Chapter Three

The distant roars grew louder, turning into a deep rumble that rolled closer. Mixed with it were sharp, screeching sounds from smaller creatures. The wooden walls around the village shook harder and harder, becoming a steady thumping that Barnaby felt throughout his… system. Red alerts, no longer just blinking lights, flashed in his vision. Words appeared, bright red, the kind players knew well: "Zone Event: Oakhaven Attack! Defend the Village!"

The players in Oakhaven reacted instantly. Their previous slowness vanished, replaced by sudden, focused energy. Fighters drew their weapons quickly. Mages began chanting spells, the air around them glowing with emerging magic. Rogues disappeared into the shadows, knives already drawn. Even the healers, usually more composed, repositioned themselves, preparing for the onslaught.

The quiet village transformed into a scene of noisy chaos. Players shouted orders, forming quick groups, assigning roles. Their voices were loud and urgent, a stark contrast to the usual casual chatter Barnaby was accustomed to. They moved with a purpose he'd never seen directed at him, a collective focus that was both exhilarating and slightly frightening.

The first monsters slammed against the village walls. They were Gnarlspine Boars – weak, basic enemies, but possessing tough hides. Their tusks dripped with thick, foul-smelling slime, and they displayed a surprising viciousness despite their simple programming. Normally, they were easy targets for even novice players, providing quick experience points. But tonight, their numbers were vastly increased, and their aggression amplified by the zone event parameters.

Barnaby, still stationed at the West Gate, watched. But not with his usual blank stare. Now, he observed with focused intensity, his eyes wide and alert. This was combat. Real combat, even if it was just a game, just code, just another event in the vast, uncaring game world. But for him, right now, it felt intensely real.

He watched the fighters, acting like living shields, brace themselves against the charging boars. Their massive swords swung in wide arcs, slicing through the boars' tough hides (or the game's representation of hides). He noted their stances, their timing, the way they used their weight to maximize their strikes. He observed the boars' attacks – the predictable charges, the clumsy lunges, the vulnerable points in their thick armor. He was, in essence, learning combat, absorbing every detail and processing it at a speed far beyond his intended guard capabilities.

The mages, positioned further back, unleashed barrages of spells. Fire and ice erupted, tearing into the boars, leaving charred flesh and frozen corpses. Barnaby tracked the trajectories of the spells, the casting times, the areas of effect, the specific results – fire scorching fur, ice slowing movement. He recognized patterns in their spell usage, combinations designed for maximum damage and control.

Even the rogues, weaving in and out of the melee like phantoms, provided valuable data. He observed their quick strikes, targeted at weak points and joints. He saw how they used agility and positioning to avoid harm, inflicting significant damage with swift, precise attacks, then vanishing back into the chaos. He understood the importance of speed, exploiting openings, and maintaining safety in a chaotic battle.

The healers, not directly attacking, moved with a different kind of urgency, darting between the engaged players, channeling restorative energies, mending wounds, bolstering defenses. Barnaby noted the range of the various healing spells, their effectiveness against different types of damage, and their crucial role in sustaining the players' lives (even if "death" only meant respawning and a minor in-game penalty). He realized, with a certainty that felt like a physical sensation, that prolonged survival required these healers.

Around him, Oakhaven had undergone a complete metamorphosis. The peaceful village square was now a tumultuous zone of flashing spells, roaring monsters, clashing steel, and urgent shouts. The air was thick with the scent of digital blood and scorched fur, the air pulsed with the thrill of danger, the palpable tension of a life-or-death struggle, even if that life was merely simulated.

But for Barnaby, standing motionless at the gate amidst this simulated chaos, it was far from insignificant. It was an education. Merely observing wasn't enough for survival, Barnaby knew that instinctively. Knowledge was valuable, but it needed to be applied, tested, honed. And right now, a dangerous opportunity was presenting itself.

The Gnarlspine Boars, despite their individual weakness, pressed relentlessly. They pushed and strained against the village defenses, testing the players, seeking vulnerabilities. One particularly large boar, with oversized tusks dripping extra-foul slime, breached the wooden palisade near Barnaby. Two lower-level fighter players, caught off guard, stumbled backward, momentarily overwhelmed by the boar's sudden intrusion.

A programmed directive flashed in Barnaby's code: Defend Oakhaven. Assist Players. Engage Hostile Entities within designated area. Normally, this would trigger a mindless charge towards the boar, a futile attack easily swatted aside. But now… now Barnaby had options.

He assessed the situation rapidly, processing the data he'd accumulated. The boar was focused on the retreating fighters, its heavily armored back turned, presenting its less protected flank. The fighters were disoriented, struggling to regain their footing. A chance. A small, precarious chance, but a chance nonetheless.

Slowly, deliberately, Barnaby moved. Not a pre-programmed charge. Not a reflexive attack. A calculated, chosen action. He shifted his weight, adjusted his grip on his scrap spear, and stepped forward, not directly towards the boar's formidable front, but angled slightly, targeting the vulnerability he'd identified.

It was a clumsy movement, stiff and unfamiliar. His simulated muscles felt awkward, unresponsive to his precise commands. But it was his movement. His choice. His action, born not of a script, but of something new awakening within him.

