The Good Guys Chronicles Box Set

by Eric Ugland

  The kid didn’t move.

  “Fuck, dude,” I said. I grabbed him and shoved him through the new opening into his house.

  “Hide,” I snapped.

  I felt around in the snow, looking for one of the swords I knew the assholes dropped. Then I heard a twang, and felt a pop on my back. No pain though.

  I looked over my shoulder.

  About ten yards away, I saw a new figure in black.

  A woman.

  Her black armor was shiny leather, and she had a bow. And a lot of arrows. One was, in fact, currently nocked. She pulled the string back quickly and fired, almost one smooth motion.

  It thwacked into my chest, and sort of quivered there.

  Again, no pain.

  I looked down at it, confused, but quickly realized her arrows weren’t making it through my furs.

  It made me laugh.

  She went white in the face, about as white as my furs.

  Then she ran. Screaming about a monster.

  I ran after her, coming around the corner at speed. I looked at the center of the village and came to a skidding, sliding halt. I barely managed to keep my footing.

  The villagers were on one side of the open area, and a few of the black armored assholes were opposite them. It seemed that my interdiction had, at least, caused the release of the men of the village. Everyone was now in one big unhappy group.

  The female archer seemed more secure now that she was back with her group.

  Every last one of them looked my way. Four archers, bows armed and ready, and three men with swords. One of the men with swords had some plate armor and a very snazzy helmet with a human skull covering his face.

  Ooh, threatening.

  Skull Helm said said something to the men around him.

  Smashing! You’ve learned a new language, Mahrduhmese.

  This was definitely the best way to learn languages.

  “Fire!” Skull Helm shouted.

  Four arrows streaked my way. I threw my arm over my face, just in case.

  Thwock! Thwock! Thwock! Thwock!

  Like Debbie LeGrande told me, I definitely think I felt two pokes, but no pain.

  I stood back up and screamed in defiance.

  The archers, plus two of the swordsmen looked fearful. They certainly weren’t used to people fighting back, and it seemed that coming across something that didn’t mind being shot with arrows was demoralizing.

  “Cowards!” roared Skull Helm.

  He pulled a massive sword from his side and charged, blade held high, screaming all the way.

  In my previous life, I’d held my own in more than one knife fight. But my only experience with swords was the goblin-killing I’d just done.

  As Skull Helm closed the distance, I stood still, not knowing what to do.

  Closer.

  Three yards.

  Fuck it, I thought, not like I can die. Not really. Not yet, anyway.

  I laughed and threw my sword at him. It made him falter, but didn’t do any real damage. Then I charged him, getting in too close for his big sword, and slammed my shoulder into his midsection. That drove him to the ground.

  He slammed the pommel of the sword on my back repeatedly. It hurt like a mother.

  A dagger on his belt dug into my side, and I knew it was the best chance I had for a weapon. We rolled on the ground, moving one way, then back. Finally he dropped his sword, realizing his steel gauntlets were more useful than the big blade. With a clever move, he wound up on top of me, got his big hands around my neck, and started to squeeze.

  I reached up and slid my hands beneath his stupid helm. I could feel his actual face. A beard, a nose, and then, what I was looking for: his eyes. I dug my thumbs in as hard as I could, and felt the pliant orbs give way.

  The man screamed and released my throat, trying to get away from me. But my thumbs had a good hold in his sockets, and I wasn’t letting go. We stood together, me pulling him up by his head, him screaming, his blood pouring down my hands, and definitely getting all over my furs.

  With a twist of my torso, I swept his legs, and let his face meet my knee on the way down. He fumbled, clearly having trouble seeing. I grabbed his sword from the ground and swung the great big blade around with all my might.

  It would have been an awesome end to the fight if I’d managed to hit his neck first, but my aim was a bit off. The sword skipped off his pauldron, and went into his neck with less force than it needed. Sure, it got, you know, halfway through and was definitely a fatal blow. But not, like, instantaneously fatal.

  Skull Helm shuddered and blood rushed out of his neck. A low moaning sound came out of his ruined face.

  I had to swing a second and third time before the head tipped to the side, hanging on by one grim tendon. Or ligament. Bit hazy on the difference.

  There were definitely a few gasps behind me. I heard someone get on a horse.

  I turned and threw the sword as hard as I could, the blade going end over end, steel flashing in the fading sunlight. Finally it worked, sinking deep into the face of the archer trying to get on the horse.

  Far more brutal than I intended or expected. There was a lot of blood and certainly more than one fluid I couldn’t accurately identify.

  I was ready to get stuck in with the rest of the meanies in black when the villagers finally got some nerve back. They swarmed, beating the remaining figures in black.

  There was a moment of stillness as the armored assailants took their last breaths.

  I gave a little wave.

  “Howdy,” I said.

  Chapter 13

  The entire town stared at me, despite my suave and debonair wave. Then the kid popped out of the house, and started running to a woman. His mom, I’m guessing.

  “Olief!” the woman cried out, running across the village square and grabbing the kid with both her hands. She dropped to her knees and cried with relief. “I feared you dead!”

  “He saved me,” Olief replied, pointing at me.

