The iron gate groaned open, its weight sending tremors through the stone courtyard. Blue Rose moved as one, their cohesion honed through countless battles. The estate had already fallen—guards incapacitated, secrets unearthed, and treasures secured.
Victory was almost within grasp.
"Clear the area," Lakyus ordered, her tone clipped and practiced. "We're done in three minutes."
The team dispersed with efficiency, their movements precise and silent as they swept through the spoils. But Tia stopped mid-step, her head tilting slightly, a predator catching the scent of danger. Her hand flashed in a silent signal, drawing her sister Tina close. Both crouched low, blades in hand, as the others instinctively shifted into defensive positions.
Beyond the courtyard doors, the faintest shuffle of movement stirred the air. Deliberate. Measured. The doors creaked open to reveal a lone figure stepping into the moonlight. The gleam of his black-and-silver plate armor seemed to drink in the pale light, the etched runes on his longsword glowing faintly. He carried himself with unsettling ease, as though walking into a sparring session rather than a battlefield.
"Identify yourself!" Lakyus barked, her greatsword angling toward him.
He remained silent, his head tilting slightly. There was no tension in his stance, no sign of preparation, just the languid grace of someone utterly in control. The silence stretched until it was broken by a low chuckle, rich with amusement but devoid of malice.
Gagaran's hammer swung up to her shoulder. "I'm guessing he's not here to talk."
The team erupted into motion. Gagaran charged first, her hammer crashing toward him like a battering ram. The figure didn't retreat. His longsword snapped upward, catching the hammer's arc with precision. A deft twist of his wrist turned the head aside, redirecting the immense force harmlessly into the ground. At the same instant, his rondel dagger gleamed as it intercepted Tia's strike, the clash of steel ringing like a chime. Tina followed, but his pivot flowed like water, his blade sweeping in an arc that forced her to stumble back.
He pressed no advantage, instead slipping into a wide guard, his longsword held high at an angle—a stance rooted in old, disciplined technique. His footwork was impeccable, deliberate but fluid, his steps wasting no energy.
Tia darted in again, her dagger aiming for his knee joint. His sword turned, its flat gliding against her weapon, diverting her momentum. A sharp riposte snapped toward her chest, the blade halting an inch before contact, forcing her back with a startled breath.
Behind him, Gagaran swung horizontally, her war hammer slicing through the air. He leaned back, the hammer skimming his breastplate. Twisting sharply, his longsword struck the hammer's haft with precision, sending Gagaran stumbling back with a frustrated growl.
Spells streaked through the night. Evileye's fiery burst spiraled toward him, the orange light casting sharp shadows. He didn't flinch. A translucent barrier rippled into existence around him, shattering the flames harmlessly.
Lakyus closed the distance, her greatsword trailing an arc of holy radiance. She swung with precision, her blade carving toward his exposed flank. He met her strike with a high parry, the impact reverberating through both weapons. A subtle twist disengaged their blades, and his sword's pommel snapped forward, forcing her to twist away just in time.
Blue Rose moved like a well-oiled machine. Tia and Tina struck high and low in perfect tandem, their daggers flashing like fangs. Gagaran's hammer fell in deliberate arcs, each swing timed to smash through his guard. From the rear, Evileye wove spells into the mix—crackling bursts of flame and magical tendrils that sought to pin him down.
But their cohesion met an insurmountable wall. The man's longsword seemed to anticipate their movements, countering before their strikes could land. Tina lunged low for his knee joint, only for his blade to deflect hers in a sharp thrust that drove her back. At the same time, he slid into a Zornhut stance, his sword poised to strike at Tia as she advanced. She hesitated just long enough for him to pivot, sweeping his blade low to disrupt her footing.
Gagaran's hammer came roaring in, the head arcing horizontally with crushing force. He stepped into her range, his blade twisting in a winding motion that caught the hammer's shaft and sent it flying wide. She staggered, off-balance, and he seized the opening with a thrust toward her throat. She jerked back, the blade stopping a hairsbreadth from her gorget. The warning was unmistakable.
Tina and Tia struck again, their daggers darting toward the gaps in his armor. His blade flashed in a half-circle, deflecting Tia's weapon before trapping Tina's dagger against his crossguard. A flick of his wrist sent her stumbling back, her blade spinning from her grip.
