By morning, the frost on the stones had turned to dampness, and the wind had lost its bite. A faint trace of smoke still lingered in the broken hall, mingling with the scent of damp wool and ash.
Karl sat wrapped in a moth-eaten blanket, shivering in the corner of the throne room, watching his so-called “summons” gathered outside in the ruined courtyard.
They had discovered potatoes.
Apparently, a forgotten garden patch behind the keep had yielded a few frost-bitten, sprouting tubers, and the players were treating them like gold.
“This one’s got bite,” said the blue-haired man—the researcher—chewing slowly. “Definitely real starch. Earthy. Slightly bitter.”
“I think mine's still frozen in the middle,” muttered the adrenaline junkie, grimacing.
“I roasted mine over that tiny fire with a piece of iron. Crispy skin,” said the pink-haired student cheerfully.
The pervert was licking his fingers. “Tastes like survival. And sadness. But mostly survival.”
Karl’s stomach growled so loudly he swore someone across the courtyard flinched. But the players hadn’t saved him any. They hadn’t even asked.
He stood up stiffly and stepped forward.
“Ahem,” he said.
The group turned. Five pairs of very guilty-looking eyes met his.
“You found food,” Karl said slowly. “You cooked it. You tasted it. And no one thought to ask me if I was hungry?”
“Uhh…”
“Hey, it wasn’t personal—”
“I thought you didn’t need to eat?”
Karl glared. The system saved him the effort.
[Main NPC Relationship Decreased: -15]
[Status: Displeased]
All five players froze.
“Oh no,” whispered the researcher.
“We’ve angered the quest giver,” the pink-haired one groaned.
The ex-soldier just winced and stood straighter.
Karl folded his arms, looking every bit the angry noble in a peasant’s cloak. “I died two days ago. Came back. You know what I’ve eaten since then? A button. Off this blanket. It tasted like lint and shame.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
There was a pause.
“…Okay, yeah. That’s fair,” said the adrenaline junkie.
“We're gonna fix this,” said the student, snapping his fingers. “Operation: Hunt Dinner. We’ll bring you back something ten times better than potatoes.”
The pervert nodded solemnly. “Preferably with meat.”
---
They armed themselves with sharpened sticks and bits of salvaged metal, then disappeared into the trees behind the keep.
The forest was quiet, blanketed in snow and the sounds of crunching boots. The ex-soldier took point, eyes sharp, scanning the underbrush.
“Droppings here,” he said. “Small animal. Could be game.”
They fanned out, staying within sight. The adrenaline junkie climbed a tree to get a better view. The pervert kept poking snow piles with a stick, humming something off-key. The researcher took notes. The student kept asking if every movement was a quest trigger.
Then they saw it—a horned rabbit-like creature, nibbling at moss under a rock.
“Target locked,” whispered the soldier.
“Dibs on the pounce,” said the adrenaline junkie, already crouching.
“Wait—shouldn’t we flank it—” the researcher began, but it was too late.
She leapt.
The rabbit squealed, darted, dodged—right into the pink-haired one’s legs. He tripped, crashed into the pervert, who shrieked, fell on top of the soldier, and all four went down in a heap.
The rabbit almost escaped, but the adrenaline junkie, recovering mid-fall, grabbed a chunk of snow and lobbed it like a missile. Direct hit.
The creature rolled, dazed. The soldier lunged and pinned it with his makeshift spear.
Everyone froze.
Then cheers erupted.
They returned two hours later, bruised and limping, carrying their prize like war heroes.
Karl blinked as the soldier dropped the creature at his feet.
“A gift,” he said. “To make up for our… lack of etiquette.”
Karl eyed the corpse. “You expect me to cook that?”
“…We thought you would know how.”
“I was raised by servants.”
There was a pause.
The system pinged for the players.
[New Quest Available: Cook a Meal for Main NPC]
[Reward: +10 Affection]
The group stared at the popup.
“Wait, we get relationship points for feeding him?”
“Gamifying guilt. I respect that.”
“I am so not qualified for this.”
Eventually, the pink-haired one and the researcher teamed up to create a questionable stew over a cracked pot balanced on rocks. The result was lumpy, slightly burned, but edible.
Karl ate like a starving man. Because he was.
And as the food hit his stomach, something shifted.
> [System Notice: Star Key Host Synchronization In Progress…]
> [Memory Recovery Triggered: Fragment Access – 19%]
His vision blurred.
He saw flames. Marble halls burning. His father’s crown tumbling down stairs slick with blood. A voice shouting over the chaos: “Karl, run—go to the old fortress—Aurelian will—”
He gasped, but said nothing.
[Identity Recognition Complete: Karl de Thalgrenn – Royal Bloodline]
[Status: High-Priority Target – Revolutionary Forces]
He steadied his breath and turned away from the others.
None of the players noticed. But the ex-soldier narrowed his eyes, glancing at the embroidery on Karl’s tattered cloak.
“Anyone else notice the stitchwork on that blanket?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” the researcher murmured. “It’s not local. And that design—definitely noble.”
They exchanged glances.
“…He’s not just some background NPC,” said the student.
---
Far from the hall, in the misty woods, a caravan of ten riders and two carts creaked along a broken path.
They weren’t soldiers. Their gear didn’t match. Their mounts were mules, tired and mud-splattered. The men wore mismatched cloaks, a few carried muskets slung on their backs, and one was loudly complaining about the cold.
“Let’s hole up in that old keep,” said one, pointing ahead.
“Not if it’s full of ghosts again.”
“It’s dry and high ground. You want to sleep in this mud?”
They turned toward the path that led to the fortress, unaware of the firelight flickering within.
They didn’t know who was inside.
And the man inside didn’t yet know what they were carrying.
But fate, as always, had plans.
