The light of two monitors was the last thing Marcus saw. His hands moved quickly over the keyboard. He was writing a bot for Grand-Cross Online while also playing ranked matches in Chat of Duty: Battlegrounds.
News headlines flashed on the television hanging on his wall.
"Global Cyber-Attacks Cripple Infrastructures."
"AI-Driven Drones Patrol Conflict Zones. "
"Spice Girls have returned with a new album."
But he barely noticed them. His world was the grind. He coded by day and fought for the top of the leaderboards by night.
A sharp pain stabbed his chest in the middle of the match. He ignored it, lost in the high of a 78-kill streak.
His avatar, Rage_Quit, moved through the smoke of a downed helicopter. His crosshairs locked onto the last enemy -- a top-ranked player wrapped in a $50 legendary camouflage.
Headshot.
The killfeed blazed
[NOTIFICATION] rage_quit [Winner Winner Chicken Dinner]
Then he typed.
[ALL CHAT] Rage_Quit : ?
The chat exploded.
[ALL CHAT] xX_420BlazeIt_Xx : "Bruh, he actually typed the question mark.
LMAO."
[ALL CHAT] NoScopeJebus : "FRFR This guy is unreal."
[ALL CHAT] GigaChadGamer : "Bro, toxic as hell no cap"
[ALL CHAT] ShrekOnSteroids : "Certified menace to society."
[ALL CHAT] LeeroyJenkins : "HE REALLY WENT FOR IT, CHAT! RESPECT!"
[ALL CHAT] XxxP_ssySlayer69xx : "Damn, even I wouldn't be this bold. Absolute legend."
His left arm went numb. The victory screen flashed once, a final bright spark, and then everything went dark. Silence fell.
Nothing.
Empty dark space, going on forever.
Then --
[SYSTEM] Rebooting...
[SYSTEM] Loading Core Functions...
[SYSTEM] Running Diagnostics...
[SYSTEM] ERROR DETECTED : Unknown Data Signatures
[SYSTEM] Bypassing error...
[SYSTEM] System override engaged.
[SYSTEM] Corruption Level : 0%
[SYSTEM] Unlocked Ability : Code Necrosis
[SYSTEM] Description : Applies impairment to target.
[SYSTEM] Activation : Physical Contact, User Input.
[SYSTEM] Unlocked Ability : Abyss Kernel
[SYSTEM] Description : System Interface.
[SYSTEM] Activation : Default.
[SYSTEM] Welcome, Rage.
[SYSTEM] Corruption Level : 0%
His mind stuttered. "What is this interface?"
Breeze hit his skin.
Rage blinked. He had nothing. Only the rough feel of grit under his palms and a dull ache in his joints. He thought he should at least have a health bar or some stamina meter. He looked around but there was nothing. He flexed his fingers. There was no keyboard resistance. No controller vibrations. Just the coarse dry texture of whatever this was. His breath came steady and too steady. He noticed there was no menu and no way to log out. He knew he should be freaking out but he was not.
The thought should have sent a spike of panic through him. But it didn't. His mind processed everything too smoothly, too logically.
He glanced around. Sand dunes stretched endlessly, broken only by the jagged remnants of crumbling watchtowers and shattered citadel walls. The sky loomed heavy, thick clouds were pressing down like a held breath.
His fingers twitched, reflexively attempting to alt-tab out of whatever VR nightmare this was. No response. No interface command.
"Alright, either I got isekai'd... or I got isekai'd."
He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the horizonless expanse.
"These textures are too realistic."
Then, something growled.
It was low and guttural, too deep for the size of whatever made it.
He turned.
A pair of glowing eyes locked onto him from the dunes. Then another. And another.
His body tensed before his mind even registered the threat.
They didn't just move fast. They blurred. The wolves surged forward, their bodies were twitching between steps.
"That's not normal."
His legs moved before he even decided to run.
His lungs burned. His feet dug into the sand. The wolves closed the distance far too quickly.
"Alright. Let's hope this isn't hardcode mode."
Then his foot caught on a rock and crashed to the ground.
The wolves made loud howls that broke the quiet of the desert.
Rage scrambled to his feet, but the wolves were already around him. Their eyes glowed and stared at him.
He backed against a jagged rock. His breathing was heavy. There was no escape. He was trapped.
The first wolf lunged, and Rage reacted on instinct, grabbing a sharp stone from the ground.
He swung his arms and hit the beast on the jaw. It yelped and stepped back, but another one came forward.
He fought with everything he had, swinging the stone, kicking, and punching. But the wolves were relentless.
One by one they attacked. Their claws tore into his skin and pain surged through him, but he ignored it, thinking it was all part of the game's immersion.
He was getting weaker. His movements slowed. Blood ran from his wounds and stained the sand under him. He fell to his knees.
A massive wolf jumped at him, its jaws were snapping toward his face.
He raised his arm to protect himself. The wolf's teeth sank into his flesh. Pain ran through his body once more, but then something strange happened.
An interface appeared before his eyes, displaying the beast's information.
[SYSTEM] Direwolf Lv.8
[SYSTEM] class : Predator
[SYSTEM] hostile
His mind raced.
Instinct took over.
With trembling fingers, he reached-out and grabbed the wolf's neck. Another interface appeared, waiting for his input.
His mind reacted like muscle memory. A command came naturally. He willed it to act, as if he was typing a line of code with his mind.
[USER] target: windpipe
[USER] status: smashed
[USER] *enter*
[SYSTEM] Input recognized
[SYSTEM] Processing...
The wolf twitched violently. Its muscles locked as if it was fighting something unseen.
[SYSTEM] Code Necrosis Activated
The beast's body froze while it snarled, then it collapsed.
Hope rose in him, but it did not last. This was not a moment to celebrate.
