaves. I gestured in the direction of the pens. Arm all.
Harke's eyes widened. "You m-mean..."
Break out. Give weapons. Fight back.
"That's..." He ran fingers through his hair. "That would be dozens of weapons. Maybe hundreds."
Can do it. If enough. Materials.
"But the slaves aren't f-f-fighters," he protested. "Most are farmers, c-craftsmen!"
Better armed farmers. Than unarmed slaves. I clenched my wooden fist. Numbers. Against guards.
Mallie nodded eagerly. "Villagers in the outer regions like Weath know a little bit about fighting! We have to, so close to the Hellzone and all! We'll be fine!"
Again, I heard that strange word: Hellzone. What was that? I decided to ask Harke later.
"This is getting more c-c-complicated by the minute," Harke muttered.
Simple plan. Arm slaves. Fight guards. Free everyone.
"You make it sound so easy."
Not easy. Necessary.