  All eyes back to me. And again, because apparently it was the only thing I knew how to do in this situation, I waved.

  An older man with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard took a step forward. “Are you,” he started, then looked at the rest of villagers for courage or reassurance, “human?”

  “Oh. Yeah,” I said, pulling the arrows from the fur and tossing them to the ground before removing the face mask and pulling back the hood. “Just, you know, got a bit carried away with the cold-weather gear.”

  As soon as people realized I was just a regular dude under the furs, things relaxed. Some came over to clap me on the back and thank me. I was kind of digging on the praise and whatnot, but it was short-lived. In no time the whole town was arguing about whether they should leave, stay, hide, or what.

  Before I could ask for some clarification, the old man who spoke to me put his arms high in the air. “Enough!” he shouted. “Night will be upon us soon. Take the horses to the barn.”

  The man continued to bark orders, and the townspeople hopped to. Olief and his mother came to me, and took me by the hand over to the largest building. Inside was a wide open space with a large central fireplace. There were tables all around, almost like a meeting room, but clearly more set for food and drink. Doors were along one wall with a massive bar opposite. The fireplace didn’t seem to have much in the way of wood, so I assumed it was burning the poop of the herbivores in the barn.

  Soon, I was sitting on a bench with a steaming bowl of something in between soup and stew in front of me.

  I didn’t care what the food was — I just wanted it in my stomach. The boy and his mother watched me in silence, and gave me a second bowl when I finished the first.

  “Drink?” I asked.

  Olief looked to his mother, and she nodded. He ran off.

  After a moment, he returned with a mug of something that smelled gloriously like beer.

  “Thank you kindly,” I said, and took a long pull on the mug. It wasn’t good, b
ut I’ve had worse.

  I leaned back, and let some of the notifications wash back into view.

  Huzzah! Against all odds, you have reached Level 2! You receive 6 attribute points to distribute in the next 36 hours or you lose them. Dare to believe you can survive, and achieve greatness. Or don’t.

  Huzzah! Against all odds, you have reached Level 3! You receive 6 attribute points to distribute in the next 36 hours or you lose them. Dare to believe you can survive, and achieve greatness. Or don’t.

  Two levels from killing some goblins and dudes in black? Not bad.

  Cool Beans, you’ve uncovered the innate skill Unarmed Combat (lvl 9). You can strike with the fist or the foot, a tool without a tool. -13% stamina drain. +13% damage.

  There you go, leveling up the skill Swords to lvl 2. Aren’t you just a blade-swinging fool? +1% dmg, +1% skill.

  The snark in the messages was a bit much. I wondered if it came from Mister Paul, or if there was another entity behind the scenes writing all this out. Also, innate skill was a thing. So maybe some of my previous life managed to transfer over to this one. Hopefully just the useful stuff.

  I knew the clock was already counting down on point distribution. But as I polished off the second bowl, I saw the boss-type man from outside staring at me, so I made a mental note to distribute them soon. I wanted to talk to the guy first. .

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Montana,” I said, extending my hand. “You?”

  He looked at my hand for a minute, then back to my face. “Hroar Grisson.”

  “Oh, hey,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You have a strange name,” he quickly replied.

  “Well, fuck you very much,” I snapped.

  He frowned. “I did not mean for you take offense—”

  “Nice way to go about that.”

  “Rather, I should have said that I have yet to meet someone named in that manner.”

  “Oh. Right. I wasn’t super clear on the naming conventions in, uh, Vuldranni before I came here.”

  “Where might you have been prior to Vuldranni?”

  “Uh, would you believe me if I said there’s a whole other world out there—”

  “As far as I am aware, there are an endless number of worlds out there.”

  “Oh.”

  I was stunned at first, but it made sense. This was a completely different universe, as far as I could tell. Maybe in this universe, traveling between worlds was as normal as sorority girls drinking pumpkin spice lattes. “Yeah, so, I mean, I came from another world.”

  “Into the mountains?” Hroar asked.

  “Yeah, a peak up there.”

  Hroar nodded, thinking. He lifted his hand and caught the barmaid’s eye.

  While he looked away, I did the mental casting and shot identify at the man to see what I might find out.

  A little text popped up above Hroar’s head.

  Hroar Grisson

  Human

  Lvl 6 Innkeeper

  Grisson turned back to me and smiled. The woman slid two mugs of ale in front of us.

  “I take it,” Grisson said, “you know little of our world.”

  “Not yet,” I replied, licking the ale off my mustache. “I’m pretty clueless.”

  He nodded, and took a deep breath.

  “You have saved us from something quite bad. Because of this, I will offer you advice. Do not admit you are not of this world. There are those who will hate you for it, and there are those who will hunt you for it. The queen of those men you faced today, she will pay a bounty for any such as you. Enough that any man may live in one of her cities in comfort for life.”

  “Well, seems to be my poor luck.”

  “Perhaps you need more points in luck.”

  “Yeah,” I said, taken aback. “Does, like, everyone have character sheets and stats and stuff?”

  “Of course.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “It is the blessing and curse of the Gods.”

  “Ain’t that the way.”

  “It is the way.”

  “You were saying something about it being a shitty time to visit, uh, wherever this is?”

  “Assuming you know nothing about us or this world—”

  “Perfect assumption.”

  “Thank you. I think. You are currently in Rumib Pass. We are, well, perhaps it is a bit grandiose to think of ourselves as a village. Perhaps calling us an outpost of the Glaton Empire is more reasonable. Those you saved us from today, they came to see if we would like to turn our backs on the emperor and join the queen.”

  “There was a goblin dude who asked if I was with the queen. I said no, and he tried to kill me.”

  “Goblins? Here?”

  “Watching, up above.”

  “So they had no intention of allowing us to join them. Goblins. Did you kill them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. They are sneaky, conniving, savage, stupid, and unrelentingly evil. Kill them. All. They murder for sport. They eat any meat, and will run off with any baby they can grab, for it is the chief delicacy in their foul culture. In small groups, they are irritating. But in large groups, it is as if they compete to see who can be the most savage and disgusting. And if there were some here, it means the queen is truly dark, for she has willingly engaged their services. And she does not trust her soldiers.”

  He took a long pull of his ale.

  “The queen — she’s not, like, with the Empire, is she?” I asked.

  “No. She is from Mahrduhm. Our neighbor. We have held a peace with them for as long as I remember. But they have fallen under the sway of a dark queen, one who arose from the shadows and has taken over the country. From what I have heard — traders like to talk while they drink — she has been busy pushing out her borders every which way but towards Glaton, which means it is only a matter of time before she declares war on us. Perhaps that time has already come.”

  “So what does that mean for Rumib Pass?”

  “Tis a good question, one I cannot yet answer. When her soldiers do not return to their army, I am confident the army will be prodded to move. They will put this town, my home, to the torch, and all of us to the blade.”

  I gulped, looking around the homely place. From what I’d seen of it, I wouldn’t exactly call Rumib Pass a shit hole, not to Hroar’s face at least. But it certainly wasn’t worth making a stand over.

  “Personally,” I said, “and this is just my view of the subject, but I’d probably run.”

  “Me too,” he said. He finished his ale, and slid it down the long table. After a moment, the barmaid collected it.

  The rest of the townsfolk had drifted into the room. Most had taken seats along the table, and most were staring at me. I got up and moved towards the back of the room, getting a bit more distance from the fire. The furs were a bit warm for indoor living, and not being the center of attention seemed like a better ingredient to a good time for me.

  Finally, an older man with a nasty scar on his face slapped his hands together sharply.

  “Let the nonsense commence, Hroar,” he said, his voice seeming to appear out of the great grey beard covering his face. “Give us your coward’s way out. Shall we start running now?”

  I cast Lifeform identification, and saw the little blip come up above the man’s head.

  Human

  Lvl 4 barkeep

  The lack of a name was annoying, but I guessed I got Hroar’s name because I’d already been introduced to him. It was just a nice reminder. Which, you know, would be clutch when meeting people at parties.

  “We should leave,” a young woman piped up.

  “Nonsense,” Graybeard replied. “Tis just a group of uppity raiders looking to make rank by delivering us to the queen. She would never be so bold as to attack the Empire.”

  “If it were not for the stranger,” the woman replied, “they would have killed us all. You saw that they were planning to do that.”

  “A
nd what about this stranger?” Graybeard asked. “Where did he come from? Is he part of the Queen’s Army? Is he a demon from beyond?”

  People started slapping their hands on the table, and finally Graybeard went quiet.

  “Friends,” Hroar said, “there is something you should all know. There were goblins with them.”

  “There is no proof of goblins,” Graybeard yelled out. “You wish to have us run because your inn has fallen in favor, and everyone is coming to my tavern instead. Cease your scare tactics—”

  With that, the room fell into chaos. Shouts flew back and forth as all the small town gossip poured out. Any accusation that could be made was made.

  I grew tired of their yelling. I wanted to get going, find somewhere safe, somewhere I didn’t need to kill anyone or anything for a bit. So I opened my backpack, pulled out the Goblin Boss Chopper, and I swung it in a big arc. The big blade bit deep into the table with a loud thunk.

  The room fell quiet.

  “I took this from the goblin watching your village,” I said. “After I killed the other six up there. Makes me think it ain’t just raiders poking their noses around here. I’m willing to bet you’re gonna have a bunch of angry visitors in the near future. Maybe you want a tavern full of goblins. Do they tip well after they eat your children?”

  Hroar pointed in my direction. “Is that enough proof, Ornolf?”

  Ornolf stroked his gray beard, glaring at the sword. He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  The door slammed open, and a man wrapped in black furs walked into the place, snow swirling around him. “There is an army on your doorstep,” he said. “Best be leaving afore she gets here.”

  “Have you seen it?” Hroar asked.

  “Ayah. I have. Carries her banner.” The man walked to the fire, pulled off his gloves, and gave me a look up and down. He definitely didn’t care about anyone else in the place, but given they way everyone watched him, I had a feeling he was an important regular about the town. “Fires stretch long in the distance, and the stench on the wind tells me goblins and ogres are with them at a minimum.”