The pack was too large. There were too many. He could not code them all.
They surrounded him.
Their claws and teeth tore into his body.
He fell to the ground. His vision became blurry.
He was dying. He knew it.
The wolves came in for the kill. Their growls filled his ears.
The sun felt hotter. His lips were dry. He stopped hoping and accepted his fate.
"I should be able to wake up after this," he muttered.
Then a loud voice echoed across the desert.
"FOOL."
A woman's voice spoke. It sounded like someone who had already seen this exact mess coming.
The air broke with a loud crack. The wolves froze while snarling, then scattered.
Through the dust charged a silhouette -- a warlord clad in a moving citadel.
[SYSTEM] Ignia Lv.55
[SYSTEM] class : Armswoman
[SYSTEM] loyalty : 29.6%
Her armor was black steel plates that fit tightly and looked strong. The edges were sharp. Two banners were attached to the armor's back. The left banner had a golden phoenix with worn wings. The right banner had a black sun that still seemed to burn. Behind her were three figures and another banner held higher than the sun.
She moved forward. The banners behind her moved with the wind. Her huge sword cut through the wolves. Blood dripped from it and hissed when it hit the sand.
"Pathetic mutts."
She spat on the corpses.
She barely looked at Rage. Her visor was up, showing a face that did not belong here. High cheekbones and golden eyes made her look dangerous. Her gaze passed over him quickly. It was not curiosity or concern. She looked at him like a queen looking at a peasant, simply confirming he was there.
She didn't ask who he was. Didn't ask why he was there. Instead, she sighed, tilting her head as if this was more of an inconvenience than an unexpected encounter.
"You. What's a scrawny rat like you doing here?"
He shrugged. "I got lost my way to... Starbucks?"
Her laugh was loud and rough.
"Starbucks? Never heard of that clan, rat!"
She hit him on the back. It was not a friendly gesture, but a test of strength. The blow shook his ribs and knocked the air from his lungs.
"If you die out here, your smart mouth's wasted."
She did not stay. She did not wait for a thank-you or an explanation. She turned and barked orders to her men. Rage's survival was just another part of her work.
As one of them knelt beside him, tending his wounds, Rage finally let exhaustion take him.
Darkness swallowed him.
[System] Corruption Level : 2%
[System] Unlocked Ability : Null Veil
[System] Description : Enhances overall speed and evasion.
[System] Activation : User Input.
[System] Unlocked Ability : Dead Circuit
[System] Description : Allows Equipment Stat Manipulation.
[System] Activation : User input.
The notification stayed at the edge of his mind. Its details slipped through the fog of half-consciousness. Corruption value... something. It did not seem important for now.
It faded with the last bits of sleep. Then came the cold. Stone scraped against his legs. His spine ached from being dragged across uneven ground. Heavy footsteps echoed around him as he came to his senses.
The fortress was not like a castle. It looked like a jagged fist of black stone. Its walls were scarred by siege weapons. Soldiers in saluted Ignia as she walked through the gates.
Torchlight flickered against tall walls. Banners were raised high, showing pride and conquest. Ignia dragged Rage by the collar.
"You will work off your life debt in the armory," she said, pushing him into a large room filled with cracked weapons.
"Fix what you can. A war is brewing."
Rage blinked. "I'm a programmer, not a blacksmith."
"A what?"
He sighed. "Never mind."
A gruff voice cut in before Ignia could leave. "Oi, who's the new kid?"
[SYSTEM] Grimr Lv.45
[SYSTEM] class : Craftsman
[SYSTEM] Neutral
Rage turned and saw a broad-shouldered man. His arms were streaked with soot, and his leather apron was burned in many places. His beard looked more like ash than hair, and his glare showed the strength of someone who had worked with steel longer than Rage had been alive.
"Some lost pup the queen picked up," one of the soldiers chuckled.
The blacksmith snorted. "That so? Well, pup, you got hands. You'll use 'em."
He jabbed a finger toward the cluttered racks of swords and axes, their edges dulled by time and war.
"If you're breathing in my forge, you're working."
Rage raised an eyebrow but didn't argue.
The blacksmith eyed him for a moment before grunting. "You got a name, or should I just call you 'Boy'?"
Rage hesitated. His old name felt too foreign now. Too distant.
"Rage."
The blacksmith huffed. "Dramatic. Alright, Rage, quit standing around like a lost pup. Get to work."
He tossed a rag at Rage's face. "Start scrubbing."
Rage sighed and got to work. He dragged the cloth over a rusted short sword. The metal groaned as he rubbed it.
He exhaled.
"Guess I'm on dish duty... but with swords," he muttered to himself.
The blacksmith heard a bit of what he muttered. "What is it, boy?"
"Nothing," Rage said.
"That's what I thought," the blacksmith replied.
Rage's hands kept moving, wiping away layers of grime. The repetitive motion gave him time to process everything.
A different world. No way to log out. A queen who looked like she could lift a horse.
Totally normal.
Then, an interface at the edge of his vision.
[system] steel broadsword
[system] durability: 10%
[system] attack: 25
Rage ran his fingers along the chipped edge. Rust and tiny cracks covered the blade. It looked like it would break at any moment.
"Alright, let's see if this works..." he muttered, curious, and adjusted the sword's values to something absurd.
[SYSTEM] Dead Circuit Activated
[SYSTEM] Processing restoration...
[SYSTEM] Error detected. Attack parameter exceeds standard reinforcement.
[SYSTEM] Restoration failed. Weapon integrity compromised.
The sword heated. The metal softened and twisted in strange ways. Its structure could not hold against the force reshaping it.
A moment later, the blade broke, falling apart on its own. The hilt burned his palm as the pieces hit the ground.
Rage sighed and shook his head.
