Magic Murder Cube Marine (Book 1 Stubbed)

Eventually talking with Francis gave the knights a headache and they had to stop. They weren't sure what else to do with him, so they stuck Francis in a tent with a barrel of beer, some roasted lamb, and a big stack of cured tobacco leaves. Miller was there to keep Francis company and prevent any unapproved “walks”.

“So, break it down for me, fuzzy puppet style.” Francis told Miller as he chewed through a leathery tobacco leaf like a nicotine addicted caterpillar. “I’m a champion. What does that mean?”

Miller said he was forty years old but he looked closer to a hard fifty. The gray beard finished his beer and launched into a long explanation that Francis mostly tuned out. There were gods and an all-powerful system that did something or other for some reason. Nobody knew what it was or why. (But the educated people who didn't know what or why were called Scholars.)

Francis swallowed his chew and washed it down with a beer. “Ok, fuzzy puppet style is a no go. Now, tell me in Grunt.”

“Some grunts get promoted to Champions. God Generals get stuff when Champions kill monsters. God Generals make grunts fight. Grunts get stronger fighting and training. It is what it is, what are you gonna do?” Miller shrugged.

This all made sense to Francis. It wasn't any different than things back home. A moment of sadness sucker punched Francis as he thought about his fellow grunts. Murder Cube had told him it wasn't possible to go home yet. But if it found a way to send him back, it would.

Murder Cube didn't care about the other gods or their games. Murder Cube was here for the violence. It told Francis to have fun, kill lots of things, collect any cool weapons he found, and find a way home if he could. Murder Cube was very supportive of its champion.

Francis went over his immediate objectives. They were the same as any other deployment.