Into the Endgame

Economy if Dieing

The Cathedral Undercroft was less a sanctuary and more a slow-motion funeral.

Arthur sat in the shadows, his eyes scanning the room, dissecting the situation with the same cold pragmatism he’d used on the Rotting Butcher.

Two hours had passed since they arrived. In that time, the population of the cellar had swelled to fifty. The air was growing thin, sour with carbon dioxide and unwashed bodies.

But it was the markets that caught Arthur’s attention.

In the center of the room, a makeshift bazaar had sprung up. Players were trading.

"Water! Clean water!" a player shouted. "Fifty credits a flask!"

"Arrows! Ten credits each!"

"Bread! Stale, but edible! One Silver Stater!"

Arthur watched a transaction happen. A wounded player traded a Silver Stater—worth 100 credits—for a piece of moldy bread.

"It’s a trap," Arthur whispered.

Silas, who was meticulously re-fletching an arrow with a scrap of leather, didn't look up. "What is?"

"This place," Arthur said, leaning in. "Look at the math, Silas. The 'Safe Zone' regenerates health, but it doesn't stop the hunger timer. It doesn't stop thirst. People are burning resources just by sitting here."

Arthur pulled up his interface.

[Time Remaining: 4 Days, 18 Hours.] [Hunger: 45%] [Thirst: 30%]

"If we stay here for five days," Arthur continued, his voice low, "we starve. Or we go broke buying overpriced garbage from the hoarders. We bleed out slowly instead of quickly."

Silas finished wrapping the arrow and tested the tip. "So we go out. We hunt. We come back."

"No," Arthur shook his head. "The mobs outside are Level 3 and 4. The loot drops are random. The risk-to-reward ratio is trash. We’d be grinding for scraps."

Arthur pulled the Old Navigator's Compass from his pocket. In the relative safety of the Undercroft, he had been studying it.

The gemstone needle wasn't just pointing North. It was oscillating. It would swing five degrees West, hold for ten seconds, then swing back.

"The Fog," Arthur muttered. "It moves."

Silas looked at him, intrigued. "Explain."

"The Compass points to Consecrated Ground—safety," Arthur said. "But look at the needle. It drifts. I think it’s tracking the density of the necrotic energy. The Fog isn't a blanket, Silas. It’s a tide. It comes in waves."

Arthur used his finger to draw a rough map in the dust on the floor.

"Right now, the main streets are flooded. That’s why the Hollow Men were swarming. But if the needle swings West..." Arthur watched the compass. It clicked softly, stabilizing to the left. "...it means the 'tide' is going out in that direction."

Silas stared at the dust map. The veteran’s eyes narrowed. "You think you can predict the safe routes?"

"I think I can navigate the gaps," Arthur corrected. "We don't fight the city. We slip through it."

Silas sheathed his dagger. "To go where? The Graveyard is cleared. The Residential District is picked clean."

Arthur looked at Silas, his expression hard. "Why did you call this place Into the Endgame? Because there’s an end, right? A goal."

"The goal is to survive," Silas said.

"That’s the tutorial goal," Arthur corrected. "My debt isn't going to be paid by surviving. I need a score. A big one."

He erased the dust map and drew a new shape. A square with a tower.

"The Merchant District," Arthur said. "Specifically, the Guild Bank."

Silas scoffed. "You're dreaming, kid. The Merchant District is a Level 8 zone. And it’s behind the Inner Wall. The gates are sealed."

"The gates are sealed," Arthur agreed. "But the sewers aren't."

Arthur pointed to the Ring of the Rat on his finger.

"This ring dropped from a Ghoul in the Crypts. The description says: Scavengers never stop moving. Ghouls move underground. They moved from the Crypts to... where? Where is there enough food to support a colony of Corpse Eaters?"

Silas paused. "The butchers. The food warehouses."

"Exactly," Arthur nodded. "The Merchant District."

Arthur stood up, dusting off his jeans. "We use the Ghoul tunnels. We bypass the gates. We bypass the Level 8 mobs on the street. We pop up inside the Guild Bank vault, loot it, and get out before the Fog tide comes back in."