"Alright, so we're not running a New Vegas mod pack. Got it," he muttered.
He grabbed another weapon and rolled it in his grip.
"Alright, this one," he muttered, adjusting the values to something moderate he could remember from the games he had played in his previous world.
[SYSTEM] Dead Circuit Activated
[SYSTEM] Processing restoration...
[SYSTEM] Reinforcing blade structure...
[SYSTEM] Repair successful.
This time, the sword responded smoothly. The edges straightened, imperfections disappeared, and the structure settled without struggle. No tricks, just simple optimization.
"Now we're talking," he muttered.
He pulled another weapon from the pile and tested its weight. He adjusted the values slightly higher than before, aiming for something stronger but still manageable.
The modification failed. The weapon was too unstable.
Rage narrowed his eyes. He decided to stick with average stats for now. No god-mode, no one-shot builds. He would have to play fair.
By dusk, he had repaired almost the entire armory. Once-broken swords, spears, and axes now gleamed like freshly forged steel, their edges sharp and ready.
[SYSTEM] Corruption Level : 6%
[SYSTEM] Unlocked Ability : Red Static
[SYSTEM] Description : Wildcard Abilities Gacha.
[SYSTEM] Activation : Automatic on start of combat.
Rage noticed the notification. He frowned. It was too vague, and he did not know what it was for.
The blacksmith stood frozen. His soot-streaked hands gripped the edge of the workbench.
His eyes darted between the restored weapons and Rage, as if trying to decide whether to be impressed or horrified.
"You... what in the hell did you just do?" he muttered, scratching his head in disbelief.
Rage looked up, his expression unreadable.
"I... cleaned them," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Across the armory, just beyond the edge of his vision, the Queen's war room lay quiet and still.
Through the narrow window, Rage saw the glint of a greatsword covered in cloth. Its tall frame looked more like a stone pillar than a weapon. It stood silently beside a shelf full of old books and scrolls. The dusty cloth blended almost completely into the shadows.
Rage's eyes passed over it without a second thought, as if it was just another forgotten relic in the cluttered corners of the room.
***
Ignia marched into the armory. Her footsteps were firm and purposeful, expecting to see the blacksmith working.
Her eyes moved across the room. When they landed on Rage, she paused, surprised. He stood there calm, casual, which was not what she had expected.
She looked at the old man, but he just nodded toward Rage, silently indicating him.
Ignia's gaze went back to him. Awe and disbelief crossed her face.
The room hummed with activity. Even the most broken weapons had been repaired. Her voice broke the quiet, sharp and commanding.
"Explain yourself," she said, her tone was sharp and full of suspicion.
"I told you. Programmer."
She shook her head, as if dismissing the matter altogether. "Whatever. We need more men to fight."
Rage met her gaze, his expression was flat. "Fight? Not into PVP."
Ignia's eyes narrowed, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.
"Then we'll use your bones as clubs."
Ignia turned to one of the soldiers nearby.
"You! Get him trained. Teach him a few basic swipes with a sword. He's fighting whether he likes it or not."
The soldier, a lanky veteran with a scarred face, approached Rage with a resigned sigh.
Without a word, he shoved a sword into Rage's hands.
"Alright," he muttered, "show me what you can do."
Rage blinked, confusion was clouding him. "What?"
The soldier's eyes narrowed. "Queen's orders."
Rage took the sword, his fingers were stiff and uncertain. His awkward grip showed his lack of experience, and the blade felt heavy and strange in his hands.
The soldier nodded quickly toward a tall training dummy at the far end of the room.
"That," he said curtly, "is where you start."
"Start with the basics," he grumbled. "Swing for the head. Try to hit it with the edge."
Rage swung the blade. It cut through the air with a hollow thud and hit the dummy's shoulder with the dull edge. The soldier pulled back slightly, looking uneasy.
"Again," the soldier barked. "Focus. Get your stance right first."
Rage adjusted his footing, trying to mirror the soldier's earlier demonstration. With a deep breath, he swung again, this time aiming for the dummy's head.
The sword hit the cloth, but it did not cut cleanly. Rage gritted his teeth, frustrated, and swung again.
Hours passed in a blur of strikes, missed swings, and the occasional scolding from the soldier.
Sweat soaked Rage's brow, and his arms ached from the repeated motions. He kept swinging, but his form was still sloppy, and his timing was off.
The soldier's patience grew thin. "You're making progress, but you still swing like a drunk farmer. Focus."
Rage exhaled sharply and steadied himself. He swung again, hitting the dummy's midsection. It was not perfect, but it was something.
The soldier grunted. "It will take time, but that is no excuse in a fight. You will need to do better."
He turned and joined the others, leaving Rage alone with the dummy.
Rage gripped the sword tighter. Its weight felt like the weight on his shoulders.
He focused, remembering the soldier's instructions about stance, grip, aim and swing.
Rage wondered why he could not just skip the tutorial and get to the good part, thinking bitterly like a player stuck at the start of a grind-heavy game.
But this was not a game. Not anymore.
He took a deep breath and swung again. The blade cut through the air in a wide arc. This time the strike was a little more controlled, but still weak.
He growled under his breath, his frustration was rising, but he did not stop. He had to keep going.
He adjusted his footing and brought the sword back, trying to get the timing right. The tip of the blade hit the dummy's shoulder, missing slightly.
Rage frowned and reset, repeating the motion over and over, each time a little stronger and a little more precise.
Sweat poured down, but he did not stop. The burn in his muscles was both punishment and proof of how far he had to go and how much further he had to push.
Minutes passed, but Rage kept swinging, each strike a step toward something he could not fully name, but could feel.
When he finally hit the dummy solidly, it was not perfect, but it was something. A small moment of success in a sea of frustration.
