Chapter 5: SCAVENGER
The hoofbeats woke him.
Distant—but getting closer. Garrett rolled from the alcove, pressing himself against the cold stone, hand finding the knife without conscious thought. The fire had died to embers. Gray light filtered through the trees. Dawn, or close to it.
Three riders crested the hill to the west.
Nomads.
[THREAT DETECTED]
[HOSTILES: 3]
[CLASSIFICATION: MOUNTED RAIDERS]
[WEAPONS IDENTIFIED: SWORDS (2), BOW (1)]
[RECOMMENDATION: EVADE. COMBAT NOT ADVISED.]
No argument there. Garrett had watched Clipper-training visions during the binding. He'd seen what real fighters could do. These weren't Clippers—the lack of kill marks visible even at distance confirmed that—but three armed men on horses against one exhausted survivor with a belt knife?
No contest.
He moved. Low, slow, using the boulders for cover. The stream was behind him—if they followed it, they'd find his camp. Find evidence someone had been here recently.
"The caravan," he realized. They were heading back to the caravan site. Checking their kills, maybe. Looking for anything they'd missed.
The riders passed within fifty yards, close enough for Garrett to hear their conversation. Fragments drifted on the morning air.
"—told you, nothing left worth taking—"
"Boss wants confirmation. That merchant had papers. Trade routes."
"Papers burned with the wagon, didn't they?"
"Check anyway. You want to explain to Kael why we didn't?"
Kael. A name. Filed away for later.
The riders continued west, toward the caravan wreckage. Garrett stayed frozen until the hoofbeats faded, then forced himself to move in the opposite direction. East. Toward the Old Mill marker.
But he'd only gone a hundred yards when he stopped.
"They're going to find my trail," he thought. "The camp. The path I took from the caravan. If they're competent at all, they'll know someone survived."
[ANALYSIS: CORRECT]
[PROBABILITY OF TRAIL DETECTION: 73%]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: INCREASE DISTANCE BEFORE DETECTION OCCURS]
Run. The System wanted him to run. And running made sense—put miles between himself and the Nomads, reach the Old Mill before they could track him.
But something else nagged at him.
"They mentioned papers. Trade routes."
The journal. Garrett Ward's journal, currently in his pack. The Nomads wanted it—or wanted to confirm it was destroyed. Which meant it was valuable. Which meant...
"I should destroy it. Burn the evidence."
But the journal had maps. Settlement locations. Information that could mean the difference between finding shelter and wandering into hostile territory.
[DECISION REQUIRED]
[OPTION A: DESTROY JOURNAL, ELIMINATE EVIDENCE TRAIL]
[OPTION B: RETAIN JOURNAL, ACCEPT RISK]
[OPTION C: MEMORIZE KEY DATA, THEN DESTROY]
Option C. Obviously. Garrett found a hidden spot among the rocks, pulled out the journal, and started reading fast. The binding's neural restructuring must have done something to his memory—the information seemed to stick easier than it should have, trade routes and settlement names imprinting themselves with unusual clarity.
[DATA ABSORPTION IN PROGRESS]
[SP GAINED: 15]
[MAP UPDATED: 3 NEW LOCATIONS CONFIRMED]
Three settlements within a week's travel. Two trade routes that bypassed Baron territory entirely. And there—marked with a careful X—the Old Mill. Garrett Ward had been planning to go there too. His backup plan if the caravan failed.
"It failed," Garrett thought grimly. "Just not the way you expected."
He closed the journal, hesitated, then shoved it back in the pack. The information was in his head now, but the journal itself might still prove useful. Credentials, if he needed to prove he was Garrett Ward. Evidence of trade knowledge, if he needed to establish himself as a merchant.
Risk, but calculated risk.
The hoofbeats were returning.
"Shit."
Faster this time. Urgent. They'd found something at the caravan site—the disturbed grave, the searched bodies, the missing supplies. They knew someone had survived.
Garrett ran.
The Old Mill marker pulsed in his vision, seven miles distant now. Too far. The horses would catch him in open ground long before he reached it.
He needed cover. Needed to break the trail. Needed—
[TERRAIN OPTION DETECTED]
[RAVINE: 400 METERS NORTH]
[DEPTH: APPROXIMATELY 30 FEET]
[HORSES CANNOT TRAVERSE]
The ravine.
Garrett adjusted course, pushing through underbrush that tore at his clothes and skin. Behind him, the hoofbeats grew louder. Shouts now—they'd found his trail, were following the broken branches and disturbed earth like a highway sign.
"Faster," he told his legs. "Faster, damn you."
The ground dropped away without warning. Garrett skidded, grabbed a root, swung himself over the edge of the ravine. His grip held for a heart-stopping second, then he let go—falling, tumbling, hitting the sloped sides and bouncing until he crashed into the rocky bottom.
