The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 93: Occam’s Razor

Blake paced in the new, growing garden behind the chief's hall, and tried not to worry. His mind bounced back and forth between telling him he shouldn't have sent Mason alone, and that he couldn't really have done otherwise. Everything had gotten harder since the start of ‘phase 2’.

First of all, everyone’s libido had obviously increased. Blake was in fact an extremely disciplined person when he wished, but even he found his eyes wandering every woman in Nassau. Tempers flared more regularly, people complained more about minor problems, and jealous love triangles were popping up everywhere.

Seul-ki was Blake’s salvation. Since the night of the storm and their new sexual status, he’d been doing everything he could to break the chief’s king-sized bed. Every night—usually after a long and frustrating day—he shut off the world and took Seul-ki with the urgent need of the young man he was. She didn’t seem to mind.

But it was her time of the month now, and she was also in bed with terrible cramps, which only increased Blake’s problems. He’d taken to pacing in her garden to avoid the townsfolk, but he knew he needed to go back and at least speak with Haley.

With a curse he walked back to the hall.

"Alberto would like to meet with you." Haley looked up from her notes at the desk by his office before he’d even reached the door. He closed his eyes.

"Is it about the house closest to the hall again?" Blake sighed, and a slight smirk touched the corner of Haley's lips.

"It is."

"Tell him I'm exceptionally busy."

"Very good.” She put down her notepad. “Exceptionally busy doing what, out of curiosity?"

Blake was, in fact, not busy at all. He’d intended to use his Neural Amplifier and search as far down the river as he could, but he really preferred to do so with Seul-ki’s boosts and mana available, and he didn’t want to disturb her. So he was ‘free’ for every belly-aching miscreant in the settlement.

He snapped his fingers as inspiration struck.

"Tell him I'm welcoming new players."

Haley's plucked brow furrowed as she crossed her amazing legs. "As you say. Now if that will be all, I'm supposed to teach Rebecca how to make a quiche."

"Hmm?” Blake had already moved on in his mind. “Yes. Thank you, Haley.” Then he was halfway to the door before he stopped. “Wait." He drummed his fingers on the wall. "What sort of gift does one give a traumatized eighteen year old girl with a penchant for swinging an axe?"

Haley blinked and stared for a moment. "A nice, new axe, I suppose?"

Blake grinned and pointed at her. "Simplicity. Very good. Occam would be proud." Then he marched from the hall towards the craftsman's quarters, smiling as he saw smoke rising in plumes.

Things were moving along nicely now. They had a tailor making new clothes, a tanner preparing hides for leather. They were making alcohol and processing some of the unrefined flour given by the system. But Blake walked straight to the blacksmith.

"Chief!" Peni, the big Fijian grinned. "What brings you to the mucky corner of our little town?"

"Why to see you, Master Smith."

"Ha.” The smith shuffled slightly and wiped a forearm over his sweaty brow. “Well, since I just figured out how to use the moulds, I'd say there's not much chance I'm a master anything..."

"I have faith in you." Blake looked over the assortment of failed and crude successes scattered around the workshop. "But I have a specific request...do you happen to have an axe?"

Peni pursed his lips. "Yeah, a couple. Though they ain't pretty. They've been chopping wood well enough."

"Capital. May I take one?"

"Sure, I’ve got another, all yours. But then I suppose, everything is, technically speaking, chief," Peni said.

"No, my friend, we’re all servants to the same cause. But I thank you." He lifted one off the table and grinned. "Keep up the good work. Sooner or later we'll get some more tools. And remember to keep searching the town database. There’s literally information on every aspect of blacksmithing. You can find anything there and improvise."

"Will do, chief." Smith smiled with more politeness than anything, then turned back to his work. Blake suspected he’d have to work a bit harder on that one, but that was a problem for another day. He crossed the quarter then the yard, smiling politely to those who noticed him.

When he reached Annie’s house he activated Mental Influence to see through her eyes and check where she was. Then he blinked in surprise as his vision went dark. She wasn’t asleep or it wouldn’t have worked properly, which meant she was…he blinked and focused on the dim light. She was hiding in a closet. In a house by herself.