His breathing was heavy, Rage stepped back and stared at the dummy.
"Welp, that was... something," he muttered to himself.
For the first time that day, he felt like he was making progress.
***
The bandits arrived at sunset. A horde of leather-clad raiders followed a hulking figure on a terrifying horse. Its black coat shone unnaturally, as if slick with oil. The horse's eyes were bright and cold, empty of any warmth or thought. Its hooves hit the ground with hollow thuds, each step sending dread through the air. Jagged scars ran along its flank. It was a beast that should never have been tamed.
The Bandit Lord Varkas rode said horse. His shaved head had a crimson mohawk tattoo that ran down his neck and arms. One bloodshot eye twitched constantly, while the other was milky white with a scar through it. He swung a spiked mace, coated in dried blood, moving with the savage rhythm. His rasping voice sent shivers down the spines of those around him.
***
Ignia called for Rage to get on a horse. Her command was clear as she looked over her shoulder.
"Get on. You will ride with us."
Rage froze, staring at the horse with confusion and fear. He had never ridden a beast before. The horses here were not like the easy ones in video games. They were real animals, and there was no guide to help him.
Rage shrugged and raised his hands. "Nah, I'll just take the bus."
Ignia narrowed her eyes. "Ride that beast, or you ride with me."
Rage muttered under his breath, holding the horse's sides to stay balanced. "I'm going to look ridiculous."
He imagined a small man riding in front of a princess as they charged into battle. It looked like a story from a legend, with him as the reluctant littlefolk.
"Yeah, or I'll just ride on your back," he muttered.
Ignia's lips curled into a dangerous smirk, her eyes flashing with amusement. "You can try," she said, "but I would not bet on staying on."
Rage gave her a look of disbelief mixed with amusement and shrugged.
"If you say so," he thought, a small smirk forming on his face.
He climbed onto Ignia's back with all the grace of a drunken man, holding on tightly as if his life depended on it. Ignia moved steadily and Rage realized just how strong and unforgiving she really was.
"Well, this is gonna be a ride to remember," he thought, trying to steady himself before they took off.
One of the soldiers raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicked between Rage and the unusual arrangement.
"Why does he need to join the charge?" he asked, genuinely curious.
Ignia's eyes narrowed, the smirk on her lips barely masked her steel-hard resolve.
"Because I said so. Only women, elders, children, and the sick stay behind. Every able-bodied man joins the fight. And if he can't even stay on a damn horse, I'll make sure he doesn't get himself killed before we reach the battlefield." Her voice was calm, but the weight of her words left no room for argument.
The soldiers around her formed up quickly, lining up in a tight cavalry formation. Horses pawed at the ground, and the sound of armors moving rose with the tension in the air.
Ignia, always the leader, took her place at the front, her presence was steadying the army as it prepared.
***
The bandits charged with fierce speed, their weight shook the ground. With every step, they closed the distance, until there was no space left. The battlefield, once open, became a storm of dust and movement.
Ignia let out a battle cry and surged forward. Her sword moved with deadly precision, cutting through the enemies. The bandits fell one after another under her relentless attack.
Meanwhile, Rage clung to her back, holding on to whatever he could. His body shook with the force of the charge, and his mind raced. He felt like nothing more than a weight holding her back. He was not a warrior. He was not supposed to be there. But there he was, useless and unnecessary, just watching as the fighting raged all around him.
"Get off!" Ignia's sharp command cut through the chaos. For the first time, Rage realized he had been so focused on holding-on that he had not even thought about getting down.
Rage stumbled to his feet. His boots slipped on the blood-soaked ground as the sounds of battle roared around him.
"I did not think it would be this difficult," he muttered, shaking his head.
He reached for his sword, which he had forgotten to bring.
"Of course, this is going perfectly."
He watched Ignia and her soldiers cut through the enemy lines, while he stood in the middle of it all. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and blood. The screams of the dying mixed with the harsh sound of steel striking steel. Horses galloped past, hooves pounding the ground, as Ignia's soldiers charged in formation, meeting the bandits head-on.
His mind was a blur. His eyes darted across the battlefield, trying to make sense of the chaos. It was impossible to keep up. Everywhere he looked, soldiers cut down bandits, and bandits struck back. Swords flashed in the sunlight as death moved through the air. But Rage could not move. His feet were frozen, stuck in place, as if the chaos around him was too much to handle.
He used to be someone. People looked up to him -- his friends, his coworkers, his teammates, even his family. He was the one with answers, the one who carried the match, the one they trusted.
Now he was just dead weight. No commands to give, no plans to call, no strategy or skill to rely on. Just a broken world and the harsh truth that here he was nothing.
He tried to move, to act, to do something -- anything -- but his body wouldn't listen. His breath came in short, ragged bursts. He wasn't a fighter. He didn't belong here, and deep down, he knew it.
A sudden shout snapped him out of his daze. A bandit, a large man with a wild grin, charged at him with a raised sword, aiming to kill. Rage's instincts tried to kick in, but he was too slow. His body would not move.
Out of nowhere, a soldier appeared, leaping in front of Rage with a shout, blocking the bandit's swing with his own sword.
[SYSTEM] Dain Lv.27
[SYSTEM] class : Armsman
[SYSTEM] neutral
The sound of metal clashing rang in Rage's ears, but the soldier was clearly struggling to hold his ground.
Before Rage could react, another bandit, quick and ruthless, drove a dagger into the soldier's side. The soldier crumpled to the ground, screaming.
Rage's blood ran cold as he watched the soldier fall. But the scene wasn't over yet
[SYSTEM] Oswald Lv.34
[SYSTEM] class : Swordsman
[SYSTEM] neutral
Another soldier, riding a horse, charged into the fray with terrifying speed, sword drawn. In a single, swift motion, he cleaved the two bandits in front of him, their blood splattered across the ground.