He remained calm, his movements fluid. Each parry flowed seamlessly into a counterattack, his sword transitioning between guards as though it had a will of its own. Against their aggression, his defense was impenetrable, every motion calculated to disrupt their rhythm.
A burst of flame roared toward him, Evileye's spell searing through the air. His free hand shot up, conjuring a shimmering shield that swallowed the flames. As the spell faded, he closed the distance with Evileye in three swift steps, his longsword snapping into a low guard, its tip aimed directly at her chest. She froze mid-incantation, forced to leap back to avoid the thrust.
Lakyus charged once more, her greatsword blazing as it tore toward his side. He met her strike with a perfect Zornhau, their blades clashing in a shower of sparks. Rather than absorbing the blow, he angled his sword to redirect her force, his blade slicing along hers and throwing her balance. The instant her guard rose, his rondel dagger flashed from his hip, tapping lightly against her side—a message, not a wound.
Blue Rose was visibly tiring. Their attacks slowed, their coordination faltering as frustration set in. But he remained steady, his blade dancing like an extension of himself, each motion controlled and deliberate.
Evileye's voice cut through the chaos, frustration laced in her tone. "What is this guy?!"
The figure paused, his blade angled low as if considering her question. Then, almost lazily, he twirled the longsword, the steel catching the moonlight before sliding into its sheath.
"That," he said calmly, "is something I've yet to decide."
He turned, his back to them, dismissing their presence entirely. Gagaran roared, charging one last time. He pivoted sharply, sidestepping her with ease. Then, in one fluid motion, he leapt. The weight of his armor seemed to vanish as he vaulted the courtyard wall, disappearing into the night.
Blue Rose stood frozen, their breaths ragged. The courtyard was silent, save for the faint hum of enchanted satchels still gathering their spoils. They had fought countless battles, toppled warlords and monsters alike, but never had they felt so utterly outmatched—not by power, but by mastery.
As workers sifted through the wreckage, their movements punctuated by the occasional clatter of debris, Hilma crossed her arms and fixed Zero with a withering look. "Another holding gone. Another bruise on the Eight Fingers' already battered reputation. I trust you have a brilliant excuse ready, Zero."
Zero's sharp eyes swept over the workers, who redoubled their efforts under his unyielding gaze. His tone remained calm, almost detached. "What I see, Hilma, is negligence in your network. How did a noble under your leash fail to warn us about a raid this precise?"
Hilma's mouth twitched into a humorless smirk. "Ah, yes. Blame the Drug Division, as usual. The perfect scapegoat for Security's failures. Remind me, Zero, what exactly do you secure these days? Because it's certainly not our assets."
Zero turned his head slightly, his calm voice cutting like a blade. "What I secure is the leverage we still have left. Whoever orchestrated this isn't some opportunistic rabble. This was deliberate. Coordinated. The timing alone proves that."
Hilma arched an eyebrow. "Coordinated by who? Any guesses? Or are we just throwing our hands up and blaming the wind now?"
"I don't deal in guesses," Zero replied evenly. "But whoever they are, they knew where to strike and how to hurt us most." He paused, his tone sharpening. "Where was your noble contact in all this? How did they fail to warn us?"
Hilma chuckled darkly, her irritation flaring. "You're asking me? You're the one with eyes on the ground—or at least you're supposed to be. I don't have the luxury of assigning your Six Arms to every backwater estate. Or are they so busy polishing their reputations that they've forgotten their actual duties?"
Zero's lips curled into a faint smile, devoid of warmth. "You're quick to deflect blame, Hilma. Typical. But this wasn't about the estate itself—it was a message. Someone is testing us, probing for weaknesses."
Hilma's eyes narrowed. "A message? Don't make me laugh. You're giving them too much credit. This is a failure, plain and simple, and it's making all of us look weak. If this keeps up, we'll be answering to the other division heads, and you know how much patience they have."
Zero's gaze shifted back to the workers, his voice steady but edged with menace. "Patience isn't something I rely on. We'll find out who's behind this soon enough, but we'll do it with precision, not desperation. If your division can't handle the fallout, then step aside and let someone else fix the mess."
