A bird's-eye view glides over the endless canopies of ancient forests, where rich greens blend with shades of emerald and moss. The wind combs through grass on vast meadows that ripple like a quiet sea, until the scene abruptly settles on a narrow, dusty road.
The silence of the landscape is broken by the rhythmic pounding of hooves.
Three riders gallop down the road. At first glance, they radiate experience and the dust of long journeys. Their clothing is practical, paramilitary — worn leather, boiled wool, and metal studs that clink dully with every movement. Heavy swords swing at their sides, and long bows are casually but firmly slung across their backs.
They are mercenaries. Men who belong to no king, only to whoever pays.
But the greatest attention is drawn to the rider at the front. Draped across the front of his saddle is a figure wrapped in coarse gray cloth. The bundle is motionless, tightly bound with ropes, and only the occasional unnatural jolt suggests this is not ordinary cargo, but a living (or perhaps dead) person.
The horses stopped at a small clearing where the grass was trampled and a fire pit several days old testified that this place was not being used for the first time. Ditrim jumped from the saddle first. Without a shred of feeling, he grabbed the bound bundle and tossed it into the pine needles.
"Still alive?" asked Jonathan, slinging his bow over his shoulder. "I don't want her dead. Wouldn't get much enjoyment out of that."
Ditrim smirked and pulled out a dagger to cut the ropes. "Don't worry, she'll last. Tough little root, that one."
When the cloth unraveled, it revealed a young woman. She was in a desperate state — face covered in bruises, her breathing shallow and interrupted. Her consciousness hung by a thread.
"I'm going first. As always," declared Jonathan and began unbuckling his leather belt.
"Shut up," growled Voran, the third of them, who had until now been silently holding the horses. "You lost at cards. The deal was clear."
"Next time I'll win," Jonathan snapped back, but stepped aside. "At least keep her alive. I'm not a necrophiliac who touches cold meat."
"You two don't forget to keep watch," added Ditrim, nodding toward the dense bushes. "So I can enjoy myself in peace without someone putting an arrow in my back."
After some time, Ditrim returned, wiping his hands on a dirty piece of cloth. "Go ahead, Voran. I left her with 5 HP still, so don't complain, but she won't last much longer."
Voran just grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. "I have a potion," he pulled a small bottle of murky liquid from his pack. "Maybe it'll perk her up a bit, so she's not boring."
Jonathan nervously looked at the thickening shadows among the trees. "Hurry up. Finish up and let's get out of here before a pack catches our scent. We couldn't handle one in this formation."
As soon as the pounding of hooves faded into the depths of the forest, the first howl cut through the air. It was not a call to the moon — it was a hungry, predatory signal. The pack of wolves already smelled blood. They tore through the thicket, their yellow eyes burning with the vision of easy prey that the mercenaries had left behind like a bloody gift.
On the ground, amid the trampled dirt and pine needles, lay a motionless figure. She was no ordinary woman. From beneath her torn clothing protruded a shaggy wolf-gray tail, and pointed canine ears poked through her disheveled hair, now limply pressed against her head. This hybrid — half human, half beast — was an image of tragic beauty destroyed by brutality. Her body, though beaten and covered in bruises, retained a wild, attractive line now defiled by traces of violence and dried blood. She lay there without signs of life, exposed and degraded, while a circle of predators closed in around her.
From a low branch of a nearby oak, an owl watched everything. Its large eyes didn't move as the mercenaries carried out their vile act.
But suddenly the tree shook violently. The owl took off with a muffled hoot and vanished into the darkness. The bark of the oak began to pulse as if mercury were flowing through it. The solid wood transformed into liquid metal within seconds, swirling and pouring down to the ground until it formed the silhouette of a figure.
When the silver sheen settled, an old man stood where the tree had been. The liquid metal solidified into the form of a rough gray robe that looked unremarkable — just a piece of old fabric that had seen many roads. In his hand he gripped a long, nondescript staff that towered a good palm's width above him. His face couldn't be seen; a deep hood wrapped it in impenetrable shadow.
The mage took a step toward the motionless body of the wolf-woman. The wolves, only a few meters from her, bristled and began growling threateningly. They sensed that this old man was not as weak as he appeared.
The mage calmly opened his palm. From its center erupted not just a trickle, but a geyser of pure water that instantly split in the air. The liquid formed into four massive figures — water golems. They wordlessly spread to the four cardinal directions and formed an airtight circle around the mage and the motionless wolf-woman.
From their watery limbs, powerful jets of water began lashing out, striking the ground with the roar of a waterfall. But the wolves were no ordinary forest animals. They were creatures accustomed to harsh terrain; with incredible agility they dodged the water jets, which only harmlessly whipped the surrounding tree trunks and mud. The wolves bared their teeth, knowing that water wouldn't break their bones.
The mage watched their failure from beneath the shadow of his hood and quietly sighed. As if weary that he had to use more power than he had originally planned.
He opened his palm again, but this time an intense blue glow of mana ignited within it. Luminous threads of energy shot toward the golems and struck them in an instant. The transformation was immediate. The clear, flowing water began to crack and whiten until the golems turned into statues of translucent, sharp ice.
They no longer shot mere jets of liquid. From their hands, deadly frostbolts began flying — freezing arrows that cut through the frigid air with a whistle. When the first one struck the pack leader in the shoulder, the wolf whimpered in pain and its fur was instantly coated in frost.
The wolves immediately understood that this time they had encountered a predator far higher on the food chain. A few more shots that froze their paws, and the pack disappeared into the black depths of the forest with a defeated howl.
The mage slowly knelt beside the wretched body that was now barely gasping for breath. Every movement of his was deliberate and quiet. In his right hand, a massive glass flask materialized from thin air, filled with a thick, brightly glowing red liquid.
It was no ordinary brew — it was a concentrated elixir of life.
The mage tilted the flask over the hybrid's body. As soon as the first drops touched her battered skin, something fascinating began to happen. The red glow seeped directly into her wounds. The bruises that disfigured her face and body faded and disappeared before one's eyes. Torn tissue joined together with a quiet hiss, and bloody smears vanished as if washed away by an invisible stream of pure energy.
Subject Status: | Attribute | Original State | New State | | :--- | :--- | :--- | | Health (HP) | 5 / 100 (Critical) | 65 / 100 (Stabilized) | | Condition | Unconscious / Shock | Regeneration |
The wolf-woman suddenly drew a deep, convulsive breath, as if she had just surfaced from deep water. Her senses began to awaken, but with consciousness came pure, genuine terror. She didn't know who was standing by her. She only saw a figure in a gray hood, and in her mind the laughter and brutality of the three mercenaries still echoed.
Whimpering and with a sudden movement, she tried to crawl away. Her nails dug into the dirt, her tail was tucked between her legs, and in her eyes shone the animal fear of further harm.
