Virtual Space, Plum Village.
Amir charged forward with the fresh wave, his boots pounding the dirt, smoke curling around his legs. The wrecked southern gate loomed ahead, bandits snarling as they pressed inward—two and a half dozen at least, maybe more beyond the haze.
He didn't hesitate.
His spear struck first—snapping into the ribs of a gaunt raider mid-sprint. The impact lifted the man from his feet before it was withdrawn, his body hitting the ground lifelessly.
[Level 4 Starved Bandit killed. EXP gained.]
A second attacker roared and swung a rusted scimitar. Amir ducked under it, falling onto a knee, and punched his spear through the man's thigh. The bandit crumpled.
Amir crawled onto him, ending it with a downward thrust.
Pain assaulted him as a third slashed across his back—it wasn't a scraping blow.
[HP: 102 / 180]
He rolled sideways, swinging his shield low. It smashed into the bandit's shin with a sickening crack, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.
Amir got up gingerly but quickly, blood streaming down his back. He stared coldly as his spear entered the man's chest.
[Level 5 Starved Bandit killed. EXP gained]
[Level Up: You have reached Level 2.]
[+1 to all base stats, +2 unassigned stat points.]
He didn't get to stop and breathe.
Next to him, a militia guard fell, screaming as two bandits hacked him down. Amir darted in.
His weapon blurred—one stroke across the neck, one deep stab into the side.
[Level 3 Starved Bandit killed. Level 4 Starved Bandit killed. EXP gained.]
Across the line, Jayden moved like smoke and steel. His twin daggers flashed as he danced around a group of enemies, each strike surgically placed—hamstrings, throats, kidneys.
Where Amir crushed, Jayden cut.
"Keep the line tight!" Jayden shouted, voice hard. "Don't let them flank!"
Another wave of bandits rushed forward.
Amir braced, caught the first strike on his shield, then lashed out with a heavy sweep. The blade slammed into one face, crumpling the man, while he speared another through the gut.
The formation bent, but didn't break.
A player beside Amir screamed—stabbed through the side. Another went down, swarmed by three enemies. Amir lunged between them, dragging one off, stabbing him through the spine before turning to face the others.
He ignored the notifications.
Blood covered his arms, chest, even his face. His grip didn't tremble, but his body ached with every movement.
He looked like a monster. Perhaps he was one.
They backed off.
Jayden's voice rang out again. "NOW!"
Arrows whistled from above—archers firing from the rooftops. Two bandits dropped mid-step. Another stumbled, looked around, then bolted.
A warhorn echoed in the distance. The eastern ambush had sprung.
From the smoke behind the bandits, militia and players poured in, cutting down the disoriented rear.
The bodies didn't vanish. They bled and screamed and dropped.
Panic blossomed.
One of the raiders screamed, "RETREAT!"
It was too late for most. Trapped between two forces, they fell—cut down in twos and threes. Others turned and ran—some scrambling over the broken gate, some darting into side streets.
Amir didn't chase. He planted his spear in the ground, breathing hard, watching them scatter.
A half-dozen escaped—bloody, limping, eyes wide with terror.
The rest were dead.
Ash drifted on the breeze, and for the first time since he'd arrived, silence began to return to Plum Village.
Jayden stepped beside him, panting. "Hell of a first day."
Amir didn't answer right away. His gaze lingered on the blood-streaked ground, the ruined gate, the village in flames.
His muscles trembled. Every breath tasted like smoke and copper. But he was still standing.
Then, softly—almost to himself—he said, "It's just the beginning."
Two hours later.
Amir sat on a toppled pillar, his back still aching, his armor torn in half a dozen places. Blood—mostly not his—dried along the rim of his shield, now resting against his leg.
The quiet was heavier than the fight. At least the screams had faded from his memory.
Smoke drifted in lazy curls from a burning cottage. He watched it, wondering when he could obtain that freedom.
He finally opened his interface.
[Ashfall - Warrior
Rank 0, Level 3
Health: 122 / 200
Mana: Locked
Stamina: 173 / 240
Title: Prodigy
Traits: Feral, Blood-Forged
Skills: None
Strength: 18 / Agility: 14 / Constitution: 24 / Vitality: 20 / Spirit: 19
Unassigned Stat Points: 8]
Amir blinked. 'Level 3 already?'
