The woman had her hands outstretched, her head faced directly away from Nathan and toward his two attackers.

  Nathan took a step back. This wouldn't end well. Mara would blow her way past the civilians and turn this into a bloodbath.

  "That's right, leave him alone!"

  "Stay away from him!"

  One by one, the spectators who'd been watching came out of the woodworks and gathered in front of Nathan. Mara's grin turned into a frown.

  She cocked her hammer—

  Grigor's hand wrapped around the barrel of her gun.

  "Don't."

  She shot a glare at him. "Are you serious?"

  "Even ignoring the fact that you'd be committing a massacre, look at their levels."

  "Levels? Everybody knows that Circle inhabitants don't have levels. Remember the second circle?"

  "Not these ones, remember?"

  Mara stiffened. She looked at one of the people blocking her way and inspected them.

  "Level 81?" She growled, then jammed her revolver back into her inventory. A hot glare locked onto Nathan even through the crowd of defenders. "This isn't over."

  The woman who'd initially defended Nathan turned around and faced him.

  "Charity?" Nathan said.

  "What, did you really think that I wouldn't come check this out?"

  She changed her clothes—hence why he hadn't recognized her. He'd initially thought it was the lady who'd seen him the first time he entered the region.

  "Come on," Charity said. "Let's get out of here."

  The disengagement had been an awkward affair. Even a mile out, Nathan was pretty sure that Mara had a sniper rifle trained on his head. He'd taken to zigzagging and dropping and raising his head in order to avoid any incoming bullets.

  Once they'd gotten back to the village, the villagers smuggled Nathan out on a supply cart heading to another town. Charity had insisted on coming along, and Nathan was still in recovery mode—hence, he couldn't exactly flee and escape.

  The two of them were in an awkward cocoon created out of hay. Nathan tried his best to lean away from Charity, only to butt up against the wall of the cart.

  "Thanks for the save," he muttered.

  "No problem! I knew that you were probably exhausted after your quest to activate the second Celestial Laser Beam Generator."

  That name is so stupid—

  "So was everyone in that crowd leveled up?" Nathan asked.

  "Nope! It was a clever ruse—I counted on her checking me only and assuming everyone else was the same. The others were only Level 42 or so."

  "That could've ended horribly."

  "But it didn't, though?"

  She cast an expectant gaze and Nathan did his best to focus on the darkness of the hay bale.

  If only his senses weren't enhanced—then he could claim he legitimately didn't see her. But as it was, both of them knew that he was more than capable of knowing that she was looking at him.

  "What is it?" he finally said.

  "It was rather rude to leave a lady on her own in the middle of the night. I thought you'd gotten kidnapped! By ghosts!"

  "Ghosts aren't real."

  She stared at him.

  "Okay, ghosts are probably real," Nathan said. "But I haven't seen any on this Circle, so I doubt they're that much of an issue."

  "Whatever the case, you just up and left me!"

  "I'm sorry, did I sign a legal contract specifying that I have to stick by your side now? What, because you gave me some advice about how to revive a system?"

  "There wasn't a contract, but it was kind of assumed, wasn't it?"

  Nathan shrugged. "You know what they say: assuming makes an ass out of you and me."

  She squinted. "What? What does that even mean?"

  Oh, right, Nathan thought. Translation magic. Jokes and puns don't match one-to-one.

  "I'm saying you're an idiot," he said.

  A puff of air came from her nose and she crossed her arms.

  "You're not doing a very good job of fulfilling the image I had in my head of you."

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  "I really don't see how that's any of my business, or why I should care in the slightest."

  Her leg bounced inside of the cramped space. She looked to the side, then let out a long sigh.

  "At the very least, you're doing a good job of activating the Celestial Laser Beam Generators."

  "Yeah, I wanted to ask about that—why has nobody else done them? Why does it seem like I'm the only one who can do them?"

  "Because you're the prophesied Fisher King."

  "Okay, thanks for that supremely unhelpful answer."

  Nathan concluded that it had to do with the fact that he was the highest rank in the apocalypse.

  What awful game design, he thought. Creating an entire level based around one person when you have a player count of hundreds of millions? What was B32 smoking?

  "That girl..." Charity turned a little quiet. "She seemed to know you."

  "Yeah, um..." Nathan chewed his bottom lip. "She's not sure if I'm an imposter pretending to be her friend or if I'm the real deal. If I actually am her friend, then she's mad because I've sort of, kind of..."

  "...abandoned her?"

  Nathan shrunk into himself. "Yeah, basically."

  "Why would you do that?" she asked.

  Nathan leaned his head against the hay bales behind him. "I don't know. A lot of things. I think part of it was that the pressure started to become really unbearable, and then something happened, and I felt like I couldn't really play my role anymore."

  "What happened?"

  Thalassa's final words played in his head on repeat.

  His toes curled up. "Nothing. I don't really want to talk about it."

  Charity looked away from Nathan and winced. She shifted her legs, then gulped.

  "I was raised by the church," she said.

  "That's a bit of a topic shift."

  Charity had the grace to look embarrassed and cough into her fist. "I'm aware, just hear me out, okay?"

  Nathan raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine."

