“In the long history of humankind (and animal kind, too) those who learned to collaborate and improvise most effectively have prevailed.”

  —NOT

  //Codex Tag

  function, inscribeAnnotation021 (content=

  /* The Darwin Correspondence Project says of this poignant line: “supposedly from Descent of Man. So far, no one has found where it really comes from - but it definitely isn't Darwin.” Not sure why truth always needs famous attribution. What is, just is. */

  codex.updateEntry(“Truth Unverified | Better together than apart. No citation required.”

  );

  }

  The memory faded slowly. One moment they were in a corridor of luminous lockers, and then back at the bus stop. Remi blinked. That was weird. Nel was already on her feet and walked a few feet from him. Standing, she looked off into the canopy they were preparing to re-enter, and Remi was once again faced with Nel’s back as she stared into the jungle. The wall of green sprawled in-front of her and spread off into their periphery on both her sides; framing her in nature, an image that Bob Ross might even have admired. Remi took a second look. Never mind, these were definitely not happy trees.

  Neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward; it simply rested there. It's the sort of pause stories take between chapters; the breath before what was to come next. He didn’t know what the rest of the day would hold, but he knew they’d face it together. The air hung thick and damp with mist, while the light filtered unevenly through the canopy. The familiar glow never quite settled where it should. It reminded Remi of the science classroom. He popped open his chat window.

  Remi: You know that self-plagiarism is a thing, right?

  [AI]: All work, and no plagiarism makes for dull literature, I am told.

  Remi: First the tooltip, now this. You are getting sloppy.

  [AI]: Noted. I will be more innovative in the future.

  Remi wasn’t sure it was intended, but he heard a warning in it, nonetheless. He backpedaled.

  Remi: No, the jungle is great. Thanks.

  [AI]: Understood.

  Nel moved through a small gap in the trees, her footsteps confident and measured, until she finally halted on a small dirt path. It hadn't been visible from where Remi stood, and he wasn’t even sure how she had found it. He was positive that without her, he would have just barrelled through the jungle, simply pointing himself in the general direction of the obelisk.

  Unsurprisingly, she didn’t wait for him, but she didn’t vanish either, as the scrappers indicated there were some dangers in this space.

  “You sure this is a path?” Remi asked, half-joking. “Because if it's not, I’ve seen how this horror show ends—fighting a dude with a machete in an abandoned cabin. And nobody wants to see that.”

  He kept his eyes on the shifting shadows between the trees, wary of anything that might lurk in the darkness. Not that his forty-something eyes would spot anything that Nel’s diagnostics wouldn’t, but he felt better at least pretending his alertness mattered.

  As they walked, there wasn't much conversation beyond a few gestures from Nel. She pointed left when the path split the first time, and right at the next juncture. He wasn't sure how she knew where she was going. Maybe she was just guessing, but he was starting to trust her. She knew more that he did about The Crucible, and that was good enough for Remi. Taking the next left split, he couldn’t help but think of the “ways leading into ways” in the Frost poem “The Road Not Taken.” Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, but in his case, it was more like two boar trails split in a murky jungle.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  It's a common misconception, thanks to well-meaning but overzealous teachers, that the poem was a metaphor for making hard choices. The joke was, the opposite was true. The paths were basically the same, and the narrator walks the one with the “fairer claim.” But “kids, take the easy path” didn’t have the inspirational punch some teachers long for. He used the poem to remind students to read what was actually on the page, not what they wished was true.

  As he trudged deeper into the underbrush, Remi hoped their choices wouldn’t lead them to the same melancholy ending found in the poem.

  Remi’s musings were interrupted as he rounded a bend and spotted a moss-covered obelisk thrusting up from the jungle floor, its ancient stone surface pointing straight upwards, like a silent finger marking a monumental choice, one that was only hinted at but never fully revealed. He came to stand next to Nel, who had stopped in front of an altar. The path continued around it on both sides, two paths that met and went directly towards the sealed spire. In ancient manuscripts, editors marked passages with obeli, sometimes called obelisks or daggers. They showed sections of text that were redundant—that shouldn’t be there. As Remi stared up at the massive pillar, noting its sharp resemblance to a knife slicing high through the air. That editors called such marks “daggers,” and that the dagger also stood for division in math, didn’t bode well. Both meanings, heralding cutting away and splitting apart, felt particularly ominous at present. This obelisk wasn’t just a marker; it was a symbol of removal, an unwelcome warning that hinted at danger.

  Nel looked at Remi and nodded, placing her hand on a glyph on her side of the altar. It flared violet, echoing the pattern of her hoodie. Simultaneously, he set his palm on his glyph. A deep blue pulse, like the colour of his favourite pen on an essay. He found the colour calming, and it harmonized well with Nel’s.

  There was a soft CLANK! as a hidden gear turned, and with a grinding of stone on stone, the tower split as two large doors swung outwards to frame the path that led into it. Another nod from Nel, and she took her path, and Remi his. They met on the other side, on the same path, shoulder to shoulder. Two roads diverged, and they took the one less travelled, and knowing well how “ways lead on to ways,” how every choice, no matter how small, makes all the difference; Remi could only hope that this one, was a smart one.