Silas looked at Arthur for a long moment. He was assessing him, weighing the insanity of the plan against the slow death of waiting in the cellar.

"You're Level 3," Silas said. "If a Sewer King catches us, you're dead."

"If we stay here, I'm broke," Arthur countered. "And I'd rather die fighting a Sewer King than starve in a basement."

Silas stood up. A slow grin spread across his scarred face. "You've got guts, Navigator. I'll give you that."

"We need supplies first," Arthur said. "And I'm not paying fifty credits for water."

Arthur picked up the Guard's Pauldron (Damaged) he had looted from the Elite Skeleton. It was bronze, heavy, and functionally useless for him since he lacked the Heavy Armor skill.

He walked over to the center of the room, to the player selling arrows.

"Hey," Arthur said loudly.

The merchant, a rogue type with shifty eyes, looked him up and down. "Ten credits an arrow. No bargaining."

"I don't have credits," Arthur said. He slammed the bronze pauldron onto the crate. Thud. "But I have this."

The merchant’s eyes widened. Even damaged, Elite gear was rare this early in the game.

"That's... scrap," the merchant lied poorly. "Maybe worth five arrows."

Arthur laughed. "This creates Bronze Dust when smelted. Essential for upgrading weapons to +1. You think I’m a noob? This is worth twenty arrows and two flasks of water. Or I walk over to that Tank in the corner who actually needs shoulder armor."

He bluffed. He had no idea what Bronze Dust did. But he said it with the confidence of a man who held the keys to the kingdom.

The merchant hesitated. He looked at the Tank in the corner. He looked at the pauldron.

"Fine," the merchant spat. "Twenty arrows. Two waters."

"And a torch," Arthur added.

"Pushing it."

"Take it or leave it."

The merchant growled but handed over the goods.

Arthur walked back to Silas and tossed him a bundle of arrows.

"Ten for you," Arthur said. "I keep the water and the torch."

Silas caught the arrows, checking the straightness of the shafts. "You lied to him. Bronze Dust is used for armor, not weapons."

"He didn't know that," Arthur shrugged. "Information gap. That’s the real economy."

He stowed the water bottles.

"We leave now," Arthur said. "While everyone else is cowering."

Silas nodded. He adjusted his wolf-hood. "The Ghoul tunnels will be tight. Close quarters. You take point with that cleaver."

They moved to the back of the Undercroft. There was a grate in the floor, rusted shut. This was where the smell of rot was strongest.

Arthur knelt. He didn't force it. He looked at the hinges.

[Intelligence Check: Passed.]

"It's not rusted," Arthur whispered. "It's sealed with wax."

He lit the torch he had swindled from the merchant. He held the flame to the edges of the grate. The wax melted, dripping black sludge into the darkness below.

With a grunt of effort, Arthur heaved the grate open.

A draft of warm, fetid air rushed up.

[Zone Discovered: Old City Sewers] [Danger Level: High] [Recommended Level: 5+]

"Recommended Level 5," Arthur noted. "We're averaging... Level 4?"

"I'm Level 5," Silas said. "You're Level 3. That averages to 'don't screw up'."

Arthur looked down into the black hole. The compass needle was spinning wildly now, confused by the depth, but the general pull was North-East. Towards the money.

"Long-term goal," Arthur reminded himself. "Get rich. Get out."

He looked back at the huddled masses in the Undercroft. They were surviving. Just existing.

Arthur didn't want to exist. He wanted to win.

He dropped into the hole.

The darkness swallowed him instantly. The splash of his boots hitting shallow water echoed like a gunshot.

"Clear," Arthur called up.

Silas dropped down beside him, landing silently.

Arthur raised the torch. The tunnel stretched out before them, brick-lined and dripping with slime.

"Which way, Navigator?" Silas asked.

Arthur watched the compass. The needle settled, pointing straight down the tunnel, into the heart of the beast.

"Forward," Arthur said. "To the bank."

They began to walk, leaving the safety of the Cathedral behind. Every step took them further from salvation and closer to the endgame. And for the first time since putting on the helmet, Arthur felt like he was playing the game, instead of the game playing him.