Their pace was unhurried, and the conversation had lapsed, so Walker and Amberlin marched along with the convoy in relaxed silence.
'Been awhile since I checked the Quest Tracking System on my progress.' Walker thought to himself, willing that portion of the HUD to become less translucent and more apparent as he whispered, "[Log]."
{*I*
Forge your determination and body by traveling the massive world of Korinn to the neighboring kingdom of Cata Boral.
-Take two million steps (401,522 steps taken)}
{*II*
As an Archer Scout, you need to reacquaint yourself with your noble weapon. Note that your ammunition will not run out during this quest.
-Shoot 10,000 arrows (1,134 arrows shot)}
Walker nodded to himself absentmindedly and began shooting arrows again as they moved, maintaining his position near the edge of the highway.
Deciding to investigate a few of his other options fully, he whispered "[Stats]."
The blue light-screen appeared in his vision, displaying:
STATS (LIMITED) - {You're weak, but you don't have to be.}
Class Mastery: 0.2 (ARCHER SCOUT LEVEL - Seek guidance as an archer; begin training as a scout)
STR: 0.8 (STRENGTH - recently up from 0.7, due to increased physical conditioning)
DEX 1.1 (DEXTERITY - recently up from 0.9, due to increased agility and reflexes)
DEF 0.3 (DEFENSE - value extremely low due to clothing and flesh being inherently weak)
MIND 1.2 (recently up from 1.0, due to extreme mental anguish and suffering)
CHA 0.9 (CHARISMATICS - no recent changes)
END 1.1 (ENDURANCE - recently up from 0.5, due to greatly effective stamina conditioning)
- - - -
Walker didn't feel very much upon reviewing his admittedly unimpressive stats. 'These numbers are a bunch of crap, but I don't have anything to compare them to.' He thought as he frowned.
The numbers were laughably low, but he made himself feel better by reminding himself that this was only the beginning. The fact that he could monitor his improvements in real time was really motivating.
The Stats screen was limited, but he didn't really understand what other functions might be available here in the future. He dismissed the screen and continued shooting arrows.
Wilford appeared shortly thereafter and nodded his head respectfully to Amberlin, who greeted him kindly in return.
Walker tried to keep steady as Wilford supervised his progress with the bow. Wilford watched quietly as the younger man shot arrow after arrow.
Occasionally, Wilford would shoot a few arrows himself. He would always hurry off to collect them afterward, something that Walker was thankful that he didn't have to deal with for now.
However, as if Wilford had a mind reading ability of his own, he chastised Walker about how wasteful he was being with ammo and reprimanded him to go retrieve his recoverable shots.
Walker marched off to recover his shots and rolled his eyes as he was out of the angle of Wilford's vision.
Wilford yelled after him, "I've trained a lot of recruits and raised children. I know that you think it's foolish to get those arrows but think of it as training your perception, among other things. Keep an ear and an eye out. I think you've shot about thirty-six arrows while we've been marching through this clearing. Let's see how many you can bring back."
Walker's thoughts wandered as he traipsed around the clearing looking for his shots. 'Something is off about Space Arrow, it hasn't happened anymore since the first time. Even though it statistically has a 10% chance for it to activate, it never has while I've been practicing.'
This caused him to wonder if he had misunderstood the skill, or if it had other really stringent requirements that he was unaware of. Having no way to tell, he kept looking for his shots.
Managing to find thirty-four of them, even after a few short trips into the nearby woods to look around, he felt satisfied and figured Wilford would be happy with the tally as well.
He was correct, mostly. Other than some grumbling about the missing two arrows, Wilford did give him a compliment.
"All thirty-four arrows are still in quite serviceable condition." Arching an eyebrow after a moment of looking at the arrows Walker brought back, he looked surprised. "They actually don't appear to have taken any damage at all. Good job, keep shooting and recovering."
Walker continued practicing while listening to Wilford's well-meaning criticisms carefully.
"Hold your posture! Its slouching away as if it owes me money."
"Rotate that arm outward, or you're going to keep putting that armguard I gave you through way too much action. More hide slapping on there than you've ever seen with your years, young man."
Amberlin giggled nearby while Walker shook his head with a rueful smile.
Wilford watched Walker's most recent shot and nodded appreciatively. "Good job. If you can get over whatever sickness is ailing you every night, I'd treat you to a drink over at the Mess Tent. I don't understand what it is going on with you, but there's one of the country's best healers right here. So, what's stopping you from seeking treatment?"
Furrowing his brows in thought, Walker wondered again what Wilford and others were referring to about being sick. It was the same type of awkward interaction he often had with others in the convoy, where they seemed incredibly surprised to see Walker moving around and talking.
One civilian, a young cook named Pietro, often joked with Walker on the road about "how amazing it is to see that you're actually real person and not totally just a survivor-turned-vegetable like some of the others."
Pietro, a nice enough person, would often invite Walker to join him in trying to meet the young beauties of the convoy, insisting he would seek Walker out in camp that very night "while you're still well enough," to have him join in the festivities.
Yet the convoy never stopped to camp at night. There was never any night while he was marching with the convoy. At most, there would be a slight change in color of the sky for the briefest moment before turning back to a bright, early morning look.
'It has to be something to do with the setup of this game-world. The repetitive playstyle probably doesn't call for much change in setting, unless called for by the story. But I can't remember the story.'
The notion that the game appeared to involve constant walking or marching seemed exceedingly dull; however, he couldn't figure out whether this was a typical format for a game or not. He couldn't recall any games at all.