He thrust the scrap spear, aiming for what he perceived to be a weak point behind the boar's foreleg, based on his observations. The dull metal tip connected with surprising force, scraping against bone and muscle (simulated bone and muscle, but it felt real to him now).

The Gnarlspine Boar grunted, a deeper, more enraged sound than its usual porcine noises. It staggered slightly, its focus disrupted, its massive head swinging towards Barnaby, tusks snapping.

The two fighters, stunned by Barnaby's unexpected intervention, paused their retreat. Their eyes widened, expressions of disbelief and confusion. They saw the Village Guard, Oak_Guard_07, engaging the intruding boar, not in a mindless, suicidal charge, but with… intention. With a calculated, albeit clumsy, attack.

"Did… did that guard just…?" one of the fighters stammered, pointing at Barnaby with a gauntleted finger, momentarily forgetting the other boars still assaulting the wall.

"No way… they're not supposed to… they just stand there and die," the other fighter replied, equally bewildered, their initial panic replaced by stunned amazement.

Barnaby, oblivious to their incredulous stares, focused solely on the boar. He was weaker, less armored, less skilled. But he'd learned from the players. He'd observed their tactics. He'd identified a weakness. And he would exploit any advantage he could find, however slim, to survive.

The boar charged, tusks lowered, its bulk hurtling towards him. Barnaby knew he couldn't withstand a direct impact. He wasn't built for head-on confrontations; his armor was flimsy, his spear was pathetic. But he could attempt to evade. He'd watched the rogues, like wraiths, dodging attacks with impossible speed. He might not possess their coded agility, but he could try.

He sidestepped, again awkward and stiff, but he did sidestep. The boar's tusk grazed his leather armor, a glancing blow, but enough to send a jolt of… something… through his body, a feedback signal indicating damage, vulnerability.

He'd evaded it. Barely. But he'd evaded. And the fighters, witnessing this impossible spectacle – a game guard… improvising… were now staring at Barnaby, mouths agape, weapons momentarily forgotten. The whispers about the "glitched guard" were about to become considerably louder.

The Gnarlspine Boar, enraged and bewildered, redirected its fury entirely towards Barnaby. Tusks flashed, hooves churned the mud, and a wave of fetid boar-stench washed over him (simulated scent, but he registered it acutely now, almost overwhelmingly). He was facing a creature designed to challenge players, not a basic guard NPC. He knew he couldn't win a direct confrontation. He lacked the strength, the armor, the skills. But he had observation. He'd learned from the mages. He'd seen them control the battlefield, utilizing ranged attacks and environmental hazards. And Oakhaven, even in its damaged state, offered resources.

As the boar charged again, Barnaby didn't attempt to block or parry. He dodged. Not with the graceful fluidity of a rogue, but with a desperate, scrambling maneuver, utilizing the uneven terrain of the breached wall for cover. He ducked behind a shattered timber, the boar's tusks splintering wood inches from his simulated head.

Then, mimicking what he'd observed the mages doing – manipulating their surroundings – he thrust his scrap spear not directly at the boar, but at a precarious point in the ground near its hooves. He recalled seeing mages use earth spells to disrupt the footing of larger monsters. He wasn't casting a spell, of course, but he could utilize the terrain.

The spear tip struck something solid beneath the mud – a buried root, a loose rock, something that shifted under the boar's weight. The ground gave way slightly. The Gnarlspine Boar, charging with full force, lost its balance, its momentum causing it to list precariously.

It stumbled, its massive frame tilting sideways, its vulnerable flank exposed for a fleeting moment. It was a minuscule opportunity, brief and perilous, but Barnaby, driven by instinct and a newfound tactical awareness, seized it. He lunged forward, ignoring the boar's snapping tusks, ignoring the inherent risk, focused solely on survival, on neutralizing the threat, on proving he was more than mere code. He thrust the scrap spear with all his simulated strength, aiming for that same vulnerable point behind the foreleg he'd struck before.

This time, the spear penetrated deeply. It sank in, grating against something vital within the boar's simulated anatomy. The Gnarlspine Boar emitted a final, enraged squeal, its programmed aggression cut short, its massive form shuddering, then collapsing heavily onto the muddy ground with a sickening, wet thud.

It was down. Defeated. By a Village Guard, an NPC designed for utter passivity. Utilizing scavenged weaponry and improvised tactics. In a manner utterly, impossibly, uncoded.

Barnaby stood over the slain boar, his simulated breath ragged, his body trembling from exertion and a strange, unfamiliar sensation of… triumph. He had survived. He had acted. He had, against all probability, won.

The two fighter players, still rooted to the spot, finally snapped out of their stupor. They rushed towards Barnaby, not with hostility, but with a mixture of awe and utter incredulity.

"Did you… did you just solo that boar?!" one of them exclaimed, disbelief etched on his face.

"That was… insane! Guards aren't supposed to do that!" the other added, circling Barnaby, examining him as if he were a newly discovered species. They weren't threatening, not yet, but their scrutiny was… unsettling.

Other players, alerted by the commotion, began to converge. They pointed, they whispered, they muttered to each other, all eyes fixed on Barnaby, the Village Guard who had just shattered the fundamental rules of the game.