December 3, 2022. 2:51 PM – Hill Ruins, Floor 1

  Silver had decided to venture farther from the towns, hoping to find monsters that would grant a bit more experience.

  The dirt path faded slowly into the undergrowth until every trace of it disappeared beneath a thick layer of dry leaves. Ahead of him, the Hill Ruins rose like the rusted remains of an ancient dream—a structure swallowed by forest and time.

  Broken columns jutted out of the brush like giant bones driven into the earth. There were shattered arches, walls riddled with cracks, and faceless statues that seemed to watch in silence from toppled pedestals. Every stone told a buried story—one no one had stopped to hear in years.

  The air felt heavier there. Not from heat or cold, but from the weight of the forgotten. Even the forest's sounds seemed to dim the moment he crossed the invisible threshold separating the ruins from the rest of the world. No birds, no insects, no wind through the trees. Only the echo of his own steps and the occasional whisper of dry branches crunching underfoot.

  There were chests hidden among the rubble, sure. And rare materials, or so the rumors said. But people also spoke of creatures that never slept—of guardians cursed to awaken if you strayed too close to secrets still lying beneath the stones.

  As much as Silver despised the madman who had built this virtual prison for all of them, every new place impressed him with its attention to detail. This was where he found the first rare monsters he'd seen in Aincrad: skeletons and golems.

  The skeletons were terrifying. Their bones were blackened at the joints, coated in dry dust, rust, and scraps of moss. Some still wore broken armor—corroded plates dangling from their shoulders like trophies from the past. The swords they swung were as ancient as they were: long, cracked, with jagged, nicked edges—but sharp enough to rip through virtual flesh without effort.

  A steady red light burned in their empty sockets, like an echo of the soul that had once moved them. They moved stiffly, like poorly handled puppets, but every strike landed with unnerving precision, as if some invisible will ordered them to protect what remained of that forgotten temple. When they turned their necks, a dry, metallic creak rasped out—like old chains scraping.

  They weren't fast, but they didn't stop. They didn't shout. They didn't roar. They just advanced. And when they came in a group, the clatter of bone on stone was more frightening than any howl.

  The first he faced was a Decayed Sentinel.

  Silver was making his way down a narrow corridor of the dungeon, hoping to find one of the hidden chests the beginner's guide mentioned. He'd cut down a couple of bats without much trouble and had started to relax. That was when he noticed a crack in the wall—narrow enough to be overlooked, but wide at the base so someone could crawl through. In front of it, a heap of scattered bones lay quietly, as if they'd rested there for centuries.

  He crouched, thinking they might be useful crafting materials or worth something at a shop. But the moment he reached out, the bones began to glow with a sickly green light. They quivered on the ground as if drawn by an invisible force and, within seconds, assembled into a humanoid shape.

  Silver leapt back and drew his sword. The skeleton before him wore battered armor—rusted in places—and gripped a time-worn, nicked blade. It looked unstable, like it might collapse with a single hit. Silver smirked. It couldn't be that strong.

  He triggered Horizontal Slash to intercept the first strike—only for his smile to vanish on impact.

  The blow sent him skidding back as if a wrecking ball had hit him. He slid several meters along the floor, barely keeping hold of the hilt. Phantom pain shot through his arms. No real damage, but the force was enough to scare him.

  He got back up, panting, and watched the enemy. It wasn't fast. Its movements were clumsy, mechanical. It didn't seem to use sword skills—just rammed in with brute force, like an unstoppable machine. Which made it more dangerous: if Silver used any skill with a long animation, he'd be wide open to a counter he likely wouldn't survive.

  He switched to dodging instead of blocking. Short, measured steps. He chained single-hit skills—Vertical, Slant, Reaver, Slash—then stepped back after each strike to avoid the skeleton's violent sweeps. Every mistake could cost him his life. He couldn't relax—not for a second.

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  The fight lasted far longer than he'd imagined. The skeleton's health bar dropped slowly. Silver was sweating, his breathing growing erratic. Not because he was hurt, but because the focus required was suffocating. The skeleton's blade hissed past his neck, his chest, his legs, each near-miss measured in centimeters. One tiny misstep, and that sword would be buried in his torso.

  At last, after a final Horizontal Arc executed with surgical precision, the skeleton shuddered and collapsed into a rain of glowing fragments, the echo of the clash fading down the corridor.

  Silver dropped to his knees, panting, trying to calm the storm in his head.

  He hadn't taken a hit... but he was mentally wrecked. His fingers shook. Every dodge had felt like a leap into the void—a millisecond calculation with his life on the line. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to steady his breath.

  After several minutes on the floor, Silver remembered the crack in the wall. He rose carefully, alert for any sound. He didn't want to face another skeleton in that state. He moved in silence to the wall, crouched, drew the sword from his back, and began crawling through the tight passage, cursing the game for using his body's real size.

  The gap was so tight that every few inches some stone edge scraped his back, shaving off a few hit points each time.

  On the other side, he found a small, half-collapsed room. The fallen ceiling was held up by a single broken pillar and a pair of beams that touched the floor without fully snapping, forming a kind of portal toward the center of the chamber.

  Silver crept forward... and saw it.

  An iron chest with polished purple metal trim.

  He opened it carefully, and after a brief burst of light, a round, silver shield appeared before him, engraved with an elegant lion.

  He took it in both hands, and a message popped up:

  [You obtained: Warden's Aegis (Epic)]

  He inspected it:

  Defense +10

  Effect: 50% chance to resist stun when blocking an enemy attack.

  Part of the Warden's Covenant set.

  He studied the shield warily, still deciding whether to trust his luck. He'd seen other players fight with sword and shield—it offered better defense against heavy enemies, like the ones haunting the ruins. But this wasn't just any item. It was epic. He could sell it for a tidy sum of col back in town.

  He stored it in his inventory, still undecided, and crawled back through the narrow passage, losing a bit more health along the way.

  Back on the other side, he checked the system clock: a little past three in the afternoon. He decided to head back. He wasn't about to find out what came out after dark. Rumor had it night monsters were nastier than the usual kind.

  He had never hunted after sunset—and he had no intention of testing whether the rumors were true.

  There were still a few hours of light left, but he was far from Tolbana and didn't want to spend a teleport crystal just to get home.

  December 3, 2022. 4:17 PM – Hillside Edge, Floor 1

  Silver had finally put the ruins behind him.

  There were still a few rolling hills and mid-sized crags left before the open prairie. The terrain was uneven, but familiar.

  Wolves and snakes tended to patrol that area, though they weren't much of a threat anymore—unless they showed up in large packs.

  He efficiently cut down a couple of snakes that crossed his path and then—almost by instinct—managed to take a rabbit midair as it jumped to flee. The system rewarded him with raw meat.

  He blinked, surprised. Then he smiled. A good way to eat something different... without spending.

  He searched for dry twigs and a pair of stones. Kneeling—like he'd done so many times in the real world—he tried to light a fire. He rubbed, he blew, he kept at it. But the system was blunt:

  [Action failed.]

  And again:

  [Action failed.]

  Frustration burned in his throat. How the hell could he not do something as basic as lighting a damn campfire? What kind of world was this?

  Muttering under his breath, he tried again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Until, finally, a tiny flame timidly bloomed among the twigs. The system responded:

  [New skill acquired: Campfire Lighting.]

  Silver sank down beside the fire, watching the wavering glow.

  A slow, tired smile crossed his face—not for the rabbit, not for the experience gained... but for that small victory.

  One among so many losses.

  —One damn thing you didn't take from me —he murmured, not sure if he was speaking to the game, to Kayaba... or to himself.