He must've leveled up during the chaos and hadn't noticed. Or maybe it was because of the quest.
Amir had eight unassigned stat points—it was both a gift and a burden.
He didn't rush to use them. There was no need yet; not when he didn't know everything.
Jayden crouched beside a wounded militia member across the square, wrapping gauze around a bleeding arm. The rogue looked just as worn—bloodied, drained—but alert.
"Town's secured," Jayden said when he finally returned, wiping his hands on a dirty cloth. "We lost about a dozen militia and eight players. More are wounded, but it could've been a massacre."
"It almost was," Amir muttered, gaze fixed on the broken gate.
"Yeah. You held that line longer than anyone."
Amir didn't respond. He was still staring at the interface. It was strength earned through blood.
Jayden noticed. "Lookin' at your stats?"
"Yeah. Level 3. Eight free points."
"Damn," Jayden said, clearly impressed. "I've never had that many at once. Let me guess—you're gonna drop them all into Constitution and walk around like an iron wall?"
"Tempting." Amir allowed himself the faintest smile. "But I should split it. I need to hit harder, and move faster too."
Jayden stretched, his back popping audibly. "Makes sense. Your reach and stamina are already great. A few more points in Strength and Agility and you'll be a nightmare in battles."
A horn blew two short notes. It was probably a call for regrouping.
"We should head over," Jayden said. "They're organizing repairs. Militia's a mess, and two of the carpenters bailed."
"Lead the way, little man." Amir made a grand motion.
Jayden grunted but complied. "Just because you're a giant doesn't mean I'm small."
"Whatever makes you sleep at night."
They walked together across the blood-stained square, stepping around shattered barrels, dropped weapons, and a few bodies that hadn't vanished—players or militia, maybe. A village tried to pull a beam off a collapsed stall and barely budged it.
Amir stepped over and silently took one end. Jayden joined in on the other side.
They didn't talk for a few minutes—just moved debris, cleared space near the gate, and helped an old woman find her cat beneath some splintered crates.
When the square had quieted again, Amir finally asked, "Why here?"
Jayden blinked, still crouched beside a cracked post he was trying to stand up. "What?"
"Of all the starting places you could've picked, why here?"
Jayden smirked and leaned back against the half-collapsed foundation, dust coating his sleeves as he gave up on the post. "This place should be thriving—but it's not."
He glanced around the ruined square, then continued, "Everyone rushes to the famous starting points in the big kingdoms and empires. They're safe, established, filled with NPC support and player-run powers. But you start there, and you're basically signing up to play under someone else's banner. No room to carve your own path. No real opportunities."
Jayden nodded toward the haze curling beyond the rooftops, where smoke still bled into the sky. "Plum Village is different. It's risky—but it's raw. It's got mountain access, natural defenses, rich land, and it's wedged right between two river systems. Perfect for trade, expansion, and strategy."
He looked back at Amir, ambition sparking in his eyes. "This place could be a superpower. And we're gonna be the ones to shape it—before anyone else realizes what they missed."
Jayden stood and stretched again, rubbing at a tear in his cloak where a bandit blade had landed.
"You logging off soon?" he asked. "Most people already dipped. Next wave's gonna be a few days at least."
Amir hesitated. He looked around—at the broken buildings, the blood-slick cobblestones, the handful of NPCs trying to resume their routines.
He wanted to stay. But his eyes burned, and his limbs felt like they were full of lead.
"Yeah," he said finally. "I've got work in a few hours."
Jayden snorted. "The grind never ends, huh?"
Amir opened his interface again. A small [Log Out] icon pulsed in the corner, flickering gently like an invitation.
Jayden glanced at him. "Tomorrow, we start clearing the west side. If we can fix the walls and get the blacksmith back up, we might actually hold this place."
"Not if someone else takes it first."
"They won't." Jayden's voice was iron now. "That's the good thing about reputation—NPCs treat you like their family if it's high enough. But if you just waltz in—you might as well be an enemy."
Amir gave him a look. "You sure about that?"
