Jack’s mind was bombarded with a flurry of sensations.

  His body felt sluggish and leaden, likely from overexerting his Dexterity pool. His mind, oddly clear, was working in overdrive, cataloging every little thing he could sense.

  Something about this place was wrong.

  It was far too clean. Too sanitized to be considered the living quarters for animals. Come to think of it, Jack hadn’t seen any livestock since he arrived at Olric’s farm.

  So, instead of mucked stables, cows or sheep, or even just hay as he’d imagined was typical of a barn, this place was more like a workshop than anything else. There were half a dozen rows of tables, each covered with neatly arranged vats, cauldrons, tubes, and other instruments he didn’t recognize. They were all lined up in a single row to one side, while the other had a series of tarped cubes.

  Whatever reeked of rot was coming from one of those covered cubes.

  Jack could also taste salts, herbs, and something sickly sweet drifting on the stagnant barn air. The floorboards creaked loudly as he shifted his weight. He could feel the smooth grain of the wood beneath his fingertips, partially scratched by long drag marks carved down the center aisle. It stretched deeper into the barn, ending somewhere past the aisles and the cubes.

  With a jolt, he realized he’d inadvertently triggered his Perception stat. Strangely, it wasn’t draining nearly as quickly as the others, but he could still feel that he had another minute, tops, before it bottomed out.

  Jack really didn’t want to find out what physiological backlash would come from zeroing out his Perception. Blindness? Deafness? Something worse?

  Get ahold of yourself, Jack! he mentally shouted, his breath arriving in uneven gasps.

  After a few more moments, he grasped onto the hyper-awareness and mentally severed the connection. His Perception instantly deactivated, and the world dulled into darkness.

  Interesting, a distant part of his mind offered. Activating my Perception increases my ability to see in the dark. I wonder what threshold I need to reach in order to have true dark vision!

  He let that thought go for now. He had more pressing matters.

  “What is this place?” Jack whispered and got to his feet.

  With a wince, he glanced back at the damage he’d caused to one of the barn doors. It hung askew on its hinges, twisted thanks to his unintentional entrance, unnaturally. He peered through the fresh opening to see if Olric was headed back, or if someone else nearby had heard his crash.

  No one came.

  Inside the barn, a sickly sweet aroma mixed with the stench of decay. He made his decision. He would figure out what was going on in here, then ask Olric about it.

  “Please don’t be a psychopath,” Jack muttered and ventured deeper inside the workshop.

  Every floorboard creaked, ruining his attempt at stealth. He first approached the tables. Each one had an assortment of containers marked with labels. Jack reviewed the first one.

  Ashwillow bark, blacklung moss, bloodrot

  Inside the three-ingredient vat was a dark and viscous liquid. It suddenly bubbled, and Jack bit down a yelp. A thin trail of purple vapor extended from the vat. It smelled of sulfur and oxidized iron.

  “Just what is that stuff?” he wondered aloud.

  Jack moved on to the next few vats and cauldrons, reading their labels. The next one made him stop short.

  blacklung moss, creepwalker chiton, human blood

  Just what are you doing in here, Olric? Human blood? What possible use could you have for that?

  More pressing was the concern about where that blood came from.

  It could just be his own. Don’t jump to conlcusions, Jack.

  When he made it to the last table, he paused again. On this one, there was no black-iron cauldron or complicated distillation network of tubes. There was simply a wooden rack of test tubes and a pile of carefully arranged notes.

  There were over a dozen test tubes, most of them empty save for errant smudges of whatever substance they once possessed. Only three tubes were full. One was a sickly orange hue, the other was a blood-red color, and the third was nearly translucent like water. Each corked tube thrummed with power. They itched at his primal instincts, which told him to run away from those unnatural energies.

  He couldn’t explain why, but just looking at those three vials made him feel sick. They were wrong.

  Are these what I sensed when barging in here?

  For some reason, that conclusion didn’t sit right with him.

  Moving cautiously, he approached the final table, but not before glancing through the broken door to make sure no one was approaching.

  No one was.

  Jack peered down at the stack of journals, most of which were tied together with twine. Gingerly, he opened the only untied notebook. He flipped to the first entry. Jack began to read:

  Test Subject #2561

  I distilled six milliliters of corpsebloom petals this time. The vial emits an unholy energy, reminding me of the later stages of shroud sickness. I’m close. I know I am. If I can successfully mix the petals with the bloodroot, I may have figured out how the transformation process works. Once I understand it, I’ll be able to reverse it.

  Beneath this entry, a second was hastily scrawled.

  The test subject’s body rejected the treatment.

  “Who’s body?” Jack wondered aloud, fearing the answer.

  He flipped to another page, his fingers beginning to tremble.

  Test Subject #2569

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

  Harpy feathers aren’t the solution. They reacted… violently with the bloodroot. But I know the bloodroot is the solution. Somehow.

  Test subject died in transport.

  “What test subject?” Jack asked the quiet barn.

  He didn’t want to read anymore, but found that he was unable to stop. He flipped through several more pages until he spotted one that was heavily underlined and annotated. He read:

  Test Subject #2601

  I did it! I figured out how shroud sickness infects the soul! It is not the full picture, I know, but that’s the most crucial step in the infection process. It seems that bloodroot and blacklung moss, when properly ratioed, recreate the same symptoms as seen by creatures out in the shroud past the damned 24-hour limit.

  It isn’t a poison as I thought. It’s an infection! How could I be so blind? It was staring at me this whole time. If I can prevent this infection, I can, at the very least, inoculate others from the shroud sickness. It may not be a cure, but it might be the best outcome I can realistically achieve. I’ll need to return to the slums and gather more of them. Perhaps Gerome will be more willing this time.

  The test subject was terminated shortly after a successful procedure.

  Jack was speechless. “He’s… He’s experimenting on people. That… That can’t be right.”

  Hating his curiosity more every moment, Jack set down the journal. It flipped to the latest page, which was written in crude, quick, letters.

  Test subject #2739

  Infection antidote failed. Subject deceased.

  Test subject #2740

  Infection antidote failed. Subject deceased.

  Test subject #2741

  Infection antidote failed. Subject deceased. Damn it.

  Test subject #2742

  Nothing works. They’re all dead. There’s no way to cure this damned disease.

  Jack stepped away from the last table, horror and disgust warring inside of him. His back slammed against one of the many tarped cubes, and there was a hollow ring of metal. Fearing the worst, Jack grasped one end of the tarp.

  He pulled on the covering, and it fell away with a rush of air and tempered fabric. Beneath the tarp was a cage.

  Is Olric… trafficking people from the slums? Is that what all these cages are for?

  Bent bars and scratched wood, framed blood stains coating every surface. Some were the green ichor he affiliated with orcs, but he spotted several splotches of blood so red it was nearly black. It might’ve been human blood, but he couldn’t be sure in the poor lighting.

  That wasn’t what drew his attention.

  It was the orc corpse curled in one corner. It was undeniably dead. Yet, from some puncture in its exposed ribs, a thin sprout extended upward. From it, a small bud of a flower was just beginning to blossom. The petals were a sickly pink.

  Bile rose in his throat, and he hurriedly threw the tarp back atop the cage. It caught on one of the bolts affixing it to the floor. He cursed and yanked harder, and a portion of the durable textile ripped. Jack cursed louder, but managed to get the cage covered again.

  Jack ran out of the barn. He couldn’t check the other cages for human remains. It was just too much. Olric—the same one who had nursed him back from death—was experimenting on people and orcs.

  The orcs, he had little trouble accepting. They were monsters, cannibals, and his enemies. His quest line made that abundantly clear. But equally clear was that Olric was using human blood in his experiments, he saw red blood on the cages, and his notes mentioned Gerome and the slums.

  Isn’t Gerome the one that healer Barnaby mentioned? Wasn’t he connected to the healing potions? Is that how he does it? Is Olric finding people in need of healing potions, then luring them here only to experiment on them?

  He was guessing. He knew that. But just the notion was enough to send fresh waves of revulsion cascading through his gut.

  The fresh air that greeted his lungs felt like an offense to the horrors he’d just discovered. The sky overhead was beautiful and decorated with nimbus clouds. All around him, life sprouted and ripened on tree branches and green stalks, hiding the death that hid inside that barn.

  I… I can’t tell Olric I know. If there’s even a chance I’m right, he’ll kill me. Or, worse, he’ll put me in one of those cages and use me for one of those ungodly experiments.

  His mind rushed back to one of those three vials.

  I will not be a test subject.

  His only route to self-preservation was in getting stronger and not letting Olric know that he knew what happened in that barn. Ignorance, deception, and maintaining his distance were his best tools in this situation.

  “What are ya doin’, boy?” Olric’s voice cut through Jack’s spiraling thoughts.

  He whirled, fists raised.

  “Whoa, there, Jack,” Olric raised his own hands in mock surrender. “What’s gotten into ya? You look like ya seen a ghost.”

  “No,” Jack said just a bit too quickly. “Just a little out of breath. I decided to test one of my new skills.” He lowered his head, hoping his desire to be less readable would appear as embarrassment. “I accidentally backed into your barn door. I guess you’ll need to add it to my tally.”

  “Ardent’s beard, boy! Do you even know how to rest when the shite hasn’t been beaten out of ya? You really need to rest a’fore you start casting magic from a legendary class. There’s still a ton you need to know before tackling something like that!” Olric admonished.

  Jack’s bristles rose at this, and some of his pent-up panic and rage bled through. “I’m fine. I figured out plenty.”

  Olric’s expression softened, and he took a step towards Jack. “Hey, now. I meant no offense. Just thought you might like a hand in getting a grip on our magic. It’s built on effort, yes, but a lesson or tip here and there can’t hurt ya, you know… You sure you’re okay? Seem a bit green about the gills, you do.”

  “I said I’m fine,” Jack responded and rolled out his shoulders. “I’m going to get a bit more practice in.”

  His emotions warred inside of him, but his anger won out. If this world had taught him anything, it was that good people had died out long ago. Olric might’ve been kind to him, but who’s to say he didn’t have an ulterior motive? Everyone else in this damned world had one!

  The farmer watched Jack for another moment, and he wanted nothing more than to run or punch the man in the face for his secret war crimes. But Olric was level 42. He was still only level 10. Even if the bastard had a Common rarity class, the amount of attributes he would have at his disposal in a fight was terrifying.

  And Jack would’ve bet all of his remaining fingers that Olric did not have a common class.

  “If you say so, kid,” Olric finally said. “But you might need these if you’re thinking of doing more than just practicing.”

  Jack turned just in time to catch a corded leather wrap. He caught it easily and opened it. Inside were a few documents tucked into a protective sheath reminiscent of Earth’s laminents.

  “What are these?” Jack asked, doing his best to keep his tone neutral and polite.

  “As I promised. You’re officially my farmhand, boy. Might have you doin’ all sorts of jobs for me now!” Olric laughed, but Jack didn’t join him. Eventually, the farmer’s laughter died out. “I’m just kiddin’. Wipe off that offended look ya got. I know you’ve got better things to do than weeding garden beds right now. You get strong. I’ll hold down the fort. But I do need to teach you a thing or two. I have a reputation as a farmer to uphold, after all. Can’t have my first farmhand oblivious to the difference between a dewcap and some frostmint!”

  Another unshared laugh.

  No wonder you never hired a farmhand. Not with what you might be hiding.

  Jack lifted the leather parcel. “Thank you for this.”

  Olric shrugged. “The least I can do for the Banisher. Now, off you get. I can see that my arguing that you need rest is going to land on deaf ears. If you need anything at all, though, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Jack gave him a tight smile and nodded.

  “Oh, and do try to get back before dark. You may have a high and mighty class now, but orcs still roam these parts. I’ll be damned if one of ‘em kills our only hope with a lucky potshot from a crossbow or staff.” Olric strode past Jack, slapping him good-naturedly on the shoulder. “Congrats on the powerful new class, though. Can’t wait to see it in action.”

  Careful what you wish for, Jack thought darkly. If I’m right and you’re hurting the people we’re meant to be protecting, I don’t care what you’ve done for me. You will pay.

  He glanced down at his new papers. This would mean he could finally enter Thistlebrush without getting hassled. He’d still have to be wary of Derrick and Sathem. Even that healer, Banarby. But at least now, he could avoid the turf war raging in the slums.

  That reminds me. I still have a world quest in there. Jack grimaced. But there’s no way I’m going to be much use until I can use all my class skills. I’ll wait until I’ve got a few more levels. That way, I can help the remaining Spiders dominate over Rigs and his dreamers.

  Jack slipped his papers into a secure notch of his belt. He’d have to find a better way of storing them in the long term, but this would work for now.

  It’s time I found another sidequest. And there’s no way it’s going to be as hard as the last one.

  Right?

  Thank you again for all your amazing feedback! This story is far stronger because of it.