Chapter: Patchouli — The Free-For-All Reality
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The dense canopy of the red sector was quieter tonight.
Patchouli sat on a low-lying branch, cross-legged, with her Systematic Guide hovering beside her like a floating slab of light. The glowing interface flickered with streams of incoming reports. Around her, several red-ranked members had gathered, sitting in a rough circle beneath the rustling leaves.
The raid on the Orange camp had shaken the entire project. Even those not directly affected felt the ripples.
Patchouli's violet eyes narrowed as she scrolled through the latest intel.
> Systematic Guide Internal Chat — Red Sector Discussion Thread:
"Sightings of rogue-class individuals in the southern quadrant. Small groups, lightly armed, daggers and bows. Their pattern indicates hit-and-run tactics. They've hit other Traveler outposts before."
"Forest's a free-for-all. No central law. Only pockets of community. And even those can be broken."
Patchouli sighed, resting her chin on her hand as the group around her waited for her thoughts.
> "So," she said, voice smooth but sharp, "the forest doesn't care about our noble cause. Surprise, surprise."
A younger red member, a lanky boy named Kel, fidgeted with a dismantled comm-unit.
> "Miss Patchouli… what do we do if they come for us next? We don't have enough defenses, and Riven's too busy fixing the blues and oranges."
Patchouli glanced sideways at him, not unkindly.
> "The answer is simple, Kel. We stop waiting for someone else to save us."
She stood up, letting her long purple hair fall over her shoulders, the late-night breeze swaying her robes.
> "The forest is a free-for-all. Always has been. No law. No guarantees. Only those who carve a place survive. The mistake those raiders made…" she smiled faintly, "...is thinking we're still prey."
Another red member, Mara, crossed her arms.
> "But we're not fighters. Most of us just got here."
Patchouli tapped the Guide, bringing up a rough map of the red sector.
> "You don't have to be. Defense isn't about strength. It's about positioning. Control the flow. Limit their entry. Force them into bad angles."
She pointed to three key areas on the holographic map — natural choke points where thick underbrush, elevation, and narrow paths could funnel attackers into manageable lanes.
> "We don't have walls? Good. Let's use roots. Let's use vines. The forest listens if you ask the right way."
Some of the recruits blinked.
> "Wait, you mean... like druid stuff? We're not all druids."
Patchouli's smile didn't fade.
> "You don't need to be. The forest isn't magic. It's pattern. Push here, pull there. I'll teach you. But you'll need to move, not just follow orders."
The group glanced at each other, unease slowly shifting into determination.
> "You want to be Travelers?" Patchouli said, stepping down from the branch, walking into their midst. "Then travel with intent. Claim your ground. Otherwise, you're just squatters waiting to get burned."
She swiped the hologram aside and began pacing.
> "Riven is occupied. The Orange zone is rebuilding. The Blue is barely standing. We're next on the list. If we're to survive this free-for-all, it starts tonight. Right here."
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The next hours were a blur of preparation.
Under Patchouli's guidance, the red members learned how to camouflage gear caches, set up signal relays that bounced between treetops, and weave trip-lines using flora-based materials. They weren't soldiers. But they were learning.
And the forest, slowly, started to shift around them.
For the first time, the red camp wasn't a vulnerable cluster of tents.
It was becoming a trap.
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Systematic Guide Update — Red Sector Status:
> Morale: Stable
Defense Rating: Improvised Tier I
Alert Sensory Net: Activated
Estimated Raid Resistance: 62%
Patchouli scrolled the report, smirking to herself.
> "Free-for-all, is it? Fine. Let's see who gets caught first."
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Chapter : Zack & Yarrow — The Forest Beyond Rules
The woods in this part of the world were quieter.
Zack moved through them with a slow, steady pace—his white headband slightly damp with the morning humidity. His expression was, as always, unreadable, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets as his boots crunched over fallen leaves. This wasn't the usual scouting area. This sector, located beyond where the Travelers' camps had set up, felt... empty. The chatter, the noise, even the tension of potential raiders—it all seemed to fade here.
But Zack knew better.
Nothing was ever truly empty.
As he approached a clearing, his sharp gaze landed on a familiar figure sitting at an old, moss-covered wooden table.
Yarrow.
Dressed in his signature asymmetrical black-and-white suit, white gloves resting carefully on the table, Yarrow was calmly dipping a teabag into a steaming cup of tea. His brown hair was slightly tousled under the canopy light, glasses catching a faint gleam as he moved. A simple porcelain teacup in an area that should've been wild.
Zack instinctively straightened up, approaching cautiously.
> "Didn't expect to see you out here alone."
Yarrow didn't look up from his tea, his voice as calm and smooth as ever.
> "The rest of the players already ascended beyond this sector. Past the forest. Into the next level."
He swirled the tea gently, as if the words didn't carry much weight.
Zack relaxed his posture slightly, leaning his shoulder against a nearby tree.
> "So they're gone."
> "Of course," Yarrow said, finally glancing at him. "That's the nature of the 'games,' Zack. You climb, you ascend, you claim your prize. That's what they've always been for. Winners at the top get whatever they seek."
A pause.
> "And yet you... chose to leave."
Zack's face remained unreadable. He scratched his cheek lazily and shrugged.
> "Oliver asked. I said yes."
Yarrow smiled faintly, though there was an unmistakable glimmer of intrigue behind his glasses.
> "You walked away from a guaranteed path to the summit. All for a wandering outsider with no rank, no sponsors, no guarantee of victory. That's not a move someone of your... caliber makes without a reason."
Zack didn't answer. Not because he was avoiding the question, but because he genuinely didn't have an answer that Yarrow would care for.
He simply didn't see the point of the games anymore. Ascend, conquer, win, and get your wish? None of it mattered. Oliver's ridiculous proposition of building a free zone—an impossible cause—it was messy. Unwinnable. But Zack had never been interested in easy victories.
> "It just felt right," Zack finally muttered, pushing off the tree.
Yarrow leaned back in his chair, smiling wider now.
> "Interesting."
The wind brushed through the clearing as Zack adjusted his dagger holster.
> "Speaking of... anything about the raids? Nico says it's getting worse."
Yarrow's expression didn't change, though his tone shifted into that calm analyst's detachment he was known for.
> "This area of the woods functions like an open server. A sandbox without moderators. The law is... optional, until the Plant Guardian Lord declares otherwise."
He let the words hang, sipping his tea elegantly.
> "But she has no interest in this game. She's distant, uninterested in mortals scrambling over patches of soil."
Zack exhaled through his nose, unsurprised.
> "So no backup. Good to know."
He turned, eyes scanning the horizon where the tree line dipped into darker ravines. He wasn't the type to rant about fairness or rules. He simply adapted.
Yarrow set his teacup down and observed Zack with a small tilt of his head.
> "Yet you still intend to watch the edges. Ever vigilant. Ever ready. You're quite the paradox, Zack Erebus."
Zack's lips quirked up into a tiny, fleeting smirk.
> "Someone's gotta keep the idiots from dying."
Yarrow chuckled softly, but said no more.
As Zack walked off, stepping into the shadows between trees, his stance was calm—but alert. Every sound mattered. Every motion in the leaves was a potential threat.
In a world where systems dictated everything, Zack chose to be the human constant—the wildcard who kept watch when no one else did.
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