Godfather's System

After that disgusting — but very Healthy — meal, I walked around the camp for another hour, spending most of the money I had managed to steal to buy various food items. I had five more meals, buying them from different vendors, though none of them granted as much experience as Zolast's little painful recipe which gave me thirteen total points.

[Health (42/225)]

The food wasn't without its problems, of course, I could feel the damaging energies from the food sticking to my bones, but I didn't care much about that. It was nothing against the corrosiveness of that cursed red energy.

More importantly, I could feel it dissipating almost as quickly as it settled; which wasn't supposed to happen if the snippets I was hearing from people as they discussed — replenishing their Health was a rather important part of their combat strategy, especially since they were much less capable of avoiding damage with their weird combat pattern.

They were talking about that energy sticking with them for hours, sometimes even days, not minutes.

I took a note to spread my food purchases across the camp, just in case it revealed my unique ability. Revealing a special commodity without the ability to defend was never a good idea, and considering just how they treated my class, I was afraid I belonged to the commodity category to most people.

Standing out was dangerous, especially in a desperate situation where everyone was willing to take advantage of others.

"I need to find a way to integrate myself," I muttered as I glanced around. At this moment, I was still an unfamiliar face in the chaos, but expecting it to last for a long was a dangerous assumption. Sooner or later, someone would find my presence suspicious.

I needed to figure out how to handle it. I could easily imagine how a civilian would react. Just stick in the camp, move along, and bet on Perception and other stats to stay concealed.

To be fair, it wouldn't be a horrible plan if I trusted the little ragtag caravan to arrive at their destination without a problem, and nothing I had seen as I walked gave me that impression. The camp lacked a sense of command, unity, and organization, and I didn't expect that to last.

And, there was no guarantee the other camps would have been easy to sneak in.

Another problem was the people wearing armbands, or particularly, their numbers. WhenI walked around, I could see the number of banded people increasing significantly. When I first arrived, barely one in fifty was wearing armbands of any color, but now, almost one in twenty was wearing them.

Still a small minority, but the increasing number was another warning sign. As the numbers increased, it would be harder for me to join. And even if I avoided suspicion by disguising — which wasn't sure to work with people with high Perception — alone, I was weak.

Why not join a growing gang to avoid chaos… It wouldn't be the first time.

"I told you, the camp belongs to us," shouted a man, wearing a green armband, shouting to one wearing black. Together with the red ones I had seen earlier, it made a total of three groups.

In more than one spot, I saw them recruiting people. All I needed was to go there and show my abilities, and I would join. The recruiters were not allowing everyone to join, and test their combat abilities, but I could easily handle that test.

Still, I stayed away, because I had another question. Which group to join…

The ones wearing black were the most crowded, but that was a disadvantage. The greens looked capable, but I didn't like the sensation they radiated. Nothing I could put my finger on, but I trusted my instincts. That left the red bands, which were the least horrible option.

Of course, that still left one important question. Which recruiter to talk to, which would determine which clique I would join — and I knew there were many cliques, it was simply inevitable in a hastily collected gang.

I walked around for another half an hour before I finally found my ideal target. One of the red-band recruiters, a redheaded man with a large hammer on his side, trying to convince two young men to join the gang and his group.

He was an interesting choice as a recruiter. He was a young man, intimidatingly tall, but still large enough to create a truly intimidating sight. Six-five, maybe even six-six, and with a bulky figure, he would have made an excellent hockey player.

Yet, I was interested in him because of his recruitment speech. Others were promising the newcomers better food, better weapons, or even the ability to climb over others when they finally became the only gang.

My prospective recruiter was promising them a chance to keep the camp safe, and to make things interesting, he was completely earnest.

" … you don't want to miss the opportunity. Who knows just how badly things will develop later on, we need to make sure we can defend," he explained, but his frustrated tone didn't work at convincing, especially with his booming voice.

I shook my head in dismissal even as I listened. His intention was admirable, but honesty hardly worked as a recruitment speech, especially when coming from such an intimidating figure.

He had a lot to learn about people.

"No, thanks, we don't need to become lackeys of a group of bandits," one of them said before strutting away, proud that they had rejected the offer.

The recruiter turned back and started walking away, disappointed. I barely held back my chuckle.

"Hey, young man, what do we do to join your group?" I asked, interrupting his walk.

He turned, only to shake his head in dismissal. "Really, old man, you," he said as he looked at me, with my ruined clothes and chipped dagger. "Are you sure you want to join? Are we going to be fighting a lot? You know you can just rest, right."