The soldier brought his horse to a stop, his eyes fixed on Rage. His voice was firm and sharp, made for the battlefield.
"Get on your feet, boy. Dead men don't get second chances. Fight or get trampled."
Rage didn't move. His legs felt locked, the battlefield was spinning around him in a chaotic blur. His pulse hammered in his ears. He knew he had to act, had to move, but his body wasn't listening.
The soldier clicked his tongue and yanked the reins. His horse reared slightly before launching forward, pounding across the blood-soaked ground. Without hesitation, he crashed into a group of bandits, slashing down with brutal precision.
Rage watched, breathless. The battle was already leaving him behind.
A breath. Another.
His thoughts raced. A memory flashed -- Null Veil, the skill he had learned, waiting to be used. He knew it was about speed, but how exactly? The details were unclear, like trying to remember a combo in a game after a long break. He tried a few different ways.
First, he clenched his fists, the way he'd seen others channel their energy in the animes he used to watch, expecting some kind of surge or glow.
Nothing.
Then, he lifted his hands, palms open like he was about to cast a spell, but the air remained still, no effect.
Frustration gnawed at him. It wasn't magic. It wasn't some chant. It was something else.
With a deep breath, he willed himself to focus, pushing through the panic, and it was then that he felt it. A pulse beneath his skin. The sensation surged through him, spreading like an electric charge. He had to will it.
[SYSTEM] Null Veil activated
"So that's how it works," he muttered.
The air around him softened. His body felt lighter, faster. He took a quick hop, then another, then a dash. He was testing his new speed. Each leap felt like he was barely touching the ground before springing off it again, as if gravity had lost its grip on him.
Then, he pushed himself further, focusing on his speed, and suddenly a twofold dash. His body blurred. Everything around him seemed to stretch. He was moving faster. It was less like teleporting and more like a sudden acceleration, a quick burst of motion that left everything behind.
His hands twitched instinctively, fingers curling mid-motion. He clawed twice, slicing through empty air, and realized his arms were faster too. The speed was not just in his legs. His whole body was adapting. If he had a weapon, he would be carving through something by now.
"Let's say how this works," he muttered, adrenaline buzzing in his veins.
He glanced around. His heart was hammering in his chest.
Then, he spotted something -- a fallen Firekeep knight. Rage's eyes locked onto the cape. Without thinking, he dashed toward the body, tore it free, and threw it over his shoulders. Torn and dirty, but it was something. He adjusted it, pulling the fabric over his head like a makeshift hood. It wasn't much, but it was a thin barrier between him and the chaos.
He crouched low, his breath was steadying as his fingers curled against the dirt. His gaze swept the battlefield, hunting -- searching for his first prey. He wasn't just hiding, he was waiting.
The makeshift hood cast shadows that shifted in the daylight. The Firekeep knight's insignia, worn and tattered, gleamed faintly in the sun. Beneath the fabric, his eyes burned with sharp intensity waiting for the right gust of wind to ignite.
A bandit ahead caught his attention, swinging wildly at one of Firekeep's soldiers. Could he use that ability again? Could he mix his newfound speed with that deadly touch?
Rage didn't wait. He dashed forward again. His hand reached out and found the bandit's arm. Interface flickered, a twitch of his finger. Then a series of mental input of programming codes.
[SYSTEM] Input Recognized
[SYSTEM] Processing...
The bandit struggled against Rage's grip.
[SYSTEM] Code Necrosis Activated
The bandit's whole arm lost its strength, his weapon dropped from his grasp and then rolled down screaming in confusion and agony.
Rage didn't stop. His eyes flicked to another bandit, this one was closer, slashing at a soldier. Rage dashed again, his body was still adjusting. He reached out, this time he found the bandit's neck. Then, another set of mental input.
[SYSTEM] Input Recognized
[SYSTEM] Processing...
The bandit struggled to get free, but Rage's grasp was with intent.
[SYSTEM] Code Necrosis Activated
The bandit's body staggered before it slumped. Foam bubbled from his mouth.
Rage stood still for a moment, breathing heavily, his thoughts rushed. It was a step forward but there was still so much to control. He hadn't killed before, but now, it felt like a dangerous tool, something he barely understood.
His gaze moved to another bandit in the distance, an archer drawing his bow, aiming at Ignia. Without thinking, Rage pushed forward, his feet were moving faster than his mind could follow. He reached the archer in a blur and grabbed the bow just as the string was pulled tight. His hand closed hard, an instinctive reaction. His thoughts scrambled for something to disable the weapon.
He remembered Dead Circuit and activated it. He focused on the archer's long bow, adjusting its durability to zero.
[SYSTEM] Input Recognized
[SYSTEM] Dead Circuit Activated
[SYSTEM] Downgrade Successful
The bow snapped, the tension of the string collapsed and hit the archer's collarbone with a sickening crack, the force of the break made him stumble back.
"No way it can work that way," Rage muttered to himself, staring at the scene.
The speed, the power, it felt wrong, but it worked.
Ignia's eyes flickered briefly to Rage, noticing the events. Then a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips, though her focus remained on the battlefield as she cut down another bandit with a clean swipe.
***
Varkas charged into the heart of the battle, his massive form cut through the chaos. The clash of steel and the cries of soldiers barely registered in his wake as he plowed through.
[SYSTEM] Varkas Lv.70
[SYSTEM] class : Armsman
[SYSTEM] Hostile
Rage caught sight of him through the carnage. The Bandit Lord was unmistakable, too big, too vicious to be ignored. His instincts kicked-in, and without thinking, Rage picked up a discarded dagger from the ground, his fingers closed around the hilt.
