A Hard Reckoning: The System Integration Chronicles Book 3, page 1
A HARD RECKONING
A LitRPG Apocalypse
Book 3 of The System Integreation Chronicles
By Drew McGunn
A Hard Reckoning
Copyright © 2025 Drew McGunn All rights reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s overactive imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or locales is coincidental. Fictional characters are entirely fictional and any resemblance among the fictional characters to any person living or dead is coincidental.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recordings, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright holder. Permission may be sought by contacting the author at drewmcgunn@gmail.com
ISBN: Pending
Cover design by: Drew McGunn
Also by Drew McGunn
The System Integration Chronicles
A Hard Reset
A Hard Landing
The Lone Star Reloaded Series
Forget the Alamo!
Comanche Moon Falling
To the Victors the Remains
Down Mexico Way
In Harm's Way
Against All Odds
The French Gambit
Short Story
The Trial of Santa Anna: A short story
Contents
Chapter 1: UDS Day 181
Chapter 2: UDS Day 181
Chapter 3: UDS Day 181
Chapter 4: UDS Day 182
Chapter 5: UDS Day 183
Chapter 6: UDS Day 184
Chapter 7 – UDS Day 184
Chapter 8 – UDS Day 184
Chapter 9 – UDS Day 189
Chapter 10: UDS Day 190
Chapter 11: UDS Day 191
Chapter 12: UDS Day 192
Chapter 13: UDS Day 193
Chapter 14: UDS Day 194
Chapter 15: UDS Day 198
Chapter 16: UDS Day 199
Chapter 17: UDS Day 200
Chapter 18: UDS Day 202
Chapter 19: UDS Day 202
Chapter 20: UDS Day 203
Chapter 21: UDS Day 206
Chapter 22: UDS Day 209
Chapter 23: UDS Day 209
Chapter 24: UDS Day 210
Chapter 25: UDS Day 210
Chapter 26: UDS Day 210
Chapter 27: UDS Day 212
Chapter 28: UDS Day 212
Chapter 29: UDS Day 213
Chapter 30: UDS Day 221
Chapter 31: UDS Day 224
Chapter 32: UDS Day 225
Chapter 33: UDS Day 226
Chapter 34: UDS Day 226
Chapter 35: UDS Day 227
Chapter 36: UDS Day 227
Chapter 37: UDS Day 228
Chapter 38: UDS Day 229
Chapter 39: UDS Day 229
Chapter 40: UDS Day 229
Epilogue: UDS Day 250
Acknowledgement
About The Author
Chapter 1: UDS Day 181
Randy's crossbow bolt took the orc in the shoulder instead of center mass, and that's when I knew this training run was about to go completely sideways. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me back up to twenty minutes earlier, when I was still pretending I knew what the hell I was doing as an instructor.
"Alright, listen up," I said, my voice echoing in the dusty hallway of the Victorian Mansion. The place smelled like mold and old violence—kind of like my systemized sneakers after that long-ass dungeon run, except with more death and less foot funk. "Orcs aren't goblins. They don't just rush you with pointy sticks and bad breath. They're smarter. Meaner. And they hit like—" I paused, trying to think of something more creative than 'freight train.' "—like Jayden that time he got drunk and tried to hug everyone at once."
Nobody laughed. Right. These weren't my usual crew. These were six terrified fourteen-year-olds in gear so new it still squeaked when they moved.
I leaned against the peeling wallpaper, rifle at low-ready—a position that had become as natural as breathing after seven months of this shit. Junior Commander. God, that still sounded wrong in my mouth. Seven months ago I was the kid gripping his rifle too tight, and now six lives depended on me not screwing this up.
The kids stared back at me with that blend of hero worship and barely controlled panic that I remembered from my first real dungeon run. Right here—this same moldy hallway, these same peeling walls. I'd been standing exactly where Randy was now, trying not to piss myself while Wesley explained why orcs were going to murder us all. Clutching my dad's rifle like a safety blanket, praying I wouldn't be the one who got everyone killed.
Now here I was, playing Wesley's role. Pretending I had my shit together.
Fresh gear from the System Store, all polished leather and clean steel that hadn't learned what orc blood smelled like yet. Every kid who turned fourteen got redemption tokens on their birthday now—enough to buy basic weapons and starter armor. Nothing like that insane first hour when the UDS hit and we got to incorporate stuff we actually owned. My dad's old Sharps rifle, his beat-up canteen, that ren faire gambeson—hell, even my holey jeans got systemized. These kids picked from a catalog of generic medieval gear. The world's worst birthday present.
But they were ours now. Wesley's new policy was simple: every combat-classed fourteen-year-old got immediate training. No exceptions. Three new settlements under our banner this month meant we needed fighters, even if those fighters' voices still cracked when they tried to sound tough.
"The key to fighting orcs is breaking their formation," I said, sounding way more confident than I felt. Christ, I was basically quoting Wesley word-for-word from seven months ago. "They work in squads. Heavy hitter up front—that's their tank—while the flankers try to get behind you. Kind of like when we fought Urghok, except smaller and slightly less likely to cave your skull in with one hit."