I shrugged. I could have given him a dozen reasons why it was a good idea, but sometimes, a little threat wrapped in flattery was the best option. "I can fight a bit, and I don't like relying on others for my protection," I said, then followed up with true flattery. "The others already asked me to join, but your group seems to be the best one, both courageous and with honor," I said.

"Oh, really," he said as he looked at me askew, curious. "And why would they try to recruit an old man like you?" he asked.

I wished I knew how to use Charisma, but after my only disastrous attempt with the servants, it was not something I was willing to experiment with without a clear escape route.

Instead, I decided to show off. I grabbed a broken piece of stake, thick enough that my fingers didn't fully wrap around. "Look carefully," I said as I took a step behind a cart. It was not a perfectly isolated spot, but reasonably concealed.

He followed, just to see me shatter the wood easily with a push, and his eyes widened. Not due to achievement, but the ease I was able to do so.

From what I observed, I wasn't the only one who could do so in the camp, but the numbers were still low enough to make his gaze widen. "Holy hell, old man, you're strong. What are you, a warrior?"contemporary romance

I shrugged, changing the topic. "Maybe. Can I join, or should I go try joining the other groups?" I asked.

"Of course, you can join, old man. My name is Jertann, what's yours."

"Euon," I answered, once again using the fake name. My status was still complicated enough without explaining why the name sounded foreign. I followed him deeper into the camp, where they had a large collection of tents.

"So, about my class…" I whispered.

"You're a —" he started, but I shushed him to stay silent, my gaze sharp enough to silence him. I might not know how to use Charisma, but I spent years commanding over-aggressive young people. Intimidating a farmboy who had lived a sheltered life — in terms of social interaction and not physical combat — was not particularly difficult.

"Keep your voice down, boy," I said.

"Sorry," he said, too startled to care about the sudden change. This was good as it showed he was not used to their role as the decision makers, which, in turn, would give me a chance to move easier. "What did you want to say."

"Maybe we should tell that my class is a Farmer," I suggested.

"Wait, why?" he asked, confused. "We have almost no warriors around, and it'll make you a very important member of the group, higher than me."

"Exactly. I'm an old man, Jertann, and I don't want to get too much attention. I had lived too long to care about it. Why don't you just say that I'm a farmer that you know, and arrange my inclusion in the group." He looked at me blankly, showing that he didn't understand. "Look, I'm sure recruiting is not your only task."

"No, of course not," he answered. "It's just while we're camping. On the move, I'm tasked with defending the line, and occasionally with scouting ahead to make sure there are no surprises."

"And think how much it'll help you to have me along with you to respond to any emergency. It can save your life," I said, which didn't seem to faze him. Ahh, the young, thinking that they were immortal. "And, more importantly, the lives of your friends," I added.

That seemed to work better. "Can you actually fake being a farmer?" he muttered.

Nice young man, I thought, though quite gullible. He was lucky that my deal was actually as good as I represented to him. "Well, I lived in a city most of my life, so I don't know much about farmers. But I should be able to do, as long as you can explain in detail," I said.

"Well, the first thing you need to remember is most farmers are not strong. The ones like me, who awakened both Strength and Agility are rare."

"Wow, you must be really impressive," I said.

"Yes, awakening stats naturally is a very big deal for a farmer since we are not lucky to receive them by default as warriors," he explained, his tone filled with reverence as he mentioned warrior. It differed greatly when I talked with the soldiers back in the castle, their voices filled with derision the moment they mentioned warriors.

Like the difference between the poor and the rich, a beautiful midline sports car was a dream to one, a punishment to another.

I made a sound of approval, letting him continue babbling rather than warn him that he went on a tangent as he started bragging. "Of course, it's very impressive. Almost most farmers just gained the blessings of some demigods during their promotions, and a few managed to get the attention of some dedicated farming gods, that offered nothing. I was the only one impressive enough that I managed to actually get the blessing of Thor," he said proudly.

I gasped in shock.

"I know, very impressive, right?" he bragged, then looked at me, blushing slightly. "Well, it's not as impressive as a true warrior, but still, much better than a mere farm boy," he corrected.

"Don't worry, I'm very impressed by your achievement," I said, doing my best to sound normal. I wasn't very successful, but luckily, he was distracted enough with the praise of a warrior to actually care.

Meanwhile, I was trying to contain my shock. The first familiar mention of a name…

And it's a mythological god from the stories of my old world. Like things weren't complicated enough.

done.co