  As they entered the obelisk, and the door closed behind them, they were thrust momentarily into darkness. It was only for a few moments, in the dark, the sound of water dripping on stone, but the panic of claustrophobia clawed at Remi’s chest. His throat tightened in panic, but thankfully the room came to full light as, one by one, torches in sconces spontaneously combusted, filling the space with a flickering orange glow.

  The room looked far too large to be contained within the shell of the obelisk, so probably it was a portal, and they had been transported to the cave they found themselves in. Remi patted his murse, thankful of Nel’s suggestion to zip it up. As they walked forward, they were forced to stop at the edge of a vast ravine. A deep chasm yawned before them, its depths plunged into darkness, and lost in swirling mist. The only way across the gap was a massive stone bridge, spanning the distance between their side and the one they needed to reach. The side that continued the twisting path, winding to an exit carved into the rock; a promised next step in their journey.

  As Remi looked at the cavernous exit, and his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a figure had emerged from the exit. Archie appeared, dressed incongruously as a camp counselor. There’s so much tan. His shirt, his khaki shorts, and even a large brown circular hat screamed, “Hey, Booboo!” He waved with a knowing grin, then casually lowered himself onto a nearby log, legs crossed, clipboard in hand.

  “Welcome, campers,” he called out, his tone part encouragement, part challenge. The word campers echoed off the sides of the walls until it was eaten by the hole at Remi’s feet. He stared at the bridge; pressure settled in his chest. The ancient stone beneath his feet felt less like solid ground and more like a brittle promise, stretched thin over the yawning ravine below. It was obvious what they needed to do—simply cross the bridge.

  Simple, except that what stood near them was less of a bridge, and more of a murder seesaw balanced precariously on a hinge. As a kid, the teeter-totter was always a delight. Remi would often raise Dodo high in the air, using his greater weight, and then let him drop to thump on the ground. It was great fun for both of them. The fulcrum here was nothing like the sturdy metal ones found on playgrounds, instead being nothing more than a slender beam of rock, barely wide enough to hold the immense weight balanced atop it.

  If the far end slammed down on the opposing edge, there wouldn't be a laughing Dodo this time; it would instead be disastrous as it would continue its path straight through the thin ledge, tossing all on the bridge to their deaths. Even a sudden shift, or a careless step, and the whole thing could collapse beneath them, dropping them into the dark silence far below. If Remi and Nel were going to cross, they would need to do so very carefully, or risk not crossing it at all.

  Nel stood beside him, calm and collected, her eyes scanned the precarious structure with practiced focus. Remi envied her steadiness; his own heart was racing. This wasn't the time to panic, he told himself, yet he couldn’t help but flick his nail beds with his thumbs.

  “Careful placement, slow and deliberate movements,” Nel said. She seemed to look not directly at the bridge itself, but through something, an overlay perhaps, at the bridge behind it. Remi couldn't see what she saw, but he knew he would be thankful for her unique perception. This was going to be just as much a test of trust as of skill. They needed to work together, find the balance as it shifted beneath their feet, and adjust in perfect rhythm to avoid disaster.

  The wind stirred the mist, and it seemed like the room breathed in as the notification appeared.

  [SYSTEM MESSAGE]

  TRIAL: TILTING LOG BRIDGE INITIATED.

  COORDINATION, TIMING, & TEAMWORK REQUIRED.

  Remi looked at Archie as the message ended. He waved them over in a friendly way.

  by Darth Artickus

  Andrew never asked to be a barbarian, yet he chose it!

  A soldier, a leader, a survivor. When war and death tore his old world apart, he woke in another, reborn with a system that offers you power. Strength without control. Rage without clarity. A class despised, feared, and dismissed as primitive.

  Yet survival has always been his weapon. In this new land of guilds, nobles, and monsters, Grimar learns to bend the system the way he once bent battlefield chaos—with discipline, cunning, and scars that will never heal. Each stat gain carries weight, each skill is a choice between life and death, and every fight drags him deeper into a world that judges him by the savagery he refuses to embrace. Or does he?

  But there is no retreat. To carve a place for himself and perhaps to find the answers about his comrades from the life before, Grimar must turn anomaly into advantage. A barbarian in name, a tactician at heart, he will face assassins, dungeons, and gods themselves to prove that survival is not only brute force but also the mastery of turning scars into strength.

  The Barbarian Anomaly is LitRPG stripped to the bone—tactical, brutal, and unflinchingly human.

  What to expect:

  Grounded Progression—every stat, skill, and level-up is earned, with weight and consequence.

  Visceral & Tactical Combat—brutal, soldier-realistic battles where strategy decides survival.

  Psychological Depth & Past-Life Shadows—trauma and discipline from Andrew’s former life bleed into Grimar’s every choice.

  Unforgiving World & System Immersion—dungeons, assassins, nobles, and stats woven seamlessly into the fabric of survival.

  Hidden Professions, Secret Classes & the Anomaly—power that doesn’t fit the rules, mysteries that defy the system itself.

  Chapters are released Tue/Thur