The entire following afternoon was a long stretch of… misery, at least according to Ren's thoughts.
The Dark Elf camp looked rather simple, but it turned out to have a chore list so long it could be used to wrap a monster's corpse. And ironically, most of it was handed to the "new arrivals" like him.
Ren gritted his teeth as he hauled yet another crate, so heavy his back creaked in protest. Sweat drenched his forehead, and he panted, muttering to himself:
"Don't tell me I'm the only one left in this camp?"
Faint memories from his old world came rushing back, working two to three part-time jobs a day, bending over to haul boxes in a cold storage room, flickering fluorescent lights above, and the clanking of old fans.
Back then, he thought that if he could just escape… he'd never have to go through that again.
Yet here he was now, in a deadly game, inside a camp of warrior Elves… doing the exact same job, hauling and carrying supplies.
Only difference: back then, he got paid.
"I'm not even getting paid for this…" Ren sighed.
Aisen had disappeared completely since lunch.
It seemed like he was on some important mission, at least important enough not to have to witness Ren breaking his back carrying crates like a lost ant.
"How nice."
Ren put his hands on his hips, looking into the distance where the trees swayed in the afternoon wind, and a bitter theory popped into his head.
'What if this is actually his hidden quest, to dump all the work on me and vanish?'
He shook his head, trying to scatter such thoughts. At least it was better than having to hear Aisen's teasing while he was dripping in sweat.
At least… the man wasn't here.
Under the hazy sunset filtering through the forest canopy, Ren finished the last of his chores, stacking the supply crates neatly in the damp storage corner and covering them with a tarp.
The smell of rotting wood and rusty metal still clung to his sleeves as he stepped outside.
A soft "ting" sounded in the corner of his vision, the system announcing that his relationship with the Dark Elves had increased by 20 points.
He blinked, then let out a quiet breath. At least all that heavy labor hadn't been completely pointless.
Most of the soldiers in the camp now recognized his face. Some greeted him in passing; one slipped him half a pouch of dried forest fruit, another gave him a knowing pat on the shoulder.
They were small gestures, but they made Ren feel like he truly existed in this place.
Perhaps… that was why he kept getting assigned chores, they'd begun to trust him.
He opened his status panel. His experience bar had passed the halfway mark. If nothing unexpected happened, just a few more quests tomorrow and he'd officially hit level 12.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
He stretched his back, then turned to look at the distant treetops sinking into the darkness. The camp's lights began to glow, the smell of smoke and cooking drifting from the field kitchen.
He wondered if Aisen was back yet.
There was still some time before nightfall. After drinking a few gulps of water from his storage, Ren left the hut area, walking quietly along the mossy forest path until he found an open patch of ground behind an abandoned watch post at the camp's edge.
He drew his sword.
The blade reflected a faint silver light under the half-hidden setting sun.
The air here was damp and sticky, with the scent of tree sap warping his sense of time, making him feel as if he no longer belonged to any familiar world.
It was fine. He was used to that by now.
Ren began to move, simple strikes, alternating between one-handed and two-handed swings.
The basic one-handed sword skill set didn't need to be flashy or powerful. What he needed was stability, and refinement.
After the thirty-second strike, his stance was still a bit off-balance.
The forty-seventh strike, his grip slipped slightly from sweat.
He stopped to catch his breath for a moment, then continued.
[154/1000]
The number appeared in the corner of his screen. Weapon Mastery… the growth rate was still low.
The fight with the spider swarm earlier had netted him nearly 35 points in less than half an hour, but reaching the next mastery level was still a long road.
Fighting was always the fastest way to improve… but you didn't always have to throw yourself into danger.
Some pauses were necessary, to slow down, to adjust, to understand how you were swinging your sword.
Ren stepped back, shifting into a counter stance. He practiced combos, dodges, parries, and counters, meticulously, like an artisan wiping dust from an old blade.
Each slash cut through the air. The night wind began to grow cold. Leaves rustled above, like the quiet applause of the forest for the lone figure still moving within it.
Ren sheathed his sword and let out a long sigh.
The sky had grown completely dark. A quiet fog was descending from the treetops like thick curtains, veiling the path ahead.
The air was so still that even the sound of his own footsteps on the ground echoed faintly, as if from a great distance.
Ren followed the old trail back to the camp.
The guards at the gate nodded to him as he passed. No one asked questions. No one stopped him.
No one even bothered to check his weapon like they did on that first day, when he was just an outsider dragged into the heart of a forest full of swords. Now, at the very least, he was considered a small part of this place, someone who needed no further explanation.
Ren walked straight to Aisen's tent.
Still pitch black as always. No sign its owner had returned.
He lit the stove, the weak flame flickering and casting a pale orange glow that made the empty tent feel just a little less cold.
After that, Ren went to the empty tent next door, which served as a temporary rest and wash area for the scouts.
He used cold water to wipe himself down, washing away the dust and sweat from the long afternoon. There was nothing much, just a wooden tub, a cloth, and the faint hiss of the night wind against the tent's canvas.
He recalled his first visit to Kizmel's tent.
Over there, her quarters were like a miniature mobile home, complete with a hot bath, tea table, and proper lighting.
By contrast, Aisen's tent...or rather, the entire squad's camp, lacked almost everything.
Dry, bare, colorless. And now, there was no one left here…
Ren looked down at his hands.
Sweat still lingered on his palms, his forehead, and along his spine. The sticky sensation wasn't pleasant, but he had grown used to it.
No matter how many times it happened, it still felt strange.
I'm sweating… in a game?
Pain, he could understand. Fatigue...there were mechanics to explain that. But sweating?
That kind of biological reaction shouldn't exist in a world made of code.
Can a string of code sweat?
The thought passed like a brief breeze and vanished.
Ren shook his head. He knew he shouldn't think that way anymore. He shouldn't keep drawing lines between the real and the virtual to separate himself from this place.
If he was trapped here, then he should live as if this was the only world left.
Not as a lost outsider among the natives, but as a real human being… truly existing in this world.
He began to sit alone in the tent… yes, alone, as time quietly slipped by.
Unable to endure the maddening silence any longer, Ren decided to step outside. Wandering the military camp at night was never a good idea.
…But what else could he do, he thought, when even the quiet was suffocating enough to choke him.
Ren pulled his coat collar up and stepped out of the tent.
At night, the Dark Elf camp was wrapped in an orderly stillness.
Dim oil lamps hung from the old wooden posts, their light spilling over the ground littered with fallen leaves and mist, creating a dreamlike scene.
In the distance, the sound of weapons clashing rang out in short bursts, someone training late, or perhaps, like him, unable to sleep.
Ren walked slowly, hands buried deep in his pockets, his gaze following the silhouettes passing by, shadows of himself.
No one stopped him, no one greeted him. A few glances swept over him, then turned away as if he didn't exist.
"So quiet… but the kind of quiet that makes you feel unnecessary," Ren muttered.
He stopped at the edge of the camp, where the border between lamplight and darkness blurred.
From here, he could see the northern misty forest, the place where he first saw Aisen fighting a Forest Elf… or rather, three of them.
He'd heard Aisen rambling about it before.
The night fog was thick as a damp, cold shroud, covering the path, and beyond it, the darkness seemed to breathe.
Ren leaned against a wooden post, his hand resting lightly on the sword hilt at his back. A strange unease rose in his chest, maybe because of the night, maybe because of the shapeless emptiness inside him.
A light breeze stirred, brushing through his hair. In the heavy darkness, Ren suddenly remembered his first days in Aincrad, nights just as cold as this, steps just as aimless.
But things are very different now...