Dusk slowly faded, and Ethan sat in his small apartment. Outside, neon lights began to flicker on, casting uneven shadows across the walls. His fingers hovered over the mouse, but his mind was elsewhere—still tangled in the weight of his mundane reality. The sound of his mother coughing, the faint hope in his little brother's eyes, the dull ache of everyday disappointment—all pressed in on him. Yet the screen in front of him promised another world, a place where he could exert control.
He clicked "Enter Game", and the familiar login animation flashed across the monitor. The lush green of the training field, wooden windows of distant cottages, the gentle babble of a stream, and the rustling leaves in the wind instantly filled the screen. Ethan took a deep breath and gripped his Ebony Sword. Though plain, it carried a peculiar weight in his hand, a tangible sense of responsibility.
Stepping into the center of the training field, a few straw dummies stood silently, almost like guardians watching him. Ethan's heart raced. He swung the sword for the first time—the sharp scrape of metal through air—and a tiny number "1" appeared. A small thrill surged through him. Yet he knew, this was only the beginning.
He continued striking, over and over, as the dummies toppled and reassembled. Each swing required careful precision; the Ebony Sword's low attack meant every move counted. Gradually, his racing heartbeat gave way to focus. His body and mind began to synchronize with the rhythm of combat.
Suddenly, a few small wolves emerged at the edge of the field, their eyes glinting in the fading light, alert and predatory. Ethan froze instinctively, then forced himself to think: It's just a game. Stay calm. He observed their movements carefully—low growls, crouches, leaps—each gesture predicting their next action.
He lunged at the nearest wolf, mentally counting his steps: one normal attack to attract attention, followed by Killing Strike for extra damage. The first strike grazed its fur, and a "2" appeared on the screen. Ethan's pulse quickened. This was more than just numbers—it was proof of his control, his influence over this world.
The wolves lunged, and Ethan dodged instinctively, striking back at another. The sound of the sword slicing through air mingled with his racing heartbeat. Adrenaline surged, yet beneath it, a strange excitement began to bloom. He started noticing attack intervals, timing each counter carefully. Each dodge, each blow, became part of an emergent rhythm, a silent melody that only he could hear.
In the midst of battle, Ethan felt his real-world anxieties recede. The coughs, the street noise, the suffocating routine—they were replaced by wind in the leaves, the rustle of grass, and the sounds of his virtual combat. Every number that popped, every enemy that fell, brought a small surge of satisfaction—a feeling of control, of progress, of mastery.
Then, a small lamb suddenly bounded out of the grass. It collided with his shoulder, and Ethan staggered slightly. Panic threatened, but he centered himself: Control the pace. Don't rush. He inhaled, focused, and struck with a Killing Strike, sending the lamb's health bar to zero. In that instant, he felt a subtle sense of responsibility. Here, actions had consequences, and success depended on his skill.
Gradually, the fruits of his effort became tangible. He earned his first true weapon reward: a Bronze Sword, with an attack range of 1–3. Its dull bronze sheen seemed modest, yet it felt heavier in hand, more reliable. It wasn't just an increase in damage; it symbolized courage, skill, and the first step toward growth. Ethan whispered to himself, Step by step… I can get stronger.
He patrolled the training field, battling small wolves and straw dummies, practicing basic sword techniques and Killing Strike combinations. He experimented with positioning, testing strategies: separating groups of wolves before concentrating attacks, chaining normal and special attacks on dummies to maximize efficiency. His confidence and coordination grew with each successful strike.
The night deepened. The wind brushed across the grass, carrying the scent of soil and greenery. Shadows danced under the starlight, and the sounds of defeated monsters and clashing swords echoed through the field. Ethan didn't stop. His mind and body merged with the combat rhythm: each swing, each dodge, each hit became an unspoken conversation with the game.
He realized something quietly thrilling—he wasn't merely controlling a character. He was refining his courage, testing his patience, and preparing himself for challenges beyond the training field.
Numbers popped, monsters fell, and Ethan moved forward step by step. His eyes remained sharp, his grip steady on the Bronze Sword, and his thoughts already reached toward the next goal: stronger enemies, more challenging battles, future cooperation with companions… Everything extended onward, pulling him deeper, and the story pressed on.