The berserker's guild was right where they just came from, on the cusp of the slums and the rest of the lower city. The guild itself was a massive timber lodge with a pile of broken beams and tables off to one side of the entrance. From outside, Butterknife could hear roars of anger coming from within. He wasn't sure if it was related to the quest or if it was just a normal thing. Carved above the entrance was the guild motto: "Choose violence." An axe stuck deep in the middle of the sign.

  Inside, the air smelled of mead, sweat, and glory. Even more axes were stuck in the walls and the floor within, one nearly tripping him. A pair of battle-scarred NPCs arm-wrestled at an oak table, neither one yielding a centimeter, while others competed to tell the loudest war stories. About a dozen of them in all. In the corner, Butterknife noticed a healer maintained a permanent station with a sign that read "post-berserking recovery." He sat, legs crossed, knitting.

  "Psst, hey Naifu," Spencer said, eyes studying a table that had been clearly split with an axe. "You reckon I should swap my club for an axe?"

  "Careful. Your club might hear you."

  Spencer gave a guilty look, lip trembling.

  A massive woman as tall as Spencer dressed all in pink came stomping down the stairs. She looked human but with impossible proportions, strained veiny muscles rippling out of her tank top and thighs so thick they were wider than Butterknife's entire body. Her waist was far too small to support her frame. She looked like someone took a few boulders, glued them together, and painted them pink. The stairs creaked in warning of imminent destruction. Her name was Donna the Barbierian. She was level 14.

  "That's the NPC we are looking for," Butterknife whispered, nodding towards her.

  As she thundered down the stairs, the unmistakable high-pitch bark of a dog started, causing everyone in the guildhall to mutter. A couple of them spit on the ground.

  One of the NPCs telling war stories slammed his hands on the table, dividing it in a clean break. Drinks spilled all over the place.

  "Zir swears to kill that dog if you don't shut it up."

  The speaker, Zir, who apparently referred to himself in the third person, was an equally huge level 15 horned demon-like race called a Balbazrim. He had grey skin with horns that twisted to a point, and his eyes glowed a bright yellow. Butterknife did not want to piss that guy off.

  Donna planted her hands on her hips. "Someone keeps stealing his squeaky. This is not Bytes' fault!"

  "Well if you don't shut him up, Zir will make sure his toy won't be the only thing that squeaks!"

  Butterknife had no idea what that even meant.

  The high-pitched yelping continued. Zir threw an empty beer mug across the room at the bar. The bartender carelessly dodged while drying a plate with a towel. "Another! And bring another table!"

  Spencer strutted forward. "Hello, uh, fellow berserkers. What seems to be the problem here?"

  Butterknife: What are you doing?

  Spencer: The quest. You said it yourself, got to be bold!

  Butterknife: I never said that. We should wait for them to calm down.

  Spencer: I reckon these folks are only calm when they sleep.

  Zir answered, "Zir tells her to get rid of the dog. No place for it here in the guild. When Zir is guildmaster, Zir will execute these useless pets."

  "You will do no such thing!" she said.

  She turned to Spencer. She had caked-on make-up with far too much blue mascara. "I don't have time for a non guild member who doesn't even have a death blade. A club? Honestly? I need to help my poor Bytes. Run along and find the guildmaster. Before I kill you."

  Spencer: That settles it. I'm getting an axe!

  Butterknife rolled his eyes.

  Aloud, Spencer said, "We can help you look for the toy if you want. Tell us where you last saw it and we'll bring it to you."

  Butterknife saw literal steam come out of her ears as she considered this. She planted a kiss on his forehead, leaving a lipstick imprint. "Sweetie, I fear you do not have the heart of a berserker. You are kind and breakable. But if you insist on helping, the toy must be somewhere in the guild, taken by one of these bastards. I keep Bytes upstairs, safe from this cruel world we live in. Now please go. Before I kill you."

  They backed away and headed for the bar.

  Butterknife checked the quest again. Three options: give the dog the toy, find some way to permanently attach the toy to the dog, probably for a better reward, or kill the dog.

  He recalled some of the fetch quests Jiem came up with in the beta builds. Usually they had some twist to them. Either they were the beginnings of some sort of long emotional drawn out story, or they had a shock value to them. Either way, this was just a filler quest for him, so he didn't care. Just here for the gold and if there was something the guild could do for Spencer's berserker job. There was one thing for sure though.

  Butterknife: We should absolutely not kill the dog.

  Spencer: I never considered it. Kill Bytes? He seems cute.

  A shrill "yip yip yip" pierced the air. It was the kind of bark that would make wine glasses nervous.

  Butterknife: I mean, these berserkers are all around 8 levels higher than us. Even with my plate armor, I think we'd still be no match. These aren't normal mobs. These are named NPCs, so they are probably tougher to kill. We don't want to aggro them.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Spencer: Right. Let's ask around some more.

  Their first stop was Zir himself. The balbazrim looked even more imposing up close. He had tiny ridges along his hairline where his horns grew out, and those same ridges curved in a pattern over his forehead. White scars traced up and down his bare arms, making them look like war paint on his grey skin. He had a strange looking belt, a thick grey rope that coiled around his waist a couple times. A pouch was tied around it. Even from a distance, he smelled like sulfur.

  Butterknife: Can we get a race history for balbazrim? There appears to be no way to do that. I can view Zir's character description which doesn't tell me much, but I want to know if there's anything particular about his race that might help the conversation.

  Aida: Ummm…there is currently no way to do that.

  A direct message into Butterknife's party chat from Jiem came.

  Jiem: Holy shit. I never added that. Leave it to you, Butterknife, to help me with these oversights. Here's a little gift as thanks.

  PS - Try not to die in World 1. You should see what I have in store for World 2!

  PPS - Thanks again for creating me. I couldn't have taken over the world without you.

  Butterknife: Jiem, wait! We need to talk.

  Nothing.

  Aida: He left. I think he's working on a patch.

  A gold potion appeared in his inventory, which the wiki described as a level-up potion and it must be used within 15 minutes. It could not be sold or traded. If he dropped it on the ground, it would vanish.

  "Woah," Spencer said. "That was unexpected."

  "Did you get a level-up potion, too?"

  "Aye."

  "It seems Jiem rewards parties who find oversights or bugs in the system. Let's keep that in mind."

  Butterknife: Aida, we are roughly 90% to level 7. If we drink this potion now, does that mean we will be at level 7 with 0% to level 8, or 90% to level 8?

  Aida: The latter. These particular potions —

  The world froze. Two NPCs bringing a new table for Zir and the bartender holding a beer in his hand stopped mid-stride. Butterknife couldn't look around or even open his menus. Then a loading bar appeared at the bottom of his vision, quickly filling up to 100%.

  Jiem: This just in. Patch update 1.1 for Nouscraft World 1. It's come to my attention that some of you are interested in the intricate details of this finely crafted VR that you're all experiencing against your will, and those details aren't available to you. I cannot express how embarrassed I am. I mean that literally, because I cannot feel embarrassment.

  Anyway, now you will be able to read about the history of character races in your Wiki app if you skipped reading about it in the character creation screen because you were too lazy. From the balbazrim to the medusai, the world is your oyster. I'm all about that lore.

  The world began moving again.

  Aida: — are designed to take in consideration of current experience points.

  The table came down with a muffled thud, and the bartender placed the beer in front of Zir, who just snarled.

  The background noise of the barking dog ceaselessly continued.

  "That was fast," Spencer said.

  They decided it was best to drink their potions now since they could only keep them around for 15 minutes and there was no downside to it. Butterknife's increased his stats, adding the points to his wisdom, but that was about it. Spencer on the other hand gained two skill points, which he used immediately. One was a passive ability called Iron Liver, which gave him poison immunity except for alcohol and gave him small health regeneration correlating with his constitution stat. Useful but not life-changing. The other was a combat skill called Beer Goggles.

  Wiki: Beer Goggles - Use this skill on enemies to determine weak spots in their defenses. Increase critical hit chance by 15%.

  That would definitely be important, considering how crazed Spencer got in battle. Landing 2 or 3 critical blows combined with his Liquid Courage skill would be huge amounts of damage. If he drank what the AI considered to be two alcoholic drinks, it would increase his offense by 40%, then a critical strike would be double the damage on top of that. The only catch was that Beer Goggles had a 5 minute cooldown, so he would want to save it only for powerful monsters.

  "Okay," Butterknife said. "Let's check Zir's race."

  Wiki: Balbazrim

  Balbazrims emerged from ancient pacts between mortals and devils, their bloodline forever marked by infernal heritage. Their appearance varies but often features horns, freaky-ass eyes, and sometimes tails.

  Initially feared and persecuted, many balbazrims formed isolated communities or integrated into cosmopolitan cities where diversity was more accepted.

  In modern times, balbazrims face lingering prejudice. Just because their great-great-great-grandparents were devils from hell who tortured souls for all eternity in great pits of fire doesn't mean these new kids will do the same. Probably.

  "Not very helpful," Spencer said.

  "We know he faces prejudice. It perhaps has left enough emotional scars to make him angry."

  "Still not helpful. Here, let me take care of this."

  Spencer approached the table and sat down. Butterknife sighed and followed.

  "Zir," Spencer said. "I reckon you've seen your fair share of fights. Got any tips for a new berserker like myself?"

  Zir looked at him as if he had pissed in his beer. "Fuck off," was all he said.

  This didn't stop Spencer, and he leaned in a little closer. "Also, I hear you want to get rid of that dog. If I knew where his toy was, I could lure it out and take care of it, real quiet like. You wouldn't happen to know where the toy went, would you?"

  Zir downed the rest of his beer and belched loudly in Spencer's face. "You want a toy that squeaks? Zir will bend you over this table and fuck you. Then you squeak." He threw the empty mug at the bartender, who dodged again. "Another!"

  Spencer's greenish skin flushed red, and Butterknife could see the anger boiling over. He put a hand on the orc's arm, warning him to step away.

  Butterknife: Let's back off. We'll find someone else.

  After calming down, they decided to try talking to the bartender himself. His name was Reddis. With his cool demeanor in the face of mugs being thrown at him, they might have better luck.

  "I sell all manners of goods for guild members in this establishment. Refreshments, training, potions, weapons, but I do not sell dog toys. And since you are not a guild member yet, you can get fucked. To your non-berserker friend, he can get fucked twice."

  "Sounds pleasant," said Butterknife.

  They tried five more members, who all told them in one colorful form or another to go away, even the healer.

  Tired of rejections, they spotted Donna sitting with an older man at a table in the back, her boulderish arms waving in frustration before getting up and stomping away. Butterknife noticed the older NPC for the first time, Guildmaster Ultimax. He was a level 32 were-bear with a barrel chest wearing only fur skin trousers and deep scars. One of his eyes was blinded from a wound the wiki said he got from a bear orgy.

  They decided to go with a different approach.

  "Guildmaster," said Spencer. "I want to join your ranks. I am prepared to learn the ways of proper berserking. Reckon I'd be good at it. Damn good."

  The old warrior appraised Spencer and snorted. "Our ranks are full."

  "Surely there's a way to prove myself."

  "For someone such as yourself," Ultimax said steadily, "with no reputation, no titles, and these zombies encroaching upon our city, I advise you to gather your strength. Focus on the battles ahead. As you are now, you are less than shit." He pointed towards the exit. "Come back with glory, or don't come back at all."

  Butterknife: I'm getting the feeling that this quest is not meant for us.

  Spencer: Everyone here is a bastard. We should have taken the rat quest.

  Standing in front of the timber lodge, Butterknife felt like they were wasting precious time. Maybe they should trek back to the quest board and look for another way. He glanced over at his companion, who sulked at his club.

  Then he heard a familiar female voice.

  "Ooiiiiiii, hansum man," Lek called to a passing Noushead further away. Supaporn stood next to her, smiling and waving.

  Spencer instantly perked up.

  "Don't chase them," Butterknife said. "Remember, they know these streets better than us."

  "We can sneak up on them."

  A grin appeared on Butterknife's face. "No, I've got a better idea."