Jayden grinned. "No. But that's what makes it fun."
A chuckle—quiet, unexpected—escaped Amir's throat. He shook his head, still smiling faintly as he opened the logout screen.
"See you tomorrow, Azure Gale."
Jayden gave a casual salute. "Rest up, soldier Ashfall."
The world flickered as the logout sequence began, colors fading to gray and then black.
'Maybe this won't be that bad.'
Amir opened his eyes to the dull hum of the ceiling fan and the barely-there buzz of a neon sign beyond his window. The sun was high—its filtered light bleeding through the smog-stained panel above his cot.
His body felt like it had aged a decade.
He rolled onto his side on the narrow mattress, face buried in a worn pillow, and let out a long, low breath. Every muscle was tight, tense. The pain wasn't physical—not really—but it was still real. His brain didn't know the difference.
He closed his eyes and let himself drift, tension melting into the creases of the sheets.
Two hours later, his alarm blared. 16:00.
Amir slapped it off and sat up slowly, legs dangling over the edge. He sat there a moment, unmoving, as the noise died.
Time to get moving.
He opened his wardrobe—if it could even be called that—and pulled out his trusty black polo. It was still clean, mostly. He gave it a sniff and then a shrug.
It would have to do.
His work pants were folded neatly from the night before. He picked them up, grabbed his belt off the hook, then moved toward the bathroom. The water ration indicator blinked red as usual—daily limit: five minutes.
He stripped down and stepped into the stall. The water came down cold, then lukewarm. No soap, just the sterile cleansing solution mixed into the spray.
It smelled faintly like mint and metal.
Five minutes passed too fast.
He dried off, dressed quickly, and ran damp fingers through his hair, letting it fall as it would.
In the kitchenette, he opened his mini-fridge and pulled out a nutrient vial. The cap came off with a snap, and he downed it in a single motion.
The flavor was—and always would be—bitter, but it did its job. Heat returned to his limbs, and the ache in his shoulders eased.
It wouldn't do to starve.
'Just like those bandits.'
The thought came uninvited. Faces blurred by blood, desperation in their eyes. It was easy to forget, in the game, that hunger felt just as real.
He pushed the thought aside and grabbed his black wristband from the hook near the door. The band snapped into place around his wrist with a soft mechanical click.
Outside, the corridor was quiet. Fluorescent lights buzzed above. Other doors remained shut—his neighbors either resting for night shifts or just now getting off work.
By the time Amir dragged his body to the business sector, the sky had begun to dim. It was always dim here, even in daylight—everything shadowed beneath high-rise buildings and overhead traffic.
He passed a cluster of professionals outside a café, then a small security patrol laughing at something one of them said. Their jackets bore the insignia of the local civic enforcement office.
Amir kept walking.
Lloyd's Bar came into view with sleek glass panels and discreet gold lettering above the door, tucked between a boutique clothier and a data firm. Warm lighting spilled from inside, illuminating the sidewalk with a soft amber glow.
He stepped around to the employee entrance and scanned his wristband. 16:58.
Right on time.
The lock disengaged with a click. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of old wood polish.
The manager passed him in the narrow hallway, eyes on a data tablet. "Evening," he muttered.
Amir gave a nod in return. "Evening."
He moved to his post at the front entrance. The music inside hummed with the start of another classic rock track—something old, with guitars and slow vocals. The place was already half full, and the line outside was beginning to form.
His job never changed, simple and constant. He stood still, hands behind his back, posture relaxed but ready.
The hours passed in steady rhythm—conversations rising and falling like tide, laughter bleeding out onto the sidewalk, bursts of tension that simmered down as quickly as they flared. Nothing unusual.
But through it all, his mind kept drifting—back to the ruined streets of Plum Village, back to the dying light behind the walls. To Jayden's words—this place could be a superpower.
It was a strange thought to carry here, beneath the polished lights and low music of the bar.
The final song played out, fading into soft ambient tones as the lights dimmed. The patrons filtered out, their voices adding to the business sector's nighttime hum.
The other staff clocked out through the side exit, chatting in low tones, credits in tow.
He tapped out as well, left through the back, and stepped into the quiet street alone—just another silhouette swallowed by the city.