Announcement!!!
A new skirmish is about to begin and many gods have chosen to watch! Our up‑and‑coming champion has just taken steps that his class should not have allowed him to take and the divine eyes have taken notice well their ears have heard his boasts. Now he must back it up with blood.
The battle will pit his modest band of 18 against a force of over 180!!! As with every "bonus‑time" event, participants may receive a blessing from their patron deities—but the eyes of the overseers will be on them so cheating will not be tolerated, so no breaking rules and giving more than you are permitted to, okay?
If you love a good fight, you are welcome to join. Choose a side and you will receive the same type of divine aid, though on a much smaller scale. Keep in mind the following rules will be strictly enforced for fairness:
No back‑stabbing or switching sides after you have chosen.
No early attacks—the conflict starts only when the timer does.
Rewards: the victorious side will be granted a mid‑level chest. Every combatant who actively participates will earn a reward proportional to their involvement. Those who simply sign up but do not fight will incur a penalty, so stay sharp.
The timer begins now, projected into the sky alongside two glowing symbols: a snake marking the up‑start's headquarters and a wolf indicating the small army's camp. Two large countdowns appear beneath the icons:
* "398:42:22"* and "16 days 14 hours 42 minutes 22 seconds."
"Just one damn thing after another," John muttered, flipping the middle finger at the heavens. "At least I'm on your radar now. Some of you seem angry, seeing me as a thorn in your side? Good. I'll come for each of you and like the Keeper's fragment, I'll topple you one by one, no matter what!"
A muffled rumble echoed across the sky, then fell silent. John chuckled, slurping the last of his noodles. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the next move.
Well, this was happening, in a bustling district far from the battlefield and John's home realm, Z strolled down a cobblestone lane. The buildings flanked the road in a kaleidoscope of styles—some sleek and futuristic, others thick‑walled and medieval. Yet every structure housed a shop and every shop displayed a modest stand or a simple mat where vendors hawked their wares.
Seeing the market filled Z with a nostalgic smile. Not long ago, she had saved enough to purchase a market pack and a trading license, delighting the youthful sellers with a handful of small items before setting her sights on the grand golden edifice looming ahead.
"Okay, you can do this," Z whispered to herself, feeling the weight of her decision. "It's too late to turn back. It's all‑or‑nothing now. Prove your worth and trust that the coins will keep flowing from the bet we're making."
The golden façade was dazzling, but the interior was even more spectacular. Towering crystal hourglasses filled with glittering gold sand cascaded endlessly, while streams of coins seemed to materialize out of thin air. Long counters bustled with patrons; on one side a small group haggled over a rare artifact, on another a pair of traders bargained for exotic spices.
Z gathered the necessary paperwork, then joined the line. The queue moved swiftly and before long she reached the desk.
"Good day! How may we assist you? A loan, a guild sponsorship, or perhaps you're thinking of retirement?" the receptionist asked, her smile as polished as the marble behind her.
"I'm here to file my sponsorship form," Z replied, sliding the completed documents and her license across the counter.
The receptionist's smile faltered for a heartbeat, then returned, though her eyes narrowed. "According to our records, you have been an official travelling merchant for only three months. You are a porcelain‑level trader with no notable sales and your sponsor belongs to the lowest tier of the game world without any fame and no noticeable achievements. I must also question whether they possess the capital to back you."
Z's tone sharpened. "I wasn't aware I needed the approval of a receptionist for something like this." she said, eyes flashing beneath her hood. "The merchant is responsible for any issues arising from their own choices. That has nothing to do with the merchant alliance as long as it doesn't harm profits or interests."
The receptionist's mouth opened in surprise, wanting to retort but quickly steadied herself. "The Gold Wolf Merchants' Guild has expressed interest in sponsoring you though. Having a 'nobody' as a sponsor will undoubtedly damage your future value and avenues for growth, there's no stability in It either."
"What do you think you are doing." A low, resonant voice cut through the tension. From behind the desk stepped a stout, elderly man, his beard thick, his nose bulbous and his ears unusually large. His robes shone as brightly as his bald head and a golden monocle perched over his right eye.
"Manager," the receptionist began, "I didn't realize you were…"
"Save the excuses," the manager snapped. "File the paperwork, label Z as independent of the guild and move on. Time is money and your chatter has cost us both, especially by trying to dictate merchant's choices and choose their course for them."
He turned his gaze to Z, studying her with a mixture of curiosity and appraisal. "Tell me, young one—are you confident in your sponsor? Will you stand beside them, earning as much for them as for yourself, or will you cut ties if they become a liability or too much of a risk to your future profits?"
Z met his stare unflinchingly. "I trust my judgment. In a few days I've made more with my sponsor than I would have in weeks if not months on my own. He's an interesting person and I believe he'll become my golden goose. Even if I'm proven wrong and lose everything, I won't regret my choice in doing this because it was one of the few I've finally made for myself."
A tense silence stretched, then the manager let out a short laugh. "That's the drive a merchant needs. A steadfast will without regrets."
He snapped back to the receptionist. "Are you finished yet? The norm does not make a rule! You know what? Pack up… you're dismissed for the day. Tomorrow, you will receive your one‑month notice."
He thrust a closed notice onto the desk and motioned for Z to follow him. The receptionist huffed well muttering under her voice. "I'll make sure the Gold Wolves hear about this," before storming out with a sneer.
Z walked beside the manager, feeling the weight of the moment settle like a coin in a purse. The market's clamor faded behind her, replaced by the quiet certainty that she had just taken a decisive step toward the future she desired.