Oh dear.

He knocked but knew she wouldn’t move, waited a respectable amount of time then hurried inside. He decided he might wait a minute on revealing his present, given the circumstances.

"Annie?" he called. "It's Blake. I’ve come in, I hope that’s alright. Are you alright? Can we talk?"

He smiled as he saw her finally scramble from the closet through her senses, then shut the link as he waited in the kitchen. Knocks and thumps echoed through the door and he wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing but fought the urge to look.

But he would certainly use his powers as required. It wasn’t exactly for pure reasons—though strangely he did feel a rather simple impulse just to help the poor girl—but she was also a player. And players were in very short supply. Nassau needed every one of them functioning at full capacity to survive.

By the time he’d lost his patience and was ready to connect to her senses with Mental Influence again, he heard footsteps much closer, and turned to wait with a smile.

Annie opened the door slowly, standing there with a tangled mop of red hair and in the now familiar standard-issue pajamas made by the system. Her arms were crossed before her chest, her feet bare and still a little dirty.

"There's my girl," Blake smiled. "How are you feeling, Annie? Have you been getting some sleep, and something to eat?"

"Don't like sleeping," she said in a tiny voice. "I have nightmares."

Blake went to the fridge and found at least a few things missing, which meant she’d eaten something. He pulled out some sandwiches and juice and set them on the table. "Sit and eat with me." He pulled out a chair.

Annie came and sat and pulled her hair from her eyes, and Blake tried not to notice how pretty she was. It felt especially wrong to consider her anything beyond a stray wounded thing that required assistance, even for Blake. But even so…

It's not like they had a resident shrink. Blake was well aware he didn't have the tools to smooth over mental trauma. Could he fake it with magic? Would it last?

"I could...try to help," he said as Annie slowly unwrapped a sandwich. "With your nightmares. Like I did in your dream. I can...change how you feel, a little bit, too. Would you like me to try?"

The girl finally met his eyes, something like desperation flashing before they watered.

"Can you take them away?"

Blake felt genuine sympathy for the poor girl as he met those red rimmed brown eyes. "I don't know. That's the truth. But I can try."

"OK," she whispered. "Do I need to do something?"

"No. I don’t think so." Blake activated the link again, watching the many options of his Mental Influence spell appear all around her. He thought back to her dream—what he'd seen her dealing with, the look on her face, the feelings he'd shared.

It wasn't fear, exactly. He saw her charging through the gloomy halls with her fireman's axe, covered in blood and fighting for her life. She had done what she had to do, and survived when so many others hadn't...that took strength, and courage, and it was clear she had both. He blinked, and met her eyes.

"You feel guilty, don't you Annie? That you were different. Strong enough. That you lived."

The perpetual wetness in her eyes spilled over and dripped down her cheeks. "But I wasn’t. I couldn't save my friends. They were so afraid. I didn't try hard enough. I didn't...I couldn't..."

"No, Annie, you couldn't." Blake found Comfort and Calm and twisted them with thick strands of mana around the girl's psyche.

She shuddered as the tears flowed, shoulders drooping as something like a moan left her lips. He just kept using more and more mana until the girl practically closed her eyes and slipped from the chair.

Blake walked over and helped her stand. "Let's get you to bed," he said, and she nodded. Then he helped the small girl walk back to her bedroom, and lay her down and tucked her in.

"Sleep," he said, brushing hair from her face. She closed her eyes instantly, and Blake left a glass of water and a sandwich on her nightstand before walking back to the door.

He would send Haley or Seul-ki to check on her, he decided, and maybe move her to a house with someone else so she wouldn’t be alone. Or maybe to the chief's hall…

No. Too much temptation. And he was surprised at his own reaction—his feeling of protectiveness and sympathy that took precedence over…other things...

She was potentially very useful to him—that’s what Blake Nimitz should have noticed first. And she was young and pretty and in desperate need of help. That’s what he should have noticed second.

But he just couldn't shake it—this annoying feeling as he pictured the girl on the bed. A strange new thing he sometimes felt now since entering the post-apocalypse. Or maybe since joining Nassau. Or maybe since meeting Seul-ki.

He actually cared.