The mage didn't move. He didn't grab her, nor did he shout at her. In a quiet, deep voice that carried the weight of mountains, he spoke a single word:
"Sleep."
The power of that word was immediate. The panic in her eyes went out, her muscles suddenly went slack, and her head sank back into the soft moss. Her breathing calmed and she fell into a deep, healing sleep that granted her at least a temporary escape from cruel reality.
Jana jolted upright in bed, a hoarse scream tearing from her lungs, her chest heaving violently. Her eyes were wide with horror, expecting to see the filthy faces of the mercenaries or the mage's chilling figure.
Instead, warm late-morning sunlight hit her face.
Fresh air flowed through an open window, making the light curtains billow, and the room was filled with the intoxicating scent of fresh pastry. But instinct was stronger than comfort. Jana instantly retreated to the farthest corner of the bed, pulled her knees to her chin, and shielded her head with her hands. Her tail was pressed tightly against her body, the fur on her ears bristling.
She waited for a blow. She waited for mockery. She waited for pain.
None of it came.
Trembling, she slowly lowered her hands and began to look around. The room was simple, clean, and empty. Nobody was here. Her confused senses focused on the only fixed point in the room — a table on which lay still-warm food. Her stomach reacted instantly; a loud growl drowned out the silence in the room.
Character Status: Jana
Consciousness: Confused / Traumatized
Hunger: Extreme
Clothing: Destroyed (torn garments barely covering her body)
Slowly, with trembling limbs, she lowered her feet from the bed. The torn dress slid off her shoulders, revealing her delicate skin, now free of bruises but still marked by the memories of the previous day. But hunger was a cruel master. When she took the first step toward the table and no attack came, her resolve broke.
She grabbed a piece of pastry and bit into it. That taste... it was so real, so good. With the first bite, the dam inside her burst. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped onto the table as she devoured the food. It was a cry of relief, of humiliation, but also of quiet gratitude for being alive.
Hunger was sated, but the emptiness in her soul remained. As soon as Jana finished the last bite, the room suddenly seemed too narrow. Her eyes darted around like a caged animal's, until they stopped on a gray robe hanging on a hook beside the door.
She looked down at her clothes. They were nothing but scraps of fabric that reminded her of the strong hands of mercenaries, the sound of tearing cloth, and the feeling of absolute helplessness. With disgust, she tore them off as if shedding an old skin, and slipped into the soft, heavy robe. The fabric was thick and smelled of herbs and old wood.
Just as her fingers touched the cold door handle, a voice came from behind the door. It wasn't threatening — it was calm like the rustling of leaves.
"You don't have to be afraid anymore. You're safe. My name is Igi," came the voice from the hallway. "What's your name?"
Jana froze. Her hand on the handle began to tremble. In her head she heard the screams from the forest and the pleas that nobody heeded. "What do you want from me?" she blurted out, her voice cracking.
Her legs gave way. She leaned her back against the door, slowly slid down to the floor, and curled into a ball. "No more... please, no more," she whispered through streams of unstoppable tears. Every muscle in her body was taut, bracing for the next blow.
"It's okay," Igi answered softly through the wood of the door. There was no impatience in his voice. "I'll wait outside until you're ready to come out. I'd like to know your name, when you find the strength."
The silence that followed was healing. Jana sat there for a long time until her sobs turned to quiet breathing. The robe she wore warmed her and gave her at least some sense of protection. Finally, driven by a strange mix of curiosity and the need to face the world, she stood up.
She slowly pressed the handle, and the door opened with a quiet creak.
Jana stepped out of the room and found that she was not in any castle or tower. She stood on the threshold of a small, cozy cottage in a quiet forest. The air was full of the scent of pine needles, and somewhere in the distance a bird sang.
Igi sat on a wooden bench, motionless as a statue. His staff was propped against his knee, and although there was no wind, it seemed the shadow under his deep hood was denser than anything around. She still couldn't see his face. The sight struck Jana like a physical blow.
"You were there!" she cried, her voice going hoarse. She stepped half a pace back toward the door, ready to hide again. "You saw it... you saw everything! What do you want from me? Why did you bring me here?"
Igi didn't bat an eye. His hands, though old, gripped the staff with unexpected firmness. When he spoke, his voice was deep and calm, stripped of any hint of threat.
"At the moment?" He paused, as if truly considering it. "At the moment, I just want your name. And then to talk. Nothing more, nothing less."
Jana was trembling. In her world, nobody did anything "just because." Everyone wanted something. Everyone had their price. She watched the motionless hood and tried to catch at least a flash of eyes in that shadow.
"Once more," the old man continued, slightly bowing his head, which in this position seemed almost like a bow. "My name is Igi. Nice to meet you, girl from the forest. If you tell me what they call you, we can move on to more important things."
Jana swallowed the lump in her throat. The silence in the forest was almost too loud. "Jana," she whispered at last, so quietly it nearly dissolved in the rustle of the leaves. "My name is Jana."
Igi intertwined his long fingers on the handle of his staff. "I want to build a guild," he began, and his voice sounded firmer now, as if reciting an oath. "A place that will be a sanctuary for the weak. For those who cannot defend themselves. I've been in this world too long and I've seen too much injustice. I think it's time to change that."
He slowly turned his head toward her, though she still couldn't see under his hood. "I chose you because you have nothing left to lose. You can only gain — a home, standing, strength... and perhaps that revenge your heart so craves."
Jana stiffened. "Wait... you were watching me?" Rage mixed with pain exploded in her head. "You saw it! You saw what they were doing to me and you didn't stop them sooner? Were you there... when my mother was dying, too?"
"No," Igi cut in coldly and honestly. "I was not there when your mother died."
Jana felt tears pressing into her eyes again, this time from anger.
"Can you feel the sun on your skin?" the mage asked instead of answering. "Can you smell the forest? Remember how that pastry tasted. Those are all reasons to accept my offer. The alternative is just running into the unknown with no destination."
Jana gave a bitter smile and wiped her face on the sleeve of the gray robe. "So I have a choice? Flee into a world where someone will catch me again, or accept the offer to become your slave?"
"Yes," Igi nodded. "For ten years. But I promise you one thing: when they are over, you will be stronger than anyone you've ever met. You'll be ready for this cruel world so that no one will ever hurt you again."
Igi leaned on his staff and for the first time stood face to face with her, though the shadow of the hood still hid his features.
"Why?" he repeated her question, and there wasn't a shred of pity in his voice. "Because the world we live in doesn't recognize pleas. I need you to do what I tell you. To train, and to prepare for problems your mind can't yet even imagine. 'Asking' isn't enough for that. It requires orders and obedience."
He took a short pause and pointed his staff to the south, where the trees seemed thinner.
"But there's always that other option. If you don't like my terms, go. In that direction, half a day's run, lies a village. If you leave now, you'll make it there by nightfall. What awaits you there, who finds you there, and how they deal with you... that won't be my problem. You'll be free. Free and defenseless."
Jana looked in the direction he was pointing. The idea of civilization was tempting, but the memory of how "civilized" men had dealt with her in the forest froze the blood in her veins. As a half-beast, in a village full of prejudice, she would probably end up in a cage — or worse.
Igi let her think in silence. "You have exactly until the sun touches the horizon. Then the gate of my home closes for you — either you stay as my student bound by contract, or..."
Jana stood in place, her chest heaving. She looked at the road leading to the village. The sun was slowly sinking, and the lengthening tree shadows now looked like long black fingers reaching for her feet. In her head, images flashed: dirty taverns, hunters who would see her as nothing but a toy, and constant flight.
Then she looked at Igi.
She stopped before him, the shadow of her figure falling on his gray robe.
"Ten years," she said in a hoarse voice mixing defiance with resignation. "I will be your slave. I will be your tool. But teach me... teach me how to make them pay."
Igi didn't move, but from beneath the hood came his deep voice:
Igi reached deep into the folds of his gray robe and pulled out an object that faintly glinted in the forest's raw twilight. It was a massive ring of dark, almost black metal, engraved with fine, barely visible runes. It was no ordinary leather dog collar; it was a magical artifact.
"Here you go," said Igi, presenting it on his open palm. The metal was ice-cold to the touch. "Here is your collar. Every slave in my service must wear one. But I won't put it on you. You must do that yourself. It is your choice, your oath, and your burden."
Jana stared at the black metal, a lump in her throat nearly choking her. Memories of the mercenaries binding her with ropes surged to the surface. Back then, she had no choice. Now... now she held the instrument of her own enslavement.
Her fingers trembled as she took the collar. It was surprisingly heavy.
"When you put it on," Igi's relentless voice continued, "we will proceed. Until then, you are merely a guest who can leave into the darkness at any time."
Jana took a deep breath. She looked at her hands, which had been so helpless in the forest. If this was the price of never being prey again, she would pay it. With shaking breath, she brought the metal ring to her neck. The click of the lock echoed through the forest silence like a crossbow shot.
The collar immediately adjusted to her neck. The runes on it briefly glowed blue, and Jana felt a wave of foreign energy surge through her body.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION] Item Equipped: Shackles of Obedience (Rank: Unique) Status: Bond created. Attributes: Increased mana regeneration, mental link with Igi.
A golden window flared before Jana's eyes, illuminating her face and the gray robe:
[SYSTEM INVITATION] Player Igi (Guild Master) invites you to the organization: ELYSIUM. "We seek light in the deepest shadows."
[ ACCEPT / DECLINE ]
Jana hesitated for a moment, but knowing there was no way back, she tapped ACCEPT. Instantly, a guild chat activated in her peripheral vision. 4 messages flickered in the corner of the screen.
Jana hadn't even had time to properly absorb the messages when Igi moved. His figure suddenly lost its old-man frailty. He raised his hand, and from his palm burst a stream of pure, azure mana. The energy swirled and danced in the air until it formed a perfect circle — a teleportation gate. Its interior resembled a stormy lake surface reflecting stars from another place.
"Enter!" commanded Igi. It was not a request — it was an order that, thanks to the collar, resonated in Jana's very bones.
Jana took a deep breath, suppressed her instinctive fear of unknown magic, and stepped forward. The moment she crossed the gate's threshold, the feeling of cold forest air vanished, replaced by the pressure of void, followed by a sharp flash of light.
"This is your quarters," said Igi, pointing his staff at the massive doors of a building. "The other buildings in this city are not yet furnished. Pick any free room. You'll find food in the kitchen and everything you need to survive."
Jana surveyed the empty streets of the city. It felt like a ghost town — clean, new, but eerily silent.
"Tomorrow morning at 8:00, I'll be waiting for you in the classroom," Igi continued, and his voice in her head sounded like a merciless countdown. "Now I recommend you settle in, look around, and meet the remaining guild members. They have the same regimen as you."
Without another word, Igi turned and entered the nearest building. Jana was left standing before the building alone.
Jana walked along the stone corridors, which echoed with her quiet steps. On the upper floor, she found a row of doors leading to quarters. By one of them she spotted a figure leaning against the doorframe.
It was a young woman in a gray robe with short blonde hair. On her neck, the same black metal collar that Jana had gleamed dully.
"Hi," the young woman said, pushing off from the door. "I'm Diana. So you survived. Igi takes his time with arrivals — I was starting to think nothing was left of that pack in the forest."
Jana nodded wearily, trying to steady her trembling voice. "Nice to meet you... I'm Jana. I'm new here and I have no idea what awaits me."
Diana sighed and shrugged. "Neither do we. We've only been here a few hours, and at 8:00 we'll probably learn more. For now we're just treading water."
"Where are the others? Are there only five of us?" Jana asked, glancing down the empty corridor.
"Yes, just the five of us," Diana confirmed. "Peter and Kaelen are somewhere in the kitchen, arguing over food. Hazela went to the roof — she says you can see the whole city from up there, even though it's like a ghost town."
Jana felt the overall exhaustion from the day bearing down on her. "I'd love to meet them in the morning... today I'm too wiped out for more conversation."
"I understand," Diana replied and pointed to the neighboring door. "Your room is right here. Get some sleep, Jana. Tomorrow, our ten years begin."
Jana entered her room. It was simple: a bed, a table, a chair, and a large window. On the table lay a small map of the city of Elysium.
She collapsed onto the bed just as she was — in the gray robe and with the collar that now gently warmed her neck in the night's silence. Before she sank into a deep, dreamless sleep, one last system message flashed through her mind.
The silence in the room was not broken by a normal alarm, but by a sharp, resonating voice directly inside Jana's head. It was not a sound coming from outside, but a vibration emanating directly from the black metal on her neck.
"Get up! It's 6:00. Get up! It's 6:00."
Jana startled, her hands instinctively flying to her throat. Her heart pounded wildly as she tried to pry the metal collar with her fingers and wrench it off. She wanted to rid herself of this unpleasant thing that reminded her she no longer belonged to herself. But the metal was as if fused to her skin — cold, unyielding, and perfectly smooth.
Then a reddish system window lit up before her eyes and the collar's voice changed to a coldly informative tone:
[DAILY REGIMEN — ACTIVATED]
Get dressed (Limit: 5 min)
Conditioning run in the city (Duration: 45 min)
Hygiene and shower (Duration: 15 min)
Breakfast in the kitchen (Duration: 20 min)
Preparation for lessons
[WARNING] Instructions will become COMMANDS (automatic motor control/pain punishment) if not followed within the designated time.
Jana sat on the edge of the bed, her breathing slowly calming, but her eyes were angry. She remembered the forest, the mercenaries, and Igi's offer. Ten years, she thought bitterly. This is just the first hour of the first day.
"Understood," she murmured into the empty room, though she knew the collar could hear her.
She got up and quickly began straightening her gray robe. When she stepped into the corridor, the other doors were opening almost in sync. She saw Peter, sleepily rubbing his eyes, and Kaelen, already heading toward the staircase with a stony face. All five of them had the same tired and wary expression. Nobody said anything — there was no time for debate when an unforgiving countdown ticked on their necks.
Jana ran out of the school building into the early morning twilight of the empty city.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Task begins: Conditioning run (0/45 min). Current bonus: Wolf Endurance (passively activated).
The air was freezing, but Jana's muscles began warming up after a few meters. She ran through the streets of the ghost city, hearing the thudding footsteps of Diana and the others behind her. Training had truly begun, and there was no room in it for any questions.
The heavy classroom doors opened. The five recruits entered, breathing heavily after the morning run, their hair still damp from a quick shower. The air in the room was cold and sterile, smelling of chalk and ozone.
Igi already stood behind the lectern. He watched their arrival without a word while they settled into their desks. Each of them was different, but the black metal on their necks bound them into one mismatched pack.
Kaelen (Half-orc) Entered first, his massive frame nearly filling the doorway. His skin had a faint greenish tint, and two small but sharp tusks protruded from his lower jaw. The muscles on his arms strained under the gray robe, which was clearly too tight for him. Defiance burned in his dark eyes, but he moved with a soldier's discipline.
Diana (Human) Right behind him walked Diana. Her short blonde hair, now messy and damp, framed a face with sharp features. She only appeared fragile at first glance — in her blue eyes was cold calculation. Her hands rested calmly at her sides, but she was constantly watching Igi, as if searching for his weakness.
Hazela (Elf) Her gait was quiet and fluid, despite the fatigue from the run. Hazela had typical elven features — high cheekbones, long pointed ears peeking gently from her long hair, and eyes the color of forest moss. She appeared noble, but the collar on her slender neck was a brutal contrast to her natural elegance.
Peter (Human) Peter entered uncertainly, wiping sweat from his forehead. He was an ordinary human of average build who would easily blend into a crowd. He looked the most stressed of all — his eyes darted from corner to corner and his fingers nervously tapped against his thigh. Yet there was determination in him — fear hadn't broken him yet, only propelled him forward.
Jana (Beastkind — Wolf-woman) Jana entered last, instinctively covering the others' backs. Her ears on top of her head swiveled toward every sound, and her tail was pulled close to her body. She could smell every person in the room — Kaelen's musky sweat, Hazela's herbal shampoo, and Igi's scent of old paper and magic. Her eyes glowed in the classroom's dim light, ready to react to any movement.
All five sat down. The silence in the room was heavy.
"Sit down," Igi ordered, even though they were already sitting. "Your physical condition is pathetic. Kaelen is slow, Hazela has no endurance, Peter panics. Diana and Jana..."
Igi's words fell into the quiet classroom like stones. He used no metaphors — he spoke directly and harshly. He moved to the blackboard, where chalk began moving on its own, drawing complex tree diagrams.
"Today we have to skip the basics," he declared, his gaze sweeping over all five of them. "Time is a luxury we don't have. We'll go straight to what matters most."
He pointed his staff at the sketch of three branching lines.
"The System," he said emphatically. "Each of you has at least three Talent Trees unlocked. Currently, however, they are... dirty. They're clogged with the discord of your former tyrants, your pain, and slave habits. That must change."
Jana felt a chill at those words. Her talent tree had been nothing but a jumble of wild instincts and desperate survival fighting until now.
"Before bed," Igi continued, "find the option [Contact God] in the System window. Submit a request to the relevant gods and change your focus to what you want to become. I warn you: you will lose invested points. About half of them. It's lost time and effort, but it's a necessary sacrifice. The sooner you do it, the less it will hurt."
He stopped and raised two fingers.
"I have only two conditions. One tree must be COMBAT, so you can defend yourselves. The second must be PRODUCTION, so you can craft things and earn for the guild. Think about what that will be by tonight. It can always be changed, but the cost increases."
In the silence that followed, a soft, melodic voice suddenly spoke.
"And what about the other trees?" asked Hazela, the elf with the long ears, sitting in the second row.
Igi immediately fell silent. He slowly turned his head toward her. The air in the room grew heavy.
"First of all," Igi said in a voice sharp as a whip, "in this classroom, you raise your hand. If you want to say something, raise your hand. Don't interrupt me. I will call on you, and only then may you speak."
Hazela shrank slightly in her chair and lowered her ears. "I-I'm sorry."
Igi's expression softened slightly, though it remained strict. "Secondly... it's a good question," he admitted, turning back to the board. "Those remaining trees? I'll leave that to you. Whether you put magic, art, or animal husbandry there, I don't care. All I need from you is the ability to fight and survive. The rest is your free will."
"Kaelen," he stopped by the half-orc, "I recommend the combat tree for you. It's in your blood. Your race gives natural bonuses to Strength and Stamina. If you chose something else, you'd only be wasting your gift. You were made to stand on the front line."
Kaelen simply nodded, his tusks gleaming faintly in the dim light.
With that declaration, the discussion in the classroom definitively ended. Igi tapped his staff on the floor, a clear signal to leave.
Suddenly Peter leaned toward her — he'd been flipping through a book about weapon crafting. "Jana, look at this. It says here that if I choose blacksmithing and you choose leatherworking, we can make hybrid armor — metal plates lined with your processed leather. It would be light and sturdy. What do you think? Would you want to work with leather, or are you more drawn to alchemy and poisons?"
before the beginning—
"Buff! Drink those potions like it's your last Lidl run before the apocalypse," our raid leader Drax's voice bellowed into the voice chat.
We stood before a gate of molten obsidian. Behind it, He waited. Aethelred the Cursed. Classic story: they killed his wife, he signed a contract with hell in a fit of rage, and now he wants to wipe out humanity because... why not? Typical Tuesday in an MMO world.
"Let's go over the strategy so we don't screw it up like last time," Drax continued, nervously shifting his avatar. "Phase one: he throws hellfire. It's an unphase-able DoT, fed by mana, so you can't get rid of it. When he starts casting, get behind a pillar. If he can't see you, the fire goes out. Healers, that's when you have three seconds to top us up."
I drew my sword. It glowed blue, ready for the final strike.
"Then comes the life drain. Mass-cast. We have to interrupt it immediately, or he heals to full and breaks the pillar. It's a pure damage race. If we run out of pillars, we're done. Clear? Everyone ready?"
Thirty confirmations appeared in chat. Adrenaline was rising.
"Three... two... Stop!"
At that moment, the world froze. Not server lag. Not an FPS drop. All of reality before my eyes shattered into thousands of luminous pixels and was replaced by a sterile, icily blue system screen that did not belong to the game World of Ruin.
SYSTEM MESSAGE: UPDATE V.1.0 — "NEW HOME"
Status: Arrival at target destination: Alpha Centauri System. Notification: During transport, contact was established with an entity. A decision has been made regarding the fate of the colonization ship Babylon-1.
Population Division:
Group A (50%): Physical colonization of the surface of planet Centauri-Prime. Manual labor, building a biosphere, a new beginning in a body of flesh and bone.
Group B (50%): Digital existence within the RPG-Matrix "Aethelgard." Permanent consciousness upload. Life in a game system as the new standard of being.
Time until reality restart: 29:59 minutes.
Note: You have just under half an hour to prepare for a new life. Good luck and have fun (GLHF).
The silence in the voice chat was deafening. Nobody breathed. Nobody cursed the lag.
"That... that's not a boss-kill event, right?" someone said in a faint voice.
I realized my hands were shaking. We weren't just players in some room in the suburbs. We were cargo. And the game had just become our only life.
Last 28 minutes until restart
Static hissed in my headphones. Draxer's voice, usually firm and authoritative, suddenly sounded tired. As if those years of leading raids had finally caught up with his real self.
"So, Igi..." he said softly. "Which group do you think you'll end up in? Going to dig latrines on Centauri-Prime, or staying here, in the code?"
I took a deep breath. I looked at my digital hands — in the game they were strong, covered in scars from battles I had never truly experienced. My real body somewhere in a cryo-chamber was probably emaciated and weak.
"I don't know, man," I answered, trying to keep my voice from trembling. "But I hope I get to keep playing. I've always been a gamer. A real planet? Dust, sweat, and physics? That's not for me. I want to see damage numbers pop up over monsters' heads."
He laughed. It was a short, dry sound. "Typical Igi. If we end up there together... if the system doesn't scatter us to opposite ends of the galaxy... I hope you'll take me into your guild again. With your DPS, we'd have it easier."
"Of course you're hesitating," I smiled at the monitor, though he couldn't see me. "We'll conquer all worlds, Drax. Whether it's the alpha version of a new planet or this RPG Matrix. The guild bank won't fill itself."
"You bet," Draxer replied, and you could hear in his voice that he had straightened up in his chair. "I'm going to chat with the others. I need to calm them down before they pull the plug. Hang in there, Igi. Wherever you end up."
"You too, Drax."
The connection went quiet. The timer in the corner of the screen mercilessly carved away another minute.
27:14.
In the global chat, all hell broke loose. People were asking about their families, others were cursing the "Galactic Council," and some — the biggest fanatics — immediately started spending all their gold in the auction house, hoping to carry it into their new lives.
800 classroom
"So, to start," Igi spoke, and his voice carried through the sterile room with cold authority. He paced before the pair of recruits like a general before an execution. "You know why you're here. I chose you for my project — Guild Elysium."
He paused to let the words land.
"The terms are clear. For the next ten years, you will be my slaves. You will follow orders, build our city, and grow stronger. After the decade is up, you will be given freedom. If you then decide to stay, you will become permanent members of Elysium with full rights, a share of profits, and access to higher secrets."
Kaelen was silent, his face like stone. Peter was fidgeting.
"In the beginning, we'll stay in the city," Igi continued, pointing at a map on the wall. "When you're stronger, we'll cross the gates and head into the wilds. The plan is that roughly at the midpoint of the contract — in five years — you'll be given more freedom. Your task will be to find a successor. Someone you'll train the same way I'm training you now. That's how the guild and the city will start to fill."
"And what about—" Peter spoke up impulsively.
The word froze in his throat.
The metal collar on his neck trembled faintly and emitted a low buzzing sound. Peter's voice evaporated; his mouth moved emptily, but not even a whisper came out. He grabbed his throat, eyes wide with panic.
"Peter," said Igi calmly, without a hint of sympathy. "You're forgetting protocol."
Shakily, he raised his hand. The buzzing stopped immediately.
"Yes, Peter? What is your question?" Igi prompted him.
The young man rubbed the red mark on his neck. "W-what if we run?" he croaked hoarsely.
Igi laughed dryly. "You won't run. You have the collar. You don't have the level or the magical power to remove it. And you won't in ten years either. Don't forget," Igi's gaze hardened, "you put it on voluntarily."
"We were cornered!" Peter blurted, anger mixed with hopelessness in his voice. "We didn't have a choice!"
"I didn't put you in that corner!"
Igi's voice thundered through the classroom like a clap of thunder. Peter instinctively flinched; even the others jumped.
"You were in deep shit long before I came along," Igi continued, quieter now but all the more dangerous for it. "I just threw you a rope. That it's rough isn't my problem. And enough talk."
He measured them with his gaze. He could see their stats, their fear, but also their potential.
"I see you've chosen your talents. Enough theory. We're going to a dungeon to train. There are four dungeons placed throughout the city — they're relatively new, so the monsters won't be tough either. Ideal for finding out whether you actually know how to use those weapons, or if they're just for decoration."
Igi turned toward the exit. "If no one has any more questions, we move out. East gate, dungeon Crypt of the Damned. March."
The way to the Crypt of the Damned was short. Igi walked at the front, and his presence weighed on the others like an invisible anchor.
"Listen," Igi stopped before a massive stone mausoleum. "The maximum party size for this dungeon is five. Going in will be Peter, Diana, Hazela, and me. Kael, Jana — you two turn around and head to the training grounds. I don't want to see any slacking. When we return, I want to see progress in your talents."
Kael simply nodded, though a longing for battle flickered in his eyes, and together with Jana he headed back toward the city.
Igi stepped up to the heavy mausoleum gates. When he opened them, what awaited was not darkness, but a pulsing bluish membrane that resembled a rippling water surface. A system window flashed through the air.
Notice: You are about to enter an instanced zone: Crypt of the Damned (Level 1-5). Party invitation: Player Igi invites you to a party. Accept? [YES / NO]
All four confirmed and one by one crossed the threshold of reality.
The inside of the crypt was freezing. The walls of damp stone were lit only by sporadically placed torches whose flames cast long, dancing shadows. Igi leaned against a wall and crossed his arms.
"Today I'll just observe," he announced coldly. "I'll only enter the fight if I see you're dying. The first level is full of skeletons. They're slow, stupid, and have low HP. Ideal training material. Get ready."
Diana instantly shot out her palm. A complex fire rune lit up above her skin, which after a second formed into a small, pulsing fireball with a crackle. Fireball — a classic, but effective.
The elf Hazela reached into her inventory and with a fluid motion drew a longbow and a quiver of arrows.
"Too bad you didn't go for Nature talents," Igi remarked, piercing her with his gaze. "A good healer would save us a lot of potions."
Hazela didn't even look at him, just checked the bowstring. "I'm certainly not going to heal humans," she retorted proudly. "My bow is an instrument of death, not mercy."
"We have ten years for me to convince you otherwise," Igi smirked.
"Convince me of what? That it's good to help?" She turned to him with hatred in her eyes. "I'll help my people in the elven forest by planting arrows in our enemies."
"Just don't shoot me in the ass, beautiful," Peter chimed in, checking his daggers. "I didn't do anything to you, and I'd be quite happy to help a pretty elf if she doesn't leave me hanging."
"Enough talk," Igi interrupted them and pointed into the depths of the corridor, from where the dry rattle of bones could be heard. "They're coming. Peter, what about you?"
"I've got unarmed combat too," Peter demonstrated a quick shadow kick. "I'll do a few flips, kick its head off, and crush those bones. No problem."
"We'll see. You'll take turns," Igi commanded. "Keep your distance — they're as slow as death itself. And listen carefully: use your talents as much as possible. The more often you activate them, the faster they level up. In this world, you're not strong because of muscles, but because of the level of your abilities. Now — show me what I paid for with your freedom!"
From the corridor's shadows emerged the first skeleton. It gripped a broken sword in a rusty hand, and a faint red glow flickered in its empty eye sockets.
After two hours, four figures emerged from the bluish gate of the mausoleum. Peter, Diana, and Hazela were dusty, panting, and their faces wore a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline. Igi walked behind them, clean and calm, as if he had merely been on a stroll in the park.
"Good," Igi stopped them and tossed Peter a small pouch of vials. "You know what it looks like in there and what awaits you. Here are some potions. Go in at least in pairs and be careful. If you push it too far and die, that would be a shame — it costs a heap of resources and time to replace you. Now continue training, crafting, and if you don't understand something, you'll find more information in the city library. Move!"
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and headed toward the training grounds. Peter and the others just silently watched his back before launching into a debate about who would go on the next run.
Igi arrived at the training grounds, where Kaelen was methodically chopping at a wooden dummy and Jana sat in the grass, focused on a small plant that was growing unnaturally under her hands.
"Kaelen, Jana, come with me," Igi ordered. "We're going to a different dungeon. The Crypt has skeletons, which is currently the worst possible opponent for Jana. Your natural poison would do nothing to them."
Jana looked up in surprise. "How... how do you know what I'm focusing on?"
Igi tapped his neck, right where she had the metal collar. "These collars aren't just for show, Jana. They're linked to my interface. I can see your classes, your talents, and your progress. Skeletons have no flesh, blood, or circulatory system — they're immune to poison. If you later take a talent in acid, that'll be a different story — acid corrodes even bone. But right now you'd be useless there. We're going to the Sewers. First level is rats."
The move to the city's southern section didn't take long. The entrance to the Sewers reeked of rot and damp. When they passed through the entry portal, they found themselves in a stone pipe where murky water reached their ankles.
Kaelen smoothly unslung the massive two-handed axe from his back. Its blade dully reflected the faint light of magical lamps. Jana readied her palms, which glowed with the soft green light of nature magic.
"Jana, your main job is to heal," Igi warned her, his voice echoing off the wet walls. "When you're in a group, you can see his HP in the bar. Don't let it drop below half. If you see you're running out of mana, immediately let him know and pull back to safety. Here are some potions as backup — use them only when it's critical."
Then he turned to the warrior. "Kaelen, the rats are pretty fast and attack in packs. But with your stamina and Jana's heals at your back, they'll never beat you. Go for it."
Kaelen just gripped the axe tighter and strode forward into the darkness, where squeaking and the scratching of claws on stone could already be heard.
"And don't forget," Igi called after them, "use your talents at every opportunity! Let them level up. I want to see progress, not just dead rats!"
prologue 01
What the players didn't know — the selection had already been made long ago. More stable members of the expedition would be transferred to Alpha Centauri thanks to their Q identity, while players with character deficits would be used in the Q world.
Igi was withdrawn, quiet, perverted, controlling, and other undesirable traits manifested over time. They appeared in an ancient city in the Q world. Houses were made of wood and stone, streets paved with carved rock.
5,000 of the 10,000 on the Babylon-1 expedition became eternal players. 4,000 were female, since reproduction had been considered. Everyone received a system similar to the one they played during the journey through space.
From the messages: "Welcome. Until the population is filled, you will be immortal, but death will be penalized exactly as in your game. The game will be updated, balanced, and changed. Further information can be found in the library — by communicating with the gods and, of course, through discovery. GL HF."
Igi tried to open the guild window, but nothing happened. He tried friends, the map — nothing. Finally, he tried the basic stats window. Suddenly a character sheet appeared before him.
Strength, Agility, Stamina, Wisdom, Intellect, Luck, Charisma — all at level 1 with 10 unallocated points. He figured this was probably a fresh start and it looked like the same system as in the game Babylon. Before diving into anything, the library would be a good choice — he needed to find it.
On the way, he saw confused people. When he arrived at the library, it was packed. Too bad. He turned around and went back to the tavern, where he decided to eat.
In the inn, there was an NPC innkeeper — a faceless character, just an AI placed there to fill a not-yet-occupied position. Igi approached the innkeeper and asked: "We're new here and have no coins. Can I help in the kitchen for some food?"
The AI responded curtly: "Until the economy gets going, food is free. I can only offer you simple fare — bread, dried meat, and a glass of water."
Chapter X — Classroom 800
System
The heavy classroom doors opened at exactly eight o'clock. The five recruits didn't feel that only two days
had passed since their first hour in this room — the fatigue and muscle pain from non-stop training felt
like entire weeks. They entered with still-damp hair, suppressed breathing after the morning run,
and settled into desks that were slowly starting to feel like their own.
Igi already stood behind the lectern. His staff leaned against his shoulder, and his face was, as always, hidden in the shadow of a deep
hood. Chalk on the blackboard behind him moved on its own, drawing a diagram resembling
a tree with dozens of branches.
"Sit down," he said, even though they were already sitting. A habit they were beginning not to notice. "Today we'll go over the System.
You already know a lot, but let's cover the basics just to be sure."
He pointed his staff at the diagram on the blackboard.
• •
"The first thing you must understand," Igi began, pacing before the blackboard, "is how your talents grow. Through use."
He looked at Diana. "Diana, how many times did you use Fireball in the dungeon yesterday?"
Every mage should then also choose the Arcane tree — it improves mana regeneration and provides other magical benefits. Further combinations can be found in the library.
"Third: Map, storage, and System utilities. You can invest points into
unlocking and upgrading the world map — currently you can only see Elysium and a bit of the surrounding area. Also into
expanding your inventory, communication functions, and many other
things the System will offer you when you reach them."
"Fourth: Communication with the gods and the God Shop. You've already tried this. Contacting a god
costs points — not many, but it's not free. And the God Shop you've unlocked allows you
to buy rare items directly from the System."
Igi paused for a moment, and his voice took on a strict tone.
"One warning. Don't waste points on a Portal Scroll. I noticed some of you spotted it
in the shop. Forget about it. The collar prevents you from using it. It's a wasted investment. If
I find out someone bought one, I will personally explain to them why it was a mistake. And you won't
enjoy it."
Peter instinctively grabbed his neck, where he felt the cold metal of the collar. A look of defeat flickered in his eyes.
• •
"One more thing that is crucial," Igi continued, turning back to the board. The chalk drew
a simple equation: LEVEL = SUM OF STATS.
"Your level is not determined by how many talents you have or what spells you know. It is determined
solely by how many stat points you have. Someone with one maxed stat and six at
zero will have a low level, even if their talent is at level one hundred. Conversely, someone with balanced stats
will have a higher level, even if their talents are nothing special."
Hazela raised an eyebrow. "So level says nothing about what a character can actually do?"
"Level says how strong a character is in numbers. Not what they can do," Igi confirmed. "A level fifteen
mage and a level fifteen warrior are completely different beings, even if they share the same level. So never
rely on the number alone. You'll learn more in the library books — there are entire chapters about how
level is calculated and what affects it."
• •
Igi moved to the next section of the board, where the chalk had already sketched a rough outline of a crystal.
"Last thing for today," he said, his voice lightening slightly — just a shade, but for people who'd been
listening to him for two days, it was a noticeable shift. "In the dungeon, you noticed that monsters don't drop anything. No loot,
no armor, no gold. Just a small stone that disappears after a minute."
Diana nodded. "Yes, I noticed. I thought it was a bug."
Igi briefly stopped. "It's not a bug. It's by design. Monsters in the dungeon are mana constructs —
the Dungeon Master creates them from pure mana. They are artificial beings without physical bodies. They have no inventory,
no equipment, and therefore nothing to drop. Until the Dungeon Master gives them physical equipment, you'll get nothing
from them except that stone."
"And what is that stone?" asked Kaelen. His voice was deep and matter-of-fact — information, not emotion.
"Mana Core Crystal," Igi answered. "Simply put — a battery. Every living being in this
world has a mana core inside them. Monster, player, construct — everyone. This core slowly drains as
time passes. When you kill a monster, the core momentarily materializes into that little stone before the energy
dissipates."
He raised his palm, and a tiny blue crystal briefly glowed on it before he immediately put it back in his inventory.
"The stronger the monster, the larger and higher quality the battery. These crystals have enormous value because
they are used primarily in Rune Crafting and in powering magical items. They are a mana source
for artifacts, weapons, defensive structures — anything that needs external energy. When
you farm in the wilds, collect them. Every single one. They don't expire in inventory, so you prevent draining."
"Is that different from monsters outside?" Jana asked. Her ears pointed forward and her tail rose
slightly — curiosity was winning over fear.
"Exactly," Igi confirmed. "Monsters in the wilds are not constructs. They're real. They have flesh, bones, skin,
claws. But beware —
some wild creatures can get into dungeons too. Here in the city, that
won't happen. Outside? Stay alert."
• •
Igi tapped his staff on the floor. The sound rang through the room like a period at the end of a sentence.
"That's enough for today. You have the rest of the day ahead of you. Use it. Go to the dungeon, go to
the library, go to the workshop. I don't care what you choose, but I want to see progress. Anyone who sits in their
room staring at the ceiling will have their collar remind them that their time is not free."
He rose from the lectern and headed for the door. At the threshold, he stopped and without turning around, added:
"Remember one thing. In this world, everything comes at a price. Every point, every level, every second. Nothing
is free. The sooner you understand that, the sooner you'll stop being prey and start being hunters."
The doors closed behind him. The five remained sitting in the quiet classroom, each immersed in their own thoughts
and system windows that glowed before their eyes.
[SYSTEM SUMMARY — DAILY LESSON]
Key takeaways:
Talents level up through use (optimally against equally strong opponents)
Points are earned through: leveling talents > quests > killing enemies
Points are spent on: stats, new trees, map/inventory, God Shop
Stat costs increase with each raise
Level = sum of stat points (not talents)
Mana Core Crystal = energy core of every being
Dungeon monsters = constructs (no drop except crystal)
Wild monsters = real (full drop + crystal)
[WARNING] Portal Scroll — non-functional with active collar.
Peter leaned toward Diana. "So basically we're at the most expensive school in the world, and tuition is paid with
freedom."
Diana crossed her arms. "Freedom we didn't have anyway."
Jana said nothing. She just stood up, quietly pushed in her chair, and walked out into the corridor. Her steps headed toward
the library. Nothing gleamed in her eyes — not fear, not anger.
Just a hunger for knowledge that would never again let her be prey.
prologue 02
Right. The System is the same as in Babylon. Stats, talents, points. Everything from zero. The question is — how to start?
Igi assembled a plan in his head the way he did before every raid — systematically, coolly, without illusions.
Combat. That's the first thing most people will jump to. It seems natural — go outside, kill a monster, earn points. But I'm at level one. Out there are creatures that could kill me with a look.
He toyed with the thought, crumbling a slice of bread between his fingers.
Profession. A stable, safe source of points. Talents level up through use, not combat. If I cook day after day, Cooking will improve. Points will flow. Slowly, but steadily. And when I have the strength — the Adventurers' Guild. Simple quests, gathering, delivery. Low risk, solid return. Combat will come when I'm ready for it.
The question remained — which profession? He looked at the plate before him. Bread and dried meat. Strikingly simple. Two hundred people here would soon come in hungry, and the NPC could only offer this.
Cooking, he decided. With this food, it was clearly Cooking. And when everyone starts looking for Herbalism and Alchemy, I'll have a head start in something everyone will need — food that actually tastes good.
He stood up and went back to the bar.
• •
"I have a question," he addressed the innkeeper. "Can one stay the night here? I'd like to reserve a room for an extended period."
The NPC looked at him, and something shifted in his empty eyes — like a new process launching on a computer. "Rooms are available. The first two weeks are free, then the standard fee applies."
"Excellent," Igi nodded. Then he leaned closer and lowered his voice, even though he knew the NPC didn't evaluate such gestures. "And could I start cooking for you? Starting tomorrow. I know you only have bread and meat. I could prepare something better for the guests."
The innkeeper's process visibly sped up. A hint of expression appeared on his face — the first approximation of something human. "Do you want to take over this inn?"
"No," Igi said quickly. "Just work as the cook. You stay behind the bar, I'll be in the kitchen."
The NPC went silent for a second, as if processing a request. Then he nodded. "Yes, that's fine. We can agree on that. You have access to the kitchen starting tomorrow morning. Here's the key."
A small iron key appeared from beneath the counter, with a wooden tag tied to it bearing the number 1.
"The room is upstairs, to the right. Number one."
Igi tossed the key from hand to hand and almost — almost — smiled.
Alright. That's settled. Now to quickly find an alchemist.
The following days blurred into a rhythm Igi knew from grinding — quiet, repetitive toil where progress is measured in small increments that most people would overlook.
Morning: get up, check the pantry, cook the ingredients. The kitchen in the tavern was surprisingly well equipped — an iron cooking pot, a stone stove, shelves of spices that were basic but usable. On his first attempt, he prepared a thick soup from dried meat, onions, and root vegetables he found in the cellar. Taste-wise, it didn't hold a candle to what he used to eat in his previous life, but compared to bread and dried meat, it was like a feast.
[COOKING] Level 0 → Level 1
Prepared edible dish: "Simple Soup" (Quality: Poor)
Effect: Restores 5 HP, +1 Stamina for 30 minutes.
On the second day, the soup tasted better. On the third, he was able to add herbs he found at the marketplace around the corner — the NPC vendor gave them for symbolic prices since the economy still wasn't fully running. On the fourth day, people started coming to the tavern.
Not because Igi's cooking had become legendary. But because he was one of the few people in the entire city who cooked something other than dry bread. Tables filled, glasses clinked, and Igi moved between stove and counter with efficiency — allocate resources, delegate, don't waste a single second.
Cooking was climbing. Level 2, then 3. Each level brought subtle improvement — new recipes in the System window, better taste with the same ingredients, more efficient processing. Points flowed. Slowly, but steadily.
Exactly as Igi had planned.
Fifth day.
Igi had just served a bowl of soup to two men who looked as if they'd spent the previous night outside the walls — dirty, with scratched-up hands and exhausted faces. One of them thanked him with such surprise in his voice, as if he'd never received anything for free in his life.
And then the door opened.
Not forcefully, not dramatically. It simply slid open quietly, and in walked a man who even in this new body and new world filled the room. He wasn't huge — average height, broad shoulders, short dark hair, and a beard that looked as if he'd trimmed it with a knife halfway through. But the way he moved — deliberately, aware of every step, eyes automatically scanning every table and every face — that manner was unmistakable.
Igi froze behind the counter. The soup ladle stopped in mid-air.
The man crossed the tavern, sat at the bar, and with haggard exhaustion leaned his elbows on the counter. When he raised his eyes to Igi, for a second nothing happened. Then something in his face broke — not from pain, but from recognition.
"Igi?"
That voice. Igi had listened to it for thousands of hours through voice chat — during raids, during wipes, during victories, during late nights when they talked about nonsense while waiting for a boss respawn. The voice that commanded thirty players to walk into fire, and they did, because trust didn't need explaining.
"Drax," said Igi, and set down the ladle.
Draxer — former guild leader, the man with whom Igi had spent the last twenty-eight minutes before the restart of reality — now sat before him in an inn, in a new body, in a new world, with the same expression in his eyes: a mix of exhaustion, determination, and that peculiar humor that keeps you alive when the world changes.
"So you cook," Draxer said, the corner of his mouth starting to pulse with a smile.
Igi placed a bowl before him. "And you came to eat. So which of us is more predictable?"
Draxer laughed. It was a short, dry sound — the exact same one Igi had heard through his headphones a few days ago, when they'd said their goodbyes. Then he took a spoon and tasted it.
"It's not great," Draxer said with his mouth full. "But compared to the dried meat they serve here, it's luxury."
Igi sat down across from him. For a while, they just looked at each other — two men in bodies they didn't know, in a place that didn't exist, in lives they hadn't chosen. And yet, in this moment, over a bowl of soup in an ancient inn, it felt right.
Draxer wiped his chin on his sleeve and leaned back. That look lit up in his eyes — the one Igi recognized — raid-leader mode. When Drax looked like that, it meant he had a plan.
"You know who I found here?" Draxer began, tapping his fingers on the table. "Fenix members. Half the old core."
Igi raised an eyebrow. "Who exactly?"
"Morga. That tank who carried us through Abyssal Rift when our roster fell apart. Then Kira — remember her? That elf girl who healed even in her sleep and cursed us out in Korean when we stood in the fire."
"I remember," Igi nodded. Something close to a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Kira once went on such a tirade after a wipe that three people disconnected from voice chat because they thought some virus had hacked us."
"So listen," Draxer leaned closer, his voice taking on the same tone he used before every raid — confidential, yet urgent. "Fenix rises from the ashes, Igi. I'm founding a guild. Same name, same spirit. Different rules, different world, but the core stays. Morg on tank, Kira on heals. I'm just missing one thing."
Igi knew what was coming. "DPS."
"Not just DPS," Draxer corrected him. "I need that one player I can always count on to do what needs to be done, no matter how insane the plan. The one who, in twenty years, never broke formation."
Igi was quiet for a moment. The sounds of the inn — clattering dishes, muffled conversations, crackling wood in the fireplace — filled the space between them.
"Drax, I currently have no combat talents," he said at last. "Nothing. Zero. I've been dumping everything into Cooking, and as of yesterday into Alchemy too. You know me — basics first, then combat."
Draxer waved his hand. "Doesn't matter. Levels will come. I don't care what you know now. I care about what you'll know in a month. And in a year." He tilted his head and squinted. "So... necromancer again? Like in Babylon?"
Igi paused for a moment. In Babylon, his necromancer was legendary — an army of undead that rolled over bosses like an avalanche. But that was in the game. Now...
"No," he said slowly. "Something more... acceptable."
Draxer raised an eyebrow. "Acceptable? You? Since when do you care what people think of you?"
"I don't," Igi snapped. "But in this world, we're not behind a screen. If I walk the streets surrounded by an army of rotting corpses, they'll either burn me at the stake or every potential ally I meet will run. Necro was perfect in the game. Here I need something similar, but..."
"But something that doesn't repel normal people from a hundred meters away," Draxer finished dryly.
"Exactly." Igi crossed his arms. "Golem Master."
Draxer stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth. "Golem Master," he repeated. "So instead of corpses you'll have..."
"Constructs. Stone, water, ice, metal — depends on the material and the level. Same principle as necro — I command the army, the army fights for me. But instead of decay and death, it's building and creating. Same DPS, same battlefield control, no stench of decomposing bodies."
Draxer slowly smiled. With that smile Igi always saw when their raid leader spotted something in a boss mechanic that everyone else had missed. "You had this figured out before you even stepped into that kitchen, didn't you?"
"I had five days," Igi replied calmly. "And cooking soup leaves plenty of room for thinking."
• •
Draxer leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "So? Fenix wants you back. Morg, Kira — they all asked if you were here. When I told them I was looking for you, Kira said, and I quote: 'If you find him, tell him that if he picked necro again, I'll personally swap his talent tree for herbalism.' End quote."
Igi almost smