Read Chapter One Free

The ogre sat in his hut, picking his teeth with a bone. Ratkin meat always got caught between them. He spat it onto the floor after picking a piece out.

The scouting party had been gone since yesterday and was expected to return soon with their latest report. The town they were scouting had everything he needed. His only concern revolved around the town leader. He was a bear of a man. The leader’s strength had prevented previous successful raids, and although he had escaped injury, he had lost several members of his clan. This time, it had to be different.

His clan had outgrown their home, and many of his hobgoblin followers now slept under the stars rather than in buildings. Their conquest of a tiny village, with only a hundred inhabitants, resulted in the depletion of its resources. The town upon the ridge and this territory would eventually be his.

She closed the client file on the table, having finally found the issue. It had taken her four days to work through the client’s accounts, but she felt she had solved it.

“Did you want a drink, love?” the waiter asked.

“A glass of house red, please,” SJ replied, wanting to celebrate her success in finding the fraudulent claims.

SJ sat at the restaurant table, looking out at the windswept streets. She was in a small town called Banbury, in Oxfordshire of South East England. She had been here for four days for work. Her job as a forensic accountant had brought her to investigate the finances of one of their clients. The company had put her up in an Airbnb just around the corner from the bar she now sat in, waiting for her order of sausage and mash with gravy to arrive.

Although certain areas of the town were charming, the town itself was nothing special. What she did enjoy was how close she was to the countryside. Normally being in London’s chaotic rat race of fighting through traffic and Tube stations to get to and from work meant this was a luxury in comparison. She understood why many Londoners who could afford to leave did.

While sitting in a bar, she gazed out at the quiet suburban neighbourhood.

The rain was almost horizontal, driven by the early January wind onto the road. Across the road in the nearby park, she watched the treetops being blasted and hurling their weak branches to the grass below. Storm David, as the weather report had relayed, was one of the usual spring storms that hit the shores of the UK, bringing the misery associated with the drabbest month of the year.

Her phone flashed, and she picked it up from the table. Her Messenger icon displayed a one in its corner. That had to be her sister. All her other contacts used WhatsApp or Instagram to message her, but her sister, Julia, had only ever used Messenger. SJ pulled up the message: I spoke to Dad. Uncle Dave is having his operation tomorrow. Dad asked if you can send him a get-well-soon card.

Why does Dad never contact me himself? SJ thought. It frustrated her to receive relayed messages. She had given her dad her number the last time she returned to Manchester, but he never contacted her directly. She switched over to WhatsApp, and found her Uncle Dave’s details. His profile picture was of a grinning Minion. She loved her Uncle Dave, who had always been there for her. She typed him a quick message, wishing him good luck and best wishes, and hit send.

Switching to her emails, she read through the latest offers from many vendors who sent her emails daily. She could not remember ever signing up for most of them, but she’d never bothered to unsubscribe from the mailing lists as occasionally something juicy landed.

Most of the entertainment-related emails were fantasy-based. She had been addicted to fantasy since childhood, ever since she had watched the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit films. They had drawn her into a world full of fantasy and magic, and she often dreamed of riding one of the giant eagles that saved Bilbo and the dwarves from the orcs.

“Here you go, love,” the young male waiter said as he placed a plate on the table.

“Thanks,” she replied, putting her phone down. The combination of sausage, mash, and gravy always warmed her.

Picking her cutlery up, she dived in. From across the bar, a man shouted. She turned to see a staff member asking a drunk man to leave. So many people left work only to spend their lives in bars.

She picked up her glass of red wine and took a sip. Its tangy, dry taste complemented the herby sausages. As she finished her meal and drink, the bar started getting busier. SJ had been happy with the bar’s recommendation from her colleagues. The food was good and close to where she was staying, only a five-minute walk through the park. She was here until Saturday, so she had two more nights.

I suppose I should read through the files once more. I need to send my initial findings tomorrow.

She stood, put on her coat, ensured she had dropped nothing, and called her thanks to the waiter as she left.

Rain hammered relentlessly, so she was relieved to be staying so close. She pulled up her hood and gripped it around her face. The rain pelted her, and she felt it through her jeans snugged to her legs, but her jacket was great; it had been a gift from her ex. After hurrying across the zebra crossing, she entered the gloomy park. The wind howled through the trees, and she could hear nothing over its sound accompanied by the heavy rain. The raindrops bounced off everything, and miniexplosions were being created on the path before her as she walked, head down. She loved the rain when indoors, but being in this was horrendous. The wind was so strong she was leaning sideways into it to keep her balance as it fought against her, trying to push her from the path.

A branch fell in her path, cast from the nearest tree, and she glanced upwards. She immediately wished she hadn’t, as the rain splattered her face and entered her hood. After she rubbed her eyes, she heard a creaking sound and noticed the large oak above her. The first thought through SJ’s mind as it fell towards her was that it must have stood for hundreds of years.

SJ awoke. She opened her eyes and blinked at the bright light that flooded the room. She was naked, lying on the floor; where were her clothes? What had happened? Turning, she took in her surroundings. The room was pristine white, apart from where an enormous display took up most of one wall. There were no windows, and she could not see a door. Even though the room looked cold and clinical, the floor felt warm to her bare skin. Her mind spun, wondering where she was and what had happened to her to bring her here.

A voice like that of a butler from old movies spoke. With a jump, she glanced around the room to see where it had come from. “Welcome, Legionnaire, to Amathera. Please select your race.”

What the ... ? What was that about a race? Her mind spun.

“Who is that?”

“I am your administrator. Please select your race.”

“What race?”

“Very good question. The race you wish to be for your new life.”

“I must have been hit on the head by that tree. I’ll wake up soon.”

“You are awake, Legionnaire 25007077. You died. This is your chance at a second life.”

“What? What do you mean I died?”

“You are Legionnaire 25007077. Name: SJ. Age: 27. Reincarnation status: Active. Cause of death: Accidental death caused by a tree falling and squishing you.”

“Squishing me? What do you mean squishing me? I am not dead. I am speaking to you, whoever you are and wherever you are,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Legionnaire, you have been reincarnated on Amathera as a second chance at life due to a freak accidental death by a falling tree. Please select your race,” the butler’s more like voice droned.

SJ’s mind was like a foggy haze; she remembered everything up until the moment the oak tree began to fall. “Where am I?” she asked.

The voice sighed deeply. “Of all the reincarnations, I manage to get one that has such a low intelligence they do not even understand what I have already told them.” In a very slow, deliberate voice, it again repeated, “Yoooouu aarrreee Leeegggiooonnnaaiiirrreee ...”

“I heard what you said the first time. I am not stupid,” she snapped.

“Are you sure? I thought you were, as you kept asking repetitive questions and did not understand what I had told you,” the voice replied sarcastically.

“Did you not say you are my administrator?” SJ retorted.

“That is correct, Legionnaire 25007077.”

“Stop calling me Legionnaire; my name is SJ.”

“Let me check my protocols. It has been some time since I last looked after a newborn.”

“Newborn?” SJ’s response did not receive a reply. What does he mean by newborn? she thought.

Several moments passed. “Okay. I can call you SJ if you wish. Although your formal designation is still Legionnaire 25007077,” the voice confirmed.

What in the world is happening?

She was sitting upright, naked on a floor in an empty room, talking to a sarcastic, moaning butler’s voice.

What the hell is going on? I must be in a hospital somewhere and unconscious or in a coma or something. A prank, perhaps? Her university friends had always been pranksters. But why am I naked?

“Why am I naked?” she asked.

“There is no point in you being dressed until you have selected your race, as the clothes will differ,” the voice replied.

“What is Amathera?”

“Amathera will be your new home. It is a vast world with many wonderful sights and things to do.”

“A different world?”

“Yes. We couldn’t just drop you back on Earth reincarnated. The issues that something like that would cause ...”

“What issues are you talking about?” SJ asked, feeling a little lost.

“Imagine if you suddenly appeared back on Earth as you are after you had just been buried or cremated. Consider the problems that would cause!”

“Can I ask what your name is?”

“I have no name. I am an administrator.”

“You need a name. I am not going to call you Administrator,” SJ replied in the same sarcastic tone the voice used.

“I have not had a name before. Let me think what I would like to be called.” After several moments of silence, the voice returned. “I think I should be called Zeus.”

“Zeus? Why Zeus?”

“Was he not the king of your gods? I think the name is appropriate.”

“No way am I going to call you Zeus. What makes you think you are similar to a god?”

“I am all-knowing.”

“All-knowing?”

“Yes. All-knowing.”

“If you are, what is the capital of Malaysia?”

Silence.

“I thought you were all-knowing?” SJ said.

“Give me a minute. I need to find the answer.”

“You are not all-knowing; you are just using Gargle.”

“I am not using Gargle. Gargle is an antiquated search engine, and the algorithms are inept.”

“What? You are using Gargle.”

“No, not Gargle. I am using Legionnarius. It is much more comprehensive as it also has details of Amathera and the world database.”

“You still get your answers from a search engine.”

“Kuala Lumpur,” the voice said excitedly.

“That is not being all-knowing. Anyone can use a search engine to find answers. Having general knowledge is being all-knowing.”

“I still know more than you,” it snarked back.

SJ was getting more frustrated as she sat naked in an empty room, listening to the snarky and argumentative voice that sounded like a damn butler. “Will you just tell me what the hell is going on, please?” she asked with an exasperated sigh.

“Again. I thought you said you were not stupid?”

“I AM NOT STUPID. I WANT TO KNOW WHAT I NEED TO DO, AND WHAT THIS PLACE IS EXACTLY,” she shouted.

“Now, now, there is no need to shout. I thought that humour was how many of your kind communicate. I can hear you perfectly well without you getting over-excited. Once racial and class identification has been confirmed, I will be able to converse through thought,” the voice replied, no longer sounding like a butler but a much younger male voice.

“What do you mean by humour and thought?”

“I have studied your kind for years, learning your needs, and will be a supportive voice in your head when necessary.”

SJ did not fancy having a permanent voice in her head, whether it was there to help her or not. She occasionally struggled with her thoughts as they were, never mind adding something else to them.

“I do not want a voice in my head apart from my own, thank you very much.”

“Unfortunately, all reincarnated beings must have an administrator. We are here to offer you support and guidance during your growth.”

“Growth? I am a fully-grown adult. I am not going to grow any more now!”

There was a deep sigh. “Your character growth.”

“Character?”

“I really got the short straw,” the voice responded dryly.

“Race, class, character. Is this a game?” SJ had played several online role-playing games, especially during her university days. This whole scenario was absurd, but the fact that she was conversing with this sarcastic voice had a strange appeal and reminded her of many of the games she had played and the banter she used to have over comms.

“Oh, a half-sensible question. No, it is not a game. The choices you make now will remain with you for your second life. Future development opportunities are available, but these are limited and very hard to come by. You must level and increase your skills as you progress in your new life.”

“So, it is like a game. Okay, you want me to choose? What races are available to choose from?”

“Another great question; maybe you aren’t as stupid as you are cabbage looking,” it laughed.

“What the actual ... ? If you are my administrator, and I emphasise my, are you not supposed to tell me everything I need to know and help me?” SJ replied, frowning.

“In part. There are things I am not allowed to tell you until they become pertinent.”

“What information and why?” SJ asked.

“There are many things concerning the progression of your character and class, as well as wider details of Amathera. Not until you reach certain levels will certain information become available to you. Otherwise, it would give you an unfair advantage over the others.”

“What others?”

“The other Legionnaires.”

“There are more like me?”

“Many. Anyone unfortunate enough to receive an accidental death on Earth is always given another opportunity. Unfortunately, many waste it.”

“How do they waste it?”

“By dying, doing stupid things, mainly,” the voice replied matter-of-factly.

“Such as?”

“Well, one Legionnaire decided to fight a red dragon on his second day here. Those things have such a nasty temper, and he was burned to a crisp. It was one of my shortest initiations.”

“Red dragon? So, the world is full of monsters?”

“Some parts are. All Legionnaires start in racially safe starter zones, though.”

“How many races are there?”

“Another semi-intelligent question. At the last count that I am aware of, there are over three thousand races. Not all of these can be selected by Legionnaires. If they were allowed to be dragons, I dread to think of the chaos it would cause.”

“So, what are the main races that I can choose?”

“At last,” the voice said. The display flickered. “Here you can see your character details and decide on the race and class you want to be.”

SJ stood up, realising again that she was still naked, and covered her modesty as best as she could. “How do I see the races available?”

“You can control the screen through thought. After choosing your starter details, you will have a similar display once your neural and optic interfaces are aligned.”

SJ looked at the screen, noticed an icon next to Race, and considered selecting it. The screen flashed and changed, and a new message appeared across the top of the screen.

It reminded SJ of the latest VR technology games and several stories she had read. The races were listed alphabetically, and they were all the ones she would expect to see, with a couple she did not recognise.

The list continued.

SJ selected Bugbear, and a new screen opened, showing her the racial characteristics and a picture of a typical member of the species. She began to look through the details of the different races. Since she had to choose one, she would take her time and ensure it was the best choice for her. She already had certain races and classes that she liked, but given that a few options on the list were previously unavailable in games, she read the details. It reminded her of her character selection days, but this time with several alternative choices.