Randy Littrell was practically vibrating. Kid had finally hit fourteen last week, unlocked his Arbalester class, and now he kept aiming his crossbow at imaginary targets and making tiny "pew" sounds under his breath. His hero worship would've been flattering if my brain wasn't already doing the math on how many ways that crossbow could get someone killed.
Six terrified faces. Randy with his crossbow. Hunter Davis with those dead-parent eyes that made every monster personal. The rest clutching their weapons like prayers.
"The thing about orcs," I said, "is they're predictable. They'll almost always go for whoever looks scariest first—usually whoever's standing in front making noise. Mason, that's you. Your job is to look big, scary, and too stupid to run away."
Mason Tucker stopped muttering about shield angles. "Got it. Be... wait, too dumb?"
"Not actually dumb," I clarified quickly. "Just—you know what, never mind. You'll figure it out."
Emily materialized from her scouting run—there one moment, just appearing the next with that silent grace that made my brain forget what it was supposed to be doing. She gave a quick shake of her head. Clear for now. Then she caught my eye and gave me this small, encouraging smile that made something twist in my chest.
Focus, Caden. Teaching. Right.
That's when I spotted it—movement at the end of the hall. A lone orc, Level 3 or maybe 4, definitely higher than the trash mobs outside. It was watching us, probably trying to figure out if we were food or threats.
"Alright," I said, keeping my voice steady even though my brain was already calculating angles and distances. "See that orc? That's our teaching moment. We're going to approach as a unit, maintain formation, and—"
The twang of Randy's crossbow cut through my words.
Time slowed down the way it does when you realize something's about to go catastrophically wrong. I watched the bolt fly—good aim, steady release, everything I'd taught him. Except for the part where he was supposed to wait for my goddamn signal.
The bolt hit high shoulder, sinking deep enough to piss the orc off but not deep enough to drop it. The orc's scream wasn't pain—it was an alarm. A dinner bell.
My fault. The thought hit like ice water. I'd seen Randy getting twitchy. Should've been clearer. Should've—
The orc staggered back around the corner, its scream echoing into a chorus of answering roars from deeper in the mansion. Not one or two. A lot.
"Oh fuck," someone whispered. Might've been me.
The teaching moment was over. Now it was just survival.
Heavy footsteps thundered toward us. Not one set. Not two. My brain was already doing that horrible math—six terrified fourteen-year-olds, maybe twenty seconds before those orcs rounded the corner, and a hallway that was about to become a killing box.
"Fall back! Now!" My voice came out wrong—not instructor-calm but that sharp bark Wesley used when shit got real. "Staircase behind us! Move!"
But nobody moved. They just stood there, frozen, like their brains had blue-screened at the worst possible moment.
Mason was the worst—shield half-raised, muttering something that sounded like "proper defensive positioning requires..." while actual death sprinted toward us.
Then the orcs came around the corner.
Not the Level 2 practice dummies we'd been farming on the
Landon Smith fumbled an arrow and nearly put it through Kaitlyn Johnson's shoulder. Randy's hands were shaking so bad his crossbow bolt just... fell out. And Hunter—
"For glory!"
His voice cracked on 'glory' but he was already moving, charging straight at the orc pack with his axe raised like he was auditioning for every dead hero story ever told.
Idiot. But also—my idiot. My responsibility.
The orcs met his charge with something that sounded like laughter. Three of them converged on him at once, and his axe—the one he'd been so proud of ten minutes ago—got knocked out of his hands like he was a toddler with a toy. The wet crunch when the spiked club hit his ribs made my whole body flinch. He went down screaming.
"Hunter!" Brayden Martinez started forward, staff raised, but I could see the mana-panic in his eyes. That specific look healers get when the math says someone's about to die on their watch. His thumb was rubbing the wood of his staff—same nervous tic I did with my rifle when things got too quiet.
Everything was falling apart. This was Armadon all over again, except this time I was supposed to be the one who knew better.
"Jayden, plug that hallway!" I heard myself shout. "Don't let them through! Emily—"
I didn't have to finish. She was already moving, flowing through the chaos like water through rocks. Her blade flickered, creating space, buying seconds we couldn't afford to waste. Jayden roared—actually roared—and planted himself in the doorway like a very angry wall.
I drew my Remington, the weight familiar and comforting in a way that would've seemed weird seven months ago. Two shots, both suppressing fire to make the orcs duck. Emily reached Hunter, hooked an arm under him, started dragging. But they were exposed, and the math still sucked, and—
Golden light exploded from Brayden's staff.
Kid was shaking like a leaf in a tornado, but his healing poured into Hunter's demolished ribs. The sound they made knitting back together—wet and wrong and necessary—made me want to throw up. Hunter gasped, which meant he was breathing, which meant we were still in the fight.
"Now! Stairs! Shield wall at the top!"