[INJURY DETECTED]
[LEFT ANKLE: MINOR SPRAIN]
[MULTIPLE CONTUSIONS]
[COMBAT EFFECTIVENESS: REDUCED 15%]
Pain screamed through his ankle. Garrett bit back a cry, forcing himself to roll into the shadow of an overhang. Above, the hoofbeats slowed.
"Where'd he go?"
"Trail ends here. The ravine."
"Can you see him?"
Silence. Garrett pressed himself deeper into the shadows, barely breathing.
"Too dark down there. Can't see shit."
"He's dead, then. Fall like that? Nobody survives."
A longer pause. Garrett waited, counting heartbeats.
"Kael's gonna want confirmation."
"Kael can climb down himself if he wants it. I'm not breaking my neck for some merchant's corpse."
"Fine. We report he fell. Probably dead. Good enough?"
"Good enough for me."
The hoofbeats retreated. Slowly at first, then faster as the Nomads lost interest. Garrett waited five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Only when silence had held for a full twenty minutes did he risk moving.
The ankle protested every step, but it held weight. Sprain, not break. He could work with sprain.
The ravine ran east—toward the Old Mill marker, roughly. Natural highway, invisible from above, difficult to track through. The System had saved his life with that terrain suggestion.
"Thanks," he thought at it.
[SURVIVAL IS THE PRIMARY OBJECTIVE]
[GRATITUDE IS UNNECESSARY BUT NOTED]
Garrett limped east, using the ravine walls for support. Above him, the sun continued its climb. Another day in the Badlands. Another day alive.
Six more to go.
The ravine opened into a valley as the sun reached its peak. Garrett emerged cautiously, scanning for threats, finding only empty grassland and distant treelines. The Old Mill marker pulsed stronger now—three miles, maybe less.
His ankle had swollen, turning an ugly purple-red beneath the boot leather. Walking was agony, but stopping was death. He kept moving.
[QUEST UPDATE]
[SURVIVE 7 DAYS: 2/7 COMPLETE]
[XP GAINED: 50 (EVASION BONUS)]
[CURRENT XP: 75/1,000]
Two days down. The System rewarded survival, apparently. And evasion—getting away from the Nomads without fighting had earned him extra experience.
"Smart System," he thought. "Encouraging avoidance over confrontation. Keeping me alive long enough to be useful."
The valley sloped upward toward a ridge. Beyond it, according to the absorbed map data, the Old Mill waited. An abandoned mining facility from before the apocalypse, repurposed by generations of outlaws and refugees, eventually abandoned when—
"When it became haunted."
Garrett climbed the ridge, ignoring the screaming protests from his ankle, and looked down at his destination.
The Old Mill sprawled across a depression in the earth, centered on a massive stone structure that might once have been a processing plant. Smaller buildings clustered around it—barracks, storage sheds, a collapsed watchtower. A stream ran through the compound, emerging from the main building's foundation.
Empty. Silent. No smoke, no movement, no signs of habitation.
But the System marker pulsed directly over the main building.
[DESTINATION REACHED]
[OLD MILL COMPOUND: UNOCCUPIED]
[WARNING: SUPERNATURAL PRESENCE DETECTED]
[CI EXPOSURE RISK: MODERATE]
[PROCEED WITH CAUTION]
Supernatural presence. The journal had said haunted. The locals had said stay away. And now the System was confirming—something was down there. Something that could affect his Corruption Index.
Garrett stood on the ridge, weighing options.
Behind him: Nomads who thought he was dead, but might check the ravine eventually. Open territory with no shelter, no resources, no safety.
Ahead: A compound that could provide shelter, water, defensible positions. And something supernatural that might kill him or worse.
"Corruption Index is 5," he reminded himself. "Clean. I have room to work with."
[CURRENT CI: 5]
[SAFE THRESHOLD: 25]
[RISK THRESHOLD: 50]
[CRITICAL THRESHOLD: 75]
Twenty points before he even reached risk territory. Whatever was down there, as long as he didn't do anything stupid...
"Famous last words," Garrett thought.
But he started down the ridge anyway.
The Old Mill waited.
Author's Note / Support the Story
Your Reviews and Power Stones help the story grow! They are the best way to support the series and help new readers find us.
Want to read ahead? Get instant access to more chapters by supporting me on Patreon. Choose your tier to skip the wait:
Noble ($7): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public.
Royal ($11): Read 17 chapters ahead of the public.
Emperor ($17): Read 24 chapters ahead of the public.
Weekly Updates: New chapters are added every week. See the pinned "Schedule" post on Patreon for the full update calendar.
Join here: patreon.com/Kingdom1Building