Hilma bristled, but after a moment, she let out a sigh, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Fine. I'll make sure my people cooperate with whatever scraps of a plan you have. But if you don't deliver results soon, Zero, don't expect me to cover for you when the knives come out."
Zero gave her a curt nod, his attention already returning to the ruined estate. "Tell your people to work faster. I want an inventory of everything that's gone—items, information, all of it. No delays."
Hilma clicked her tongue in annoyance, turning sharply to bark orders at her attendants. She disappeared into the main hall, her voice echoing faintly as she directed the cleanup.
Zero remained where he was, his mind working through the puzzle. The precision of the attack suggested forethought, and the timing was too perfect to be a coincidence. Someone had orchestrated this, but who? And how had they slipped through the cracks?
The answers were out there, and when he found them, whoever was responsible would pay the price. For now, he would focus on containment. The next move would be his.
The morning sun peeked over the horizon, its golden rays breaking through the canopy of trees and casting a soft, shimmering light across the creek. The gentle babble of water filled the air, blending harmoniously with the calls of distant birds. It was serene, almost idyllic—a scene that seemed plucked straight from an artist's imagination.
He sat on a flat rock by the water's edge, one leg bent, the other stretched out, his longsword resting lazily across his lap. The gauntlets of his armor sat beside him, their polished surface catching the light. His hands, now uncovered, traced the cold steel of the blade, his reflection faintly visible in its immaculate surface.
"Is this real?" he muttered, the question a wisp of breath, barely audible even to himself.
The scene before him felt impossibly vivid—the crispness of the air, the dampness of the morning dew against his fingertips, the earthy aroma of the forest around him. It was too perfect, too detailed. This was nothing like the sterile artificiality of his metropolis. There were no towering glass spires or the monotonous hum of machinery, no endless rows of concrete and asphalt choking the horizon. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to see the world unshackled by human ambition.
He inhaled deeply, the scent of pine and earth filling his lungs, grounding him in the moment. Yet a part of him resisted, nagged by a persistent unease.
He looked down at his hand. The armor, the gauntlets, the flawless lines of his avatar from Yggdrasil. He flexed his fingers, marveling at how natural it all felt—every joint, every muscle, responding as though they'd always been his. The avatar he had meticulously customized over countless hours of gameplay now felt as if it were made of flesh and blood.
"I was…" His voice trailed off as he searched his memory. He had been in the middle of something—a battle. The memory returned like a slow tide: the thrill of combat, the flash of steel and spells, the synchronized cries of his clanmates. They had been embroiled in a heated clan PvP match, the kind that demanded absolute focus.
And then—nothing.
Disconnection was his first thought. It wasn't uncommon, even in a game as advanced as Yggdrasil. Lag spikes, latency issues, or server crashes—technical flaws were rare but not unheard of, especially in a game nearing its second decade. He had cursed his misfortune at the time, expecting to be kicked back to the login screen.
But instead of his VR console resetting, he'd found himself here.
At first, he'd assumed it was another map, some hidden region of Yggdrasil unlocked by an obscure quest or event. He'd even entertained the idea of it being a glitch or a bug, an accidental relocation to a developer area. Yet none of it fit.
This place—this world—was wrong. It lacked the distinct design language of Yggdrasil. Every map in the game adhered to a theme, a cohesive set of landmarks visible from nearly anywhere on the map. Towering structures, glowing beacons, even distant mountains capped with strange phenomena—every region had something unmistakably game-like.
Here, there was nothing of the sort.
No floating fortresses in the distance. No eerie celestial phenomena. No sprawling cities with their bizarrely diverse architecture. Only the endless forest, the creek winding through it, and the soft rustle of leaves in the morning breeze.
His hand tightened on the hilt of his longsword, the familiar weight of it both comforting and disconcerting. "This isn't a new map," he murmured. "And it's not a bug."
He looked at his reflection in the creek. The face staring back at him was not his own—not the one he remembered from before. It was the chiseled, impossibly symmetrical visage of his avatar. His hair, silvery and unkempt, caught the light like threads of moonlight. His eyes, sharp and amber, seemed almost predatory.
He leaned back, letting the cool surface of the rock press against his armor. His thoughts raced, questions piling upon one another. If this wasn't Yggdrasil, then where was he? Was he even awake?