He moved forward quickly, the speed from Null Veil made everything around him seem slower. His target was Varkas. Rage's heart pounded as he prepared to strike the Bandit Lord with Code Necrosis.
But before he could touch him, Varkas swung his mace with terrifying precision. The impact sent Rage flying back, crashing into a soldier who had no time to react. Disoriented, Rage scrambled to his feet, frustration boiling within him.
Ignoring the sting of the hit, he tried again. His body moved faster than his mind could process. This time he aimed from a different angle.
But Varkas was ready.
With a single swing, the dagger flew from his hand, skittering across the battlefield.
Varkas loomed over him, a scarred grin twisting his lips.
"Do you know what insanity is?" he spat, his voice dripping with mockery.
"It's doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results."
Rage's mind raced, pushing through the pain and frustration. He couldn't back down. He had to do this.
With a growl, he charged again, even faster. This time, there would be no hesitation.
But once again, Varkas was a wall he couldn't break. The Bandit Lord's spiked mace swung in a wide arc, and Rage didn't have time to react. The blow caught him in the chest, hurling him backwards with bone-crushing force.
The landing was worse.
Rage's foot twisted painfully as he hit the ground, his ankle gave way under the impact. A sickening jolt of agony shot up his leg, and he gritted his teeth, fighting back a shout.
He could not afford to show weakness. The pain was sharp, but he kept pushing himself up, his hands were shaking as they pressed into the ground.
Varkas glared at Rage, his massive form towered over him. He spoke slowly, his voice was mocking and savoring every word.
"You see, the thing is..." Varkas began.
"Up there, you thought you had a chance."
"Way up in the skies, you thought you held your fate, your destiny."
"But, little man, down here... down here?" He leaned closer.
He tilted his head, a grin was spreading across his face. "You hit the ground."
His laughter was harsh and grating.
Just as Varkas raised his mace for the final blow, a loud, commanding voice cut through the chaos.
"BACK OFF!"
Ignia charged forward.
Their horses collided with a loud crash, hooves hitting the ground before they moved apart. The dust cleared, leaving Varkas and Ignia standing face to face.
Varkas sneered, his bloodshot eyes were narrowing as he scanned her from head to toe.
"You really think you can save him?" he hissed. "You're just another idiot, playing hero, standing in the way of destiny. I am destiny."
Ignia gripped her sword tightly.
Each word she spoke was precise.
"I will be the one to show you what fate really means," she said with cold and controlled voice.
"You will regret crossing it," she added.
Her sword cut through the air with speed and control. She moved with focused intent, every strike aimed to bring Varkas down.
Varkas blocked the first strike with his mace. The force of her blow pushed him back a step, but he recovered quickly and swung his heavy weapon in a wide arc toward her.
Ignia ducked just in time. The mace missed her by inches and struck the ground, sending dust into the air.
She moved again at once, her steps were light and quick as she closed the gap. Her sword cut toward Varkas' side, but he turned away from the strike, his eyes were fixed on hers as he prepared to counter.
Varkas grinned.
"Is that all you've got, little girl?" his voice was dripping with mockery.
He swung his mace again. This time aiming for her head. The weapon cut through the air.
Ignia raised her sword in time. The clash of metal filled the air. The force of the blow pushed her back, but she rolled to the side and avoided the next strike that could have cut her down.
Varkas chuckled, shaking his head. "You'll need far more than that if you seek to stand against me."
Ignia drew a sharp breath and steadied herself, eyes narrowing as she studied Varkas' movements. She was faster and lighter, but he had greater strength. She needed to outthink him.
She feinted and lunged low, aiming for his knee. Varkas gave a short laugh and shifted his weight. His knee barely moved before he brought his mace down. Ignia stepped aside just in time, feeling the impact brush against her armor.
She turned fast and aimed for his side, but Varkas was ready. He met her blade with a hard parry, his mace hit her sword with enough force to send pain up her arm. Her vision blurred for a moment, and her balance slipped.
"Ah, Queen Ignia," Varkas sneered. His voice carried open contempt.
"Do you know what insanity is?"
He raised his mace high, preparing to deliver the final blow.
Rage looked toward Ignia. Her figure was faint through the dust, weakened and unsteady. The sight struck him hard. the fierce warrior he knew was now struggling to stand.
Then the world around him grew distant. The noise of battle faded into silence. The field that once rang with steel and shouts now stood quiet, broken only by faint sounds far away.
His senses sharpened, the noise of war, screams, shouts, clattering metal, faded like a distant hum.
Now he could hear it -- the sound of a roulette wheel turning, the click of a ball spinning in a circle before stopping on a number that decided a life.
There was no wheel, no ball, no machine, yet the sound was clear. Dice rolled without being thrown. Cards shifted without being touched.
It was a game played in silence, where every move and every choice carried the weight of life and death, decided by something unseen.
Then a number appeared in his interface, breaking the silence.
[SYSTEM] Random Number Generator : 100
It looked plain and mechanical, but it carried weight. It was not just a random value. It meant something.
[SYSTEM] Red Static Activated
[SYSTEM] System override
[SYSTEM] Syncing body to new temporary combat protocols
[SYSTEM] Initiating : Full Swing
Rage ignored the pain, his senses sharpening under the system override. His focus narrowed. Only the target ahead mattered. Each step took effort, his muscles strained, but the protocol kept him moving. The pain that had filled his body now felt distant, muted behind a wall he could not see.
Ignia's sword lay just out of reach. No hesitation. He dashed forward, not toward her, but to the weapon she had dropped.
He reached it in a heartbeat and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. The sword's weight almost pushed him back. It felt heavier than it looked, the blade was larger up close.
A low grunt escaped him. He roared and lifted the sword. The world around him blurred as the combat protocol engaged. The pain was distant and irrelevant now. It was time.