  She took another breath.

  "My parents passed away when I was young."

  "I'm sorry for your loss."

  "Don't be. I don't even remember them. It happened when I was still an infant," she said. "The local orphanage was run by the church. The people there were the nicest that you'd ever meet. Most of the other children wanted to go and work for the church because the caretakers had been so good."

  "And what about you?"

  "I was no exception. I thought that I would end up being a caretaker and help other kids like me."

  A wistful look appeared on her face. "But that didn't happen."

  Okay, Nathan was starting to get invested. "Why not?"

  "As you have no doubt noticed, monsters roam the countryside," she said. "And the church plays a major role in protecting the people. As such, everyone is given a skill aptitude test. If you're likely to get a low tier class, then you'd go off and become a priest or a caretaker, or any number of professions."

  "But if you have a high potential..."

  She nodded. "Exactly. I was found to be gifted as a mage. I was shipped off to training when I was about sixteen and spent the next four years killing monsters and leveling up."

  "It sounds like you aren't exactly eager about that."

  "I'm not. You saw what happened when I went up against that worm thing." Her breath sped up and came in quick gasps. "I was terrified! I'd never been more scared in my life!"

  "But haven't you fought like tons and tons of monsters?"

  "I have, but the fear never really went away." She rubbed her shoulder. "I really, really hate it."

  "So why don't you just leave? Why not just bail? You're powerful—couldn't you just—"

  "I could never!"

  The cart rattled underneath them.

  She pursed her lips. "Sorry. But even if the role I was given wasn't one that I wanted, it's the one that others need from me."

  Nathan could see the parallels with his own situation well enough. He could see where she was going with all this.

  "The difference," he muttered. "Is that they don't actually need me."

  She leaned in. "What did you say? I didn't catch that."

  Nathan shook his head.

  "It was nothing." He paused. "Thank you for telling me about that, Charity."

  Even if their situations were different, he appreciated the attempt for what it was—she was trying to help him, and he wouldn't spit in the face of that.

  She smiled. "Of course. Happy to help."

  "You know—" Nathan rubbed the back of his neck. "I did appreciate this, like I said, but this isn't permission for you to keep on following me around."

  She giggled into her hand. "I'm aware, Fisher King. You're a lone wolf by nature. I think I've come to grasp that part of your character."

  Lone wolf was a rather nice way of putting it.

  "Nonetheless," she said. "I will endeavor to assist you to the best of my ability. Should you have need of my aid, simply call my name and I will answer."

  Nathan's facial expression locked up.

  Before he then burst out laughing.

  The small smile on Charity's face disappeared and her eyes shot open. "What is it? What did I say?!"

  Nathan couldn't contain his laughter. "I'm sorry—I'm sorry, it's just, that was so cheesy!"

  "Cheesy! What do you mean? I was being sincere!"

  "I know!" Nathan forced the laughter down and shook his head with a smile. "I know, Charity. You're a very sincere person. I think I've known you long enough to grasp that part of your character."

  She snorted. "Using my own words against me. How cruel!"

  Nathan woke up with cramps running up and down his back. He tried to stretch, only for his head to bump up against the top of the hay bale.

  A yawn ripped from his mouth and he put his palm in front of his face to cover the obscene image.

  He blinked the tears out of his eyes. Charity was conked out, sleeping on her side. A long line of spittle ran down her cheek and onto the wooden cart.

  "Oh?" she murmured. "A glass of bourbon? Don't mind if I do…"

  Her hands reached out for what Nathan assumed to be invisible bottles.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  I guess every person of virtue needs to have a vice or two to balance things out.

  The smile slipped off his face.

  Charity was a nice person. He could admit that after having talked to her—especially after she saved his bacon.

  But she also still believed him to be something akin to a messiah, which made things a little bit complicated.

  Despite himself, the words she'd said continued to rattle in his head.

  Did his friends actually need him? Before, he would have instantly said no.

  Now, the answer was a little bit more ambiguous.

  Isn't it the height of arrogance to assume that they need me? he thought. Even just thinking it sounds like the most egotistical crap I think I've ever even conceived of.

  He groaned into his hands.

  Charity startled and blinked her eyes blearily.

  "What?" She grasped out at the air. "Where's the bourbon?"

  "No bourbon here, I'm afraid," Nathan said.

  Charity shot into a sitting position, eyes wide.

  "You heard that?!" she shouted.

  "You were talking in your sleep about how much you wanted hard alcohol."

  She grabbed his shoulders. "You mustn't tell anybody. Anyone!"

  "You know, there are worse vices for a priest to have."

  "I have no vices! You were imagining things!"

  "So if I were to offer to buy you a few shots of whiskey—"

  "I would reject it. Every single one." A line of spittle ran down her mouth. "No matter how delicious it would be..."

  Nathan raised an eyebrow.

  "You're doing a very good job of convincing me that you're not an alcoholic."

  Her mouth opened and shut, before she pointed behind Nathan at a gap between the bales. "Hey, we're at our destination!"

  Nathan poked his head out in the gap. "So we are."

  The ocean.

  An endless sea of sparkling pearls, the sun reflecting off of the water majestically.