He closed his eyes, trying to recall the last thing he remembered before waking here. The faint sound of his clanmates' voices, the clash of blades, the rush of adrenaline as he parried and countered—then silence.
His fingers brushed the edge of the creek, the chill water shocking against his skin. The sensation was real—tangible in a way no VR game could replicate.
For the first time in what felt like ages, he let out a soft laugh, a sound more incredulous than amused. "Of all the ways to go, this wasn't one I'd ever considered," he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
The creek's water continued to babble, uncaring of his musings. But for him, it was a moment of clarity, a still point in the chaos of his thoughts. Wherever this was, however he had gotten here, one thing was certain—this was not the world he had known.
And for now, that was enough.
Lost in his thoughts, he stared at the creek's gentle flow, the ripples catching the morning light in mesmerizing patterns. The rustling of leaves across the water barely registered, blending into the ambient sounds of the forest.
It wasn't until he glanced up that he saw her.
Across the creek, emerging from the dense undergrowth, was a girl. She moved carefully, her footsteps hesitant but steady as she approached the water's edge. Her face, pale and delicate, caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, her features illuminated with an almost ethereal quality. Her eyes, a clear blue that mirrored the sky above, darted nervously as though scanning her surroundings for threats. Fiery red hair spilled over her shoulders, its brilliance in stark contrast to the muted greens and browns of the forest.
In one hand, she held a wooden bucket, its surface worn and smooth from years of use. She hadn't noticed him, her focus on the water before her. For a moment, he merely watched, his curiosity piqued but his presence unnoticed.
When her gaze finally met his, she froze. A slight jolt ran through her frame, the bucket trembling in her grip.
He raised a palm, an instinctive gesture of greeting.
The girl hesitated, then quickly bent into a curtsy, the movement hurried and awkward as she struggled to balance the bucket. Her wide eyes betrayed her nervousness, but she kept her head lowered respectfully.
Caught off guard, he let his raised hand falter, lowering it back to his side. His lips pressed into a thin line as he returned her gesture with a curt nod, acknowledging her deference. He hadn't intended to intimidate her, but the armor and weapons he bore likely painted him as a figure of authority—or danger.
The girl lingered for only a moment before straightening and turning back to her task. She knelt by the creek, her movements deliberate as she filled the bucket with clear, cool water. Once done, she rose and, without a word, turned back toward the forest from which she had emerged, her steps quicker now, almost hurried.
He watched her retreating form, his curiosity mounting. The direction she took suggested a path—a trail leading somewhere deeper into the woods. A village, perhaps?
His hand instinctively moved to his sword, testing the balance of it as he stood.
The thought of staying here, by the creek, in peaceful solitude, tempted him. But the nagging uncertainty of his situation pushed him forward. He needed answers, a better understanding of this world, and the girl might lead him to the first step.
Keeping his distance, he began to follow her, careful not to make a sound. The girl moved briskly, her bucket sloshing faintly with each step, her fiery hair bobbing as she weaved through the trees.
As he walked, he scanned his surroundings, marking the natural landmarks—trees twisted in peculiar shapes, a small grove of wildflowers, a jagged rock formation. Each detail etched itself into his memory, the instincts of a seasoned pathfinder taking over.
She eventually disappeared over a small rise, her silhouette outlined briefly against the sky before she descended the other side. He slowed his pace, taking care not to crest the hill too quickly.
When he reached the top, he saw it—through the thinning trees, nestled in a small clearing, was a village. The sight was modest but unmistakable: wooden houses with thatched roofs, smoke rising lazily from chimneys, and a handful of villagers moving about, their figures faint in the distance.
The girl entered the village without pause, the bucket swinging at her side. He stayed hidden among the trees, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. The morning air carried the faint sounds of activity: the clink of metal, the distant murmur of voices, the occasional bark of a dog.
A small smile crept across his lips, though it was fleeting. This was the first real sign of civilization he'd seen since waking in this strange world.
He settled into a crouch, leaning against a tree as he considered his next move. For now, he would observe.
The village would have answers—if not from the people, then from their surroundings, their patterns, their routines. He would approach carefully, methodically. Answers lay ahead, and he was determined to find them.