The sword whirled fourfold, each spin a brutal crescendo. From waist to shoulder, to head. The weapon felt alive in his hands, the power surged through him with every rotation.
Then, without warning, he stopped. The sword hung overhead for a heartbeat.
Varkas had no time to react. In an instant, a downward strike. The blade cut from his shoulder to his waist. Blood spilled as his body split under the strike. He staggered, his broken laugh turned into a gasp as he fell to his knees .Pain dragged him down.
Rage stood there for a moment, the sword was still in his hand, but everything around him started to blur. His vision went hazy, his body exhausted beyond measure. Every muscle screamed in agony as his grip on the sword began to falter. He staggered forward, the world tilted, before his knees buckled beneath him.
Just before he hit the ground, a firm hand gripped his shoulder, catching him mid-fall. A soldier, battered and bloodied, strained to hold him up, his own strength was waning. His breathing was heavy, hos body trembled from his injuries, but he kept him steady.
Rage blinked.
A second stretched into eternity.
The world faded, then returned in a sudden rush.
He woke to the distant echoes of retreating bandits. Through the haze, he heard Varkas's voice, low and strained.
"You can smell it, can't you?"
"The static."
Varkas's voice grew weaker, each word strained as he reached out with a trembling hand, trying to grasp at the air for something that was no longer there.
"The lies we've all been fed."
"Behind the skies. Behind the mask."
"It's all just a game, isn't it?"
His body went still. His chest rose and fell in slow, uneven rhythm, life slipped away with every breath.
Then, with a final exhale, he fell silent, his hand fell beside him.
Rage turned his head slowly. His body ached, but his vision cleared. Beside him, Ignia leaned against a broken stone, her breathing was shallow, her wounds were showing the cost of the fight.
Rage looked at her for a long moment, his thoughts were scattered by exhaustion. His chest tightened under the weight of the battle, the loss, and the choices that had brought him there.
His vision wavered, and his body felt heavy, broken, and left behind on the battlefield.
Then he felt himself being lifted, the sudden shift in position pulling him from the ground. His arm was draped over a soldier's shoulder, the grip was firm yet steady as he was hoisted up.
His senses returned slowly and without order. He felt the weight of the battlefield -- the blood and the dust around him. Every detail reached him, but his body would not move, heavy and sore.
Not far from him, Ignia leaned against another soldier for support, her movements were slow but steady. She was still standing.
The sight stirred something in Rage, but before he could act on it, darkness creeping in once more.
"You fought well, boy," a voice murmured, low and distant.
Rage couldn't tell where it came from, but the words felt oddly comforting in their simplicity.
***
Rage murmured in his sleep, his words were unclear. "Bunny girls... elf waifus... frilly maid outfits..." A faint, tired smile crossed his lips, his mind drifted in exhaustion and pain.
A shadow loomed over him, and with a few slaps to his face, the quiet was shattered.
"Are you still alive, boy?" A deep voice chuckled.
Rage's eyes snapped open, disoriented and blinked against the fading fog of sleep. "Wha...?"
[SYSTEM] Veldran Lv.57
[SYSTEM] class : Armsman
[SYSTEM] loyalty: 65%
"The queen wishes to see you," Veldran said. His voice carried authority and experience.
Rage tried to sit up but groaned as dizziness took hold.
For a moment, the world spun.
Veldran, standing beside him, reached out, his bandaged was arm steady.
He let out a soft laugh. "Still stubborn, huh?"
His grip was firm but not rough, just enough to keep Rage from tipping over.
"Easy now," Veldran muttered, pulling Rage up. "You're not dead yet. Let's keep it that way."
Rage staggered, his body was still remembering the brutal impact from earlier. His legs nearly gave out, but the Veldran's solid grasp kept him upright.
With a grunt, Rage managed to stand, though his balance wavered.
[SYSTEM] Darius Lv.41
[SYSTEM] class : Spearman
[SYSTEM] Loyalty: 71%
Another soldier stood just outside the tent, waiting. His posture was rigid, his expression was grim yet respectful.
"We could've lost the queen if you weren't there, boy," Darius said.
Rage remained silent.
The air outside was heavy with sorrow. Faint cries of the grieving blended with the stillness of a field that had only recently claimed its dead.
As they walked, Darius muttered, "War's no game. It's about choices. The ones that let you keep your freedom, or the ones that steal it from you."
He exhaled sharply, glancing at Rage. "We chose Firekeep's freedom, not some bandit's idea of it."
His voice softened for a moment, almost thoughtful. Then he shook his head and set the thought aside. "Not much more to it than that."
Veldran walked in silence, his face was unreadable, though there was a weight in his eyes that spoke volumes.
The three men walked on, their boots pressed into the dirt. Each step carried the weight of the war they had fought.
By the time they reached the queen's chambers, her orders had already been given, the last of her soldiers departed.
The heavy door creaked open.
Rage stepped inside, flanked by General Veldran and Captain Darius.
***
Her chambers were nothing like those of a queen. They looked more like a war room turned into living space. Firelight moved across stone walls darkened by soot. Old maps covered the desk, held down by inkwells. A rack of worn axes stood by the wall, and the air smelled of iron. The only sign of comfort was the large hearth.
The sword Ignia had used in battle rested against the her throne, its blade dull with dried blood and dirt. It had cut through many enemies that day, yet now it stood without care, just another tool of war waiting for its next use.
But Rage's gaze drifted past it -- to the other sword.
It was still there, leaning against the tall bookshelf -- the same sword he had seen before. Up close, he could see the fine engravings on the hilt and the worn leather grip.
He did not know why, but the sword felt different. It was not like the queen's weapon that had thundered across the field in her hands. This one was quiet and still, as if it was waiting.
