The scent of blood and fear still clung to the air. My new name, Roric, son of Thane, felt alien on my tongue, a raw sound for a complex mind. Before me lay the selection of weapons, crude implements of death: an axe with a splintered haft, a spear whose iron tip seemed dull, and a heavy, round shield of hide-wrapped wood.
Instinct, a new and alarming guest in my consciousness, screamed for a blade. In `Epochfall: Sundered World`, the Savage class – `barbarian` in the old tongue – was a frenzy of offense. My past self, a glutton for efficiency and power-gaming, had often chosen the greatsword. Spinning through enemy ranks, a dervish of steel, was undeniably thrilling. And utterly, catastrophically inefficient.
My game logs were littered with 'Savage' character deaths. Initial runs, driven by the fantasy of a berserker, invariably ended with a quick, brutal demise. The class was designed for unbridled aggression, for diving into the thickest fight. But that very berserker rage, a mechanic meant to boost damage, stripped away control, leaving me vulnerable, predictable.
Experimentation taught me a bitter truth: `Barbarian` meant `cannon fodder` if played straight. No matter how I tweaked stats, how I tried to micro-manage their rage, they would inevitably succumb. The thrill of raw power always gave way to the cold reality of a respawn screen. Each battle was a tightrope walk over a chasm.
Could I really be so blinded by aesthetic preference?
My analytical mind, still a razor-sharp instrument despite the primal surge, cut through the romantic notion. This wasn't a game for fun. This was survival. And survival demanded adaptation, a complete overhaul of my playstyle.
The `Savage` class boasted the highest vitality and strength among the starting archetypes. They could wear the heaviest armor. They possessed the raw stats for endurance. Not quite a Dwarf, with their ludicrous damage resistance, but a viable tank.
The idea of a `Barba-Aegis` – a barbarian shield-bearer – had been born from frustration, forged in countless simulation deaths. It wasn't my preferred style, not the glorious whirlwind of steel. But it worked. It was stable. It was efficient. And it kept the character alive.
My previous research, hundreds of hours dedicated to optimizing survival builds, would be wasted otherwise. This was the only rational path.
Step.
My hand reached past the crude bladed weapons, ignoring the glint of iron, the heft of wood-and-stone. It settled on the shield. It was heavy, thicker than it looked, made of overlapping hide stretched taut over a gnarled wooden frame, banded with rough iron. The leather strap for my forearm felt worn, softened by previous use.
Returning to my designated spot, I felt the shift in gazes. Other young warriors, wide-eyed with the promise of battle, looked at my choice. Confusion rippled through the tribal initiates. A shield? When there were blades for the taking? Did they expect me to wield a greatsword and die easily?
My face remained a mask of detached calm. No need to act the part of the proud warrior. This was pure logic. They could stare. I had made the optimal decision.
---
“Next!” the elder’s voice boomed.
My selection was sound. Three primary reasons underpinned the cold calculus:
First, among the crude starting implements, this shield, with its robust construction and hide, held the highest potential resale value. A small, but critical, economic advantage in a world where every resource would be scarce.
Second, without any practical experience in this primitive body, a bladed weapon would be a liability. My knowledge of combat mechanics was theoretical; my body’s motor skills were undeveloped. A shield offered defense, a chance to learn, to observe, to adapt without immediately risking my life.
Third, the `Barba-Aegis` build was my long-term survival strategy. A tank, a wall, a bastion of endurance. It was my ultimate pursuit of efficiency in this brutal existence.
“With this,” the elder declared, raising a gnarled hand, “you have become a warrior!”
---
My induction complete, a brief lull settled over the ceremony. The other young initiates milled about, boasting, exchanging boisterous slaps on the back. My mind, however, whirred, attempting to consolidate the torrent of information.
`Tutorial Complete.`
The chilling message from the system, delivered without preamble as I awoke, now resonated with stark clarity. It wasn’t a helping hand. It was a taunt.
*I’ve told you everything you need. Now survive.*
Such a vicious bastard. If this entity truly wanted me to survive, it should have included a simple parameter: *Am I considered an 'evil spirit' or not?* One false move and my head would have been pulped against a ritual stone. That earlier execution had been a brutal reminder of the stakes.
A guttural growl rumbled in my chest, a new, unwelcome sensation. My jaw clenched, muscles bunching. This body, this `Savage` template, fought against my intellectual detachment. Primal anger, a hot, unwelcome surge, threatened to overwhelm my focus.
*Control.*
I pushed it down, shunting the raw emotion into a compartment in my mind. Dwelling on the past, on the unfairness, was unproductive. What was done was done. My only task was to navigate the present, to survive the immediate future.
So.
*How to survive.*
---
The coming-of-age ceremony concluded. Soon, a procession formed, the Chief leading, the newly-minted warriors trailing. We moved through a thin, sparse forest, the ground firm beneath my calloused feet. The others chattered, their voices echoing with simple joy, like children on an outing.
I could not share their naive optimism. I knew our destination.
“Stop!” the Chief’s voice cut through the air.
We halted at the edge of the tree line. Thirty meters ahead, a monstrous wall of rough-hewn stone rose from the earth. Not a natural formation, but a crude, massive edifice, too ancient and imposing for these scattered tribes. It was a scar on the landscape, a monument to a lost civilization.
“Open the gates!” the Chief bellowed.
Slowly, painfully, with a groan of straining timber and grinding stone, the colossal gates began to part. The mechanism was rudimentary, clumsy, demanding immense effort from unseen hands. But the spectacle held the young barbarians spellbound. Silence fell, broken only by the groaning wood, as a gray, imposing city slowly revealed itself beyond the threshold.
“Grimspire…”
The name, a fragment of `Epochfall` lore, escaped my lips, barely a whisper. The main hub city, a familiar loading screen image, now materialized before me in all its brutal, low-poly reality. Cobbled roads, rough stone structures, and beyond them, reaching impossibly high into the sky, a towering, jagged spire of dark rock.
My eyes, despite my scientific detachment, were no different from the others. A raw, visceral shock.
*Shit.*
“Warriors!” The Chief spun, his arm sweeping in a broad gesture towards the city. He offered no inspiring speech, no sentimental farewell.
“Leave! Your destiny awaits!”
No need for platitudes. This was all the young barbarians required. A roar erupted from their throats, a primal cry of unfettered enthusiasm.
“Whooooo!”
They charged, a wave of raw, unthinking energy, into the city’s maw. I forced myself to join them, mimicking their whoops, pushing my legs into a clumsy run. Even if shadowed figures slept within those dimly lit stone buildings, the savages wouldn't care. I was a savage, too, for now.
Claaaaang!
The gates slammed shut behind us, the sound a final, crushing pronouncement. None of the charging primitives bothered to look back.
---
The initial burst of exhilaration, fueled by their simple minds, soon waned. Their pace slowed, their shouts dying to excited murmurs. Only then could my internal monologue resume.
Conflicting emotions warred within. Fear, a cold knot in my gut, battled with a strange, almost academic anticipation. To be thrust into the world of `Epochfall`, the game I’d obsessed over, was a morbid thrill. It felt… bizarrely amusing.
I’d barely decided to focus solely on survival, yet these incongruous feelings had already bloomed. Perhaps I wasn’t as normal as I’d once believed. Still, I was a paragon of sanity compared to these barbarians.
“Stop!”
The self-appointed leader of our charging pack, a burly young man named Gruff, son of Gorok, halted abruptly. He turned, his chest puffed out, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.
“I must have lost my way!”
A collective groan went up. The savages, moments ago hailing him, now turned.
“Gruff, son of Gorok, has led us astray!”
“He has no qualification to be our leader!”
“You must take responsibility!”
Such hypocrisy. The same ones who had followed so eagerly, now bayed for his head. Primitive society laid bare: fickle, unreasoning.
“Stop. I understand. I admit I am not worthy to lead. I step aside.” Gruff bowed his head, shamefaced, melting back into the indignant mass.
Another leader was quickly nominated. A tall, formidable woman, Lyra, daughter of Rauth.
“Wise Lyra, who will lead us on the right path!” they cheered.
Lyra, beaming, took point. She led us for a short while, her initial confidence radiating. But it wasn’t long.
“I… I must have lost my way.” Her words were identical to Gruff’s, the same sheepish confession.
“It cannot be! We must reach the Howling Labyrinth within the set time!”
“Lyra has no qualification to be our leader!”
“Right!”
The barbarians erupted into confused chatter, arguing over who should be their third leader. Were they truly so dense? Did they not see that *whoever* led, their method was flawed? It would only be a matter of time before they pointed a finger at me.
I melted back from the shouting group, approaching Lyra. She stood apart, her shoulders slumped, head downcast, a giant of a woman made small by failure.
“Roric, son of Thane?” Her voice held a note of weary challenge. “Have you come to blame me too?”
No. Blame was a luxury. To me, they were all equally lost.
I shook my head. Lyra tilted her head, confusion warring with her dejection.
“Then why? I need no solace.”
“No. I’ve come to show you how to find your way.”
“Really? How?” Her eyes, dull moments ago, sparked with a flicker of hope.
I pointed down the broad, ill-lit street.
“You follow them.”
“Follow… who?” She squinted into the gloom.
Grimspire at midnight was mostly dark, but a steady trickle of figures moved through its streets. They weren’t tribal folk. They wore practical, often armored, clothing. And they all moved with a sense of purpose, in a single direction.
“A city at night. Most dwellings dark. Yet, many people walk the street, not in daily wear, but in armor. Where are they going?” My words were patient, each point a step in a logical chain. “Their destination is ours.”
Lyra stared, her brow furrowed in thought. Then, slowly, understanding dawned. “Surely. Now that I see it, I agree. I will try this.”
She marched back to the group, a newfound spring in her step. “I found a way!” she boomed.
The barbarians, still bickering over their next leader, immediately ceased their argument and erupted into cheers. “It’s Lyra after all!” “The wise female warrior!”
Their fickle praise was as predictable as it was baseless. But the group moved again, following the distant, purposeful figures. The strategy worked. More armed individuals joined the flow, their numbers swelling. Soon, a cluster of lights, diffuse and constant, appeared in the distance. We wouldn’t get lost now.
“It’s the Labyrinth! I see the Labyrinth!”
“The Dimension of Sacred Battles!”
The cries grew frenzied. My thoughts, briefly interrupted, resumed their cold calculation.
---
My primary concern now: was entering the Labyrinth the correct decision?
“I feel it! The Labyrinth is calling my soul!”
The savages, lost in their primal excitement, wouldn’t notice if I peeled away from the pack. I wouldn’t have to enter the Howling Labyrinth. I wouldn’t have to fight, to bleed, against the grotesque creatures that dwelled within.
Yet, despite knowing the horrors ahead better than anyone else, I still hesitated to flee.
*Running away isn’t the solution.*
`Epochfall` implemented a brutal tax system. From the age of twenty – which I technically was, in this body – all city dwellers were required to pay tribute. Failure to pay was met with execution. Grimspire was no different.
This wasn’t a concern for the immediate future. The Chief had provided a small pouch of dried meat and rough grains for the journey, enough to last a few days. But that would quickly vanish.
I had to earn coin.
Fighting monsters in the Labyrinth wasn’t necessarily the *only* method. In any other circumstance, I could find work. A tavern, a dock, even simple labor. Enough to make ends meet.
But this was `Epochfall`. And I was a Savage.
Barbarians were the only race given a starting weapon. Not out of generosity, but necessity. The game’s lore explicitly stated why:
`[Barbarian? I'm sorry. I just got a guy.]`
`[Aren’t you going to leave? There’s nothing I can do for a barbarian! You’re just going to break something again!]`
Barbarians could not perform normal work. They were liabilities. Their strength, their volatile nature, made them unfit for most trades. It was a core game mechanic. Their only viable path to income was fighting, the labyrinth, the arena.
How much of this translated to reality? I couldn't be certain. Perhaps I could find an odd job, exploit some loophole. But hoping was one thing, betting my survival on it was another.
“Ten minutes left till it closes. Come on in!” a guard shouted from the Labyrinth entrance.
The Howling Labyrinth opened once a month. If I didn’t enter now, I’d be stranded in Grimspire for weeks. What if no one hired me? What if the game’s limitations were absolute?
The future, without income, was bleak. The food would last a week, at most. After that, scavenging. Starvation.
My body, even if I survived, would be drastically different. Hunger, cold, unsanitary conditions – I knew the devastating impact of these on human physiology. My strength, my vitality, this crucial `Savage` template, would degrade.
“I will be the first to go in!”
“No! I come first!”
The barbarians surged forward, a chaotic crush of muscle and guttural cries. If I was going in anyway, it was only rational to enter now, while my body was at its peak, while I had every advantage.
The decision was made. Cold, hard logic, dictated by the brutal reality of `Epochfall`, propelled me forward. I joined the frenzied rush, a singleminded purpose driving me towards the roaring maw of the Labyrinth. Survival. At any cost.