This time they moved. Probably because they'd just watched Hunter almost die and suddenly my orders seemed less like suggestions and more like the only thing between them and becoming orc food.
Mason finally unfroze, slamming his shield into an orc going for Emily's back. It wasn't pretty—kid basically just threw his whole body at the problem—but it worked. The orc stumbled. Emily got Hunter clear.
"Ranged fighters, alternating fire! Landon shoots, Randy reloads! Don't crowd each other!"
They were sloppy as hell, but they were trying. An arrow in an orc's shoulder here, a crossbow bolt going wide but making them duck there. Not exactly legendary combat, but it was buying us space.
An orc shaman at the back raised its staff, green energy crackling. Oh good. Magic. Because this wasn't bad enough already.
"Kaitlyn! Blind it! Just... flash it or something!"
She blinked at me, her analytical brain probably trying to calculate optimal lumens or whatever—girl treated magic like a science project she could ace if she just studied hard enough—then just threw her hand out and made light happen. Not a spell-spell, just... bright. Right in the shaman's face.
It screamed and clawed at its eyes. The green energy fizzled out.
Holy shit. That actually worked.
"Fall back!" I put my last two rounds into the crowd to cover Jayden's retreat. He backed up, still swinging, still keeping them from rushing us all at once.
We scrambled onto the staircase landing, wood groaning under our weight like it was considering just giving up. Mason and Jayden made a wall at the top—not a good wall, not a pretty wall, but a wall. The trainees huddled behind them, finally working together because terror is apparently a great team-building exercise.
The orcs had to funnel through the doorway to reach us. One, maybe two at a time. Suddenly our trash formation didn't matter as much.
Landon and Randy finally found their rhythm—shoot, reload, shoot, reload—like they'd been doing it for years instead of minutes. The rivalry between crossbow and bow that had been annoying as hell during training suddenly meant something; neither one wanted to be the first to miss. Mason stopped muttering about shield angles and just became one, a wall Jayden could rest against when the big swings got heavy. Even Kaitlyn's little light bursts started landing at exactly the right moments, like she'd figured out orc night vision through pure academic spite.
It was ugly. It was desperate. It was nothing like the clean, tactical engagement I'd tried to teach them.
But it worked.
The last orc fell with this wet gurgle that I knew I'd be hearing in my dreams later. For a long moment, the only sound was our breathing—ragged, harsh, alive.
Then the System chimed, because apparently it couldn't read the room.
Combat Concluded. 24 Orcs Neutralized. Total Party Experience: 840
"Holy shit!" Randy's voice cracked. "I got 160 XP! I just hit Level 2!" He stared at his crossbow like it had just proposed to him.
My own notification was less impressive:
Your damage share: 10%. Adjusted for level difference. You are awarded 48 XP.
Barely worth the adrenaline crash, but that wasn't the point. They'd earned those levels the hard way—by not dying when they absolutely should have.
I slumped against the banister, my legs doing that jello thing they did after every fight that went sideways. The trainees were all staring at me, bloodied and shaking but alive.
Hunter was propped against Emily, his armor trashed but his ribs working properly thanks to Brayden's desperate healing. The cocky aggression was gone from his eyes, replaced by something that might've been respect. Or shock. Hard to tell.
Randy opened his mouth, probably to apologize for starting this whole mess, but I held up a hand.
"That," I said, my voice hoarse, "is the difference between training and reality." I looked at each of them, letting it sink in. "The System gives you tools. Classes, stats, skills. But when everything goes sideways? When the plan falls apart and people are screaming and you can't think straight? That's when you find out who you really are."
I pushed myself off the banister even though my body filed several formal complaints. "Now let's loot this place and get the hell out. We're not ready for the basement. Not today."
Emily caught my eye and gave me this tiny nod that said good call without saying anything. My chest did that stupid flutter thing again.
"And next time?" I added, trying to sound commanding even though my voice cracked a little. "You wait for my goddamn signal."
Randy nodded so hard I thought his head might fall off.
We'd survived. Barely. But in the UDS, barely was still breathing, and breathing meant you got to try again tomorrow.
As we gathered what loot we could find—mostly trash, but the kids acted like it was legendary gear—Emily's hand brushed mine. Just for a second. Just enough to say you did good without the others noticing.
Seven months into this nightmare, and I was starting to think I might actually be okay at this.
Which probably meant something was about to go catastrophically wrong.
Chapter 2: UDS Day 181
The adrenaline high from a clean victory always faded faster than you wanted it to. One minute you're riding the rush, the next all that's left is bone-deep exhaustion and the smell of blood stuck to your clothes.
We walked out through the heavy gates of the containment wall that ringed the dungeon—well, limped in Hunter's case. Behind us, the Victorian Mansion stood exactly as the System had preserved it: imposing, indestructible, and silent. The only things changing behind us were the fresh corpses already starting to shimmer—that weird dissolve thing the System did to keep us from drowning in bodies.