"Sit," she ordered.
The soldiers guided Rage to the seat, steadying him as his legs wavered beneath him. One of them offered a brief nod before exiting the room, leaving Rage alone with the queen.
The door slammed shut.
Without ceremony, she began disassembling her armor. Buckles hissed under her calloused fingers, fortress-plates clattered to the floor until she stood with nothing.
The queen stood as a mix of strength and beauty, marked by both grace and ruin. Her form was shaped and firm. Her stance held the confidence of a fighter, not a court lady. Yet it was her scars that drew the eye most.
And there were new ones.
Dried blood marked her ribs, running from a wound that had only just begun to close. A fresh cut crossed her shoulder, raw and red. A dark bruise spread along her side, left by a heavy blow. Her knuckles were split, the skin broken from striking something with too much force.
She took a strip of linen from the table and began to wrap her wounds without a word. Her hands moved with steady skill, tightening each bandage with the ease of habit. There was no pause or sign of pain, only the calm focus of a soldier who knew suffering was part of the work.
Rage stared, silent. Then, under his breath, he muttered, "I did kinda saved you."
Ignia didn't react.
He exhaled sharply, watching as she continued tending to her wounds. "Not that I'm complaining, but should I leave now?"
No response. Just the sound of bandages tightening around flesh.
Rage started to speak again, but a sharp pain struck his ribs before he could finish. He bent forward and coughed hard, the sound rough and deep. "Yeah. Definitely broken."
He wheezed and leaned back in the chair with a groan. "Alright, great. I'll just sit here in silence -- " He stopped with a wince. " -- because talking hurts like hell. Perfect."
When she finished, the she walked to her throne and sat down. She crossed one leg over the other and rested her hands on the armrests. The firelight moved across her skin and the marks of battle, but her face showed no sign of fatigue. Even wounded, she looked every bit a queen.
She exhaled and rolled her shoulders.
"You have no idea what you just did back there, do you?" she said while grabbing a bottle of wine.
She bit down on the cork and pulled it free with her teeth. She tilted the bottle back, she took a long drink. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"You picked him up."
Rage frowned, still aching from battle. "The who?"
Ignia gave him a look of half amusement and half exasperation before flicking her gaze to the massive sword leaning against the throne.
"Balmung."
Rage squinted at the weapon, then back at her. "Right. And who's Balmung?"
Ignia huffed a quiet laugh. "The sword."
"Of course it is," he muttered.
"That blade has rejected warlords, kings, and champions alike," she said.
"It does not answer to the weak." She leaned forward, resting an elbow on her knee, fingers drumming idly against the scarred wood of the table. "And yet, you lifted it. No hesitation."
Rage eyed the weapon warily. "I guess I did."
Ignia's smirk widened, though something in her eyes sharpened. She reached for her sword, her fingers curled around its hilt.
"It sang a song I've never heard before." She turned the weapon.
"Balmung only answers those who carry the will to rule."
Rage raised an eyebrow. "So, like, if anyone else tries to pick it up, they just -- "
"They don't," Ignia cut in. "Not unless Balmung allows it."
Rage glanced at the sword. "So, basically, it's Mjolnir."
Ignia frowned. "A what?"
"Never mind."
She smirked. "All you need to know is, Balmung doesn't choose lightly."
She held it out. "Touch it."
Rage didn't move. "...Why?"
"Touch it, rat."
Rage let out a sharp breath and shifted his weight. Pain ran through his side as he pushed himself upright. His legs trembled, but he stayed on his feet.
He sighed and placed his hand on the hilt.
[SYSTEM] item: ???
[SYSTEM] durability: ???
[SYSTEM] attack: ???
He muttered, "What is this weapon?"
Then, without warning, the blade vibrated a low hum through it.
It turned viscous, shifting from solid to fluid as it began to move on its own.
It crawled toward his left arm, climbing over his skin before reshaping into black metallic plates.
The pieces locked together and settled against his flesh, cold and smooth, as the movement stopped.
Ignia's expression shifted for a moment. Something unreadable flashed across her face before she let out a short, barking laugh. She exhaled and stared at him, a distant look in her eyes. "You looked just like -- "
She stopped. Jaw clenched.
Rage frowned. "Like who?"
Ignia's smirk returned, but this time it felt practiced, too sharp, too deliberate. She pushed herself to her feet and slammed a fist into his shoulder hard enough to rattle his ribs.
"I knew you weren't just some stray." Her grin was all teeth and ambition. "Fight with us. Become one of my warriors."
Rage held her gaze.
She had dodged the question.
She turned and grabbed another bottle. She drank slowly, then burped.
"Now, are you in or not?"
"Not interested," he said, letting out a breath while flexing the gauntlet.
Ignia scoffed.
"My people don't fight for flags. We fight because this world takes. And we take back."
She tilted her head and studied him. "You've seen what it costs to survive here. Make it pay instead."
Rage exhaled sharply. He wasn't a soldier nor a hero but something about the way she said it -- raw, unfiltered, real -- itched at something buried deep in his chest.
She watched him for a moment, then smirked. "You're done scrubbing weapons. Once your injuries heal, you train. You either learn how to fight, or you die wishing you had."
Rage glanced at his arm, then met her gaze.
"Fine. But this weapon stays with me."
Ignia grinned. "Right, that you would."
She poured a drink, slamming it onto the table in front of him. "Drink. You fight with us now."
He stared at her bottle, then at his tankard. With a smirk, he lifted it. Their drinks met with a clash, and the fire behind them roared in approval.
He had stepped into a world where every action had weight, every choice had consequences.
He had no idea what lay ahead.
But this? This was only the beginning.
[SYSTEM] Queen Ignia : Loyalty 71%
[SYSTEM] Corruption : 12.8%