As for Pietro's suggestion, he would love to join in. Not specifically for the exact activities that Pietro was suggesting, but just to learn more about the world he was in. His circumstances were so unreal that he couldn't even think about romance, or anything related.
He felt too unsettled about himself and everything else, and the sense of dissociation he was feeling was occasionally overwhelming. Turning to look around, he saw Amberlin looking at him with a sad, sympathetic smile.
He smiled at her and then turned back to Wilford to answer, "What's ailing me isn't so easily cured."
They walked for a bit longer before Walker decided it was time to try out another recently obtained option. "[Transitions]." Walker muttered.
The familiar blue light screen opened, and the female-debug menu voice simply said that single word: {Transitions}.
After selecting the [Transitions] Menu by speaking it aloud, Walker was surprised that he wasn't given any choices or information about his selection from the Light Screen.
Instead, his body lost all weight, and a surge of panic overtook him. His vision gradually darkened, starting from the edges and moving inward, accompanied by a distant roaring, a sound reminiscent of white noise.
Whether only a few moments later or not he couldn't tell. His body regained the feeling of weight while his vision slowly filled back in.
It was dusk. Walker stared at the sky in mute anticipation as it slowly became darker. It would still take some time, so he started walking toward the convoy's night-time camp. Walker entered the outskirts of the camp, seeing that guards were posted at various intervals, watching outward.
Walker passed into the camp and the two guards nearby openly eyed him with surprise. They quickly ignored him as he approached and otherwise made no moves to interfere with anyone leaving or entering the camp.
The patrolling men-at-arms, camp staff, and other civilians similarly paid him no attention. A few, however, did not disregard him entirely but instead cast him glances filled with a blend of confusion and pity.
An elderly man passed by, shaking his head sorrowfully and musing aloud about what could have been if the young man had not been marked by the events in the Capital City.
"These young folks deserve better, but they should also be made of sterner stuff." The old man mused aloud, walking away slowly.
Walker grinned ruefully and stopped looking over his shoulder at the people walking away behind him. He didn't truly care about what they thought of him; their opinions of him didn't matter. He was regaining control of himself and was slowly working to learn more about the game-world he was in.
Studying the HUD minimap to learn the general areas of the camp he discovered that couldn't tell where his own tent was located. His minimap didn't have that kind of functionality. It was little more than a geographical/topological layout with his position on it but still incredibly useful for his future as a scout.
Observing the camp using the minimap alongside his own vision quickly revealed several details about its arrangement. The camp was structured in concentric rings, with the outer circles occupied by defenders and military personnel. The inner rings were segmented into distinct areas, some designated for civilian sleeping quarters and others for services supporting both military and civilian groups. These auxiliary services, such as kitchens and medical facilities, were vital to the well-being of both groups.
The smells of the camp were numerous; sawdust covering the ground, the pitch and other smells of fire and torches as well as food and drink, which were plentiful in variety. Walker's stomach grumbled as he neared the makeshift kitchens and decided to head inside the mess tents.
The mess tent was really a canvas pavilion set up with rough-hewn benches. Their fresh cut edges added a pine-sap smell to the environs and Walker took a seat at one of the benches to look around and study the area.
There were many different people in the large pavilion. Civilians, military, commoners and nobles all ate together; it was surprisingly peaceful but likely had to do more with everyone's inability to deal with any additional drama.
Off to one side, several cooks worked on some type of project. Walker watched as two of the cooks, sweaty and panting, dug out a rectangular trench, approximately two feet wide and a foot and a half deep (approx. 61cm and 46cm respectively). One of the others moved a couple of steps away and dug out a hole, slightly apart from the trench with his back to the pavilion.
While the first two lined the trench by pressing flat rocks into the earthen sidewalls the third continued digging the hole and shaping its sides. He finished and then stepped over down into the trench. He dug into the earth near the bottom of the trench and shaped out a lateral tunnel connecting the hole to the trench.
The first two continued lining the sides of the trench with the rocks they had found but quickly ran out and moved on to constructing two tripods and a thick center pole over the trench.
By this point, the third man had constructed a small earthen chimney over the hole and arranged three large rocks around it. He then placed several wire racks over the hole and proceeded to walk toward a nearby pavilion covered in blue canvas, which was not the one where Walker was seated.
It was Pietro, the young cook Walker had recently spoken to out on the road. Pietro, an incredibly lean man with red hair tied with a thin leather strap into a tail, was wearing a thick brown apron. He disappeared inside a blue-canvas pavilion shortly thereafter walked back out with an armful of huge roasts and other chunks of meat.
Walking back to the trench cooking pit that the first two cooks were finishing up by getting a fire ready, Pietro neatly arranged all the meat on the wire racks over the chimney carefully.
Pietro pulled a cloth packet out of his apron pocket and tore it open, sprinkling the contents on all the meats on the racks. Pietro then crouched and lifted a large wooden crate, perforated with numerous small holes. He carefully placed the crate down, ensuring it fully covered the racks laden with meat.
At this juncture, Walker had approached the cooks and stood silently a short distance away. Pietro, upon completing his task and scanning the surroundings, noticed him and called out, "Oy, Walker! You've ventured out, you must've recovered from your bout of horrors and hysteria- at last!"
He came over and put his arm over Walker's shoulder, exclaiming "I can hardly believe it—we're finally going to establish our fine reputations in this camp while seeking out some of the Capital City's most remarkable, enduring, and still-eligible ladies! I've actually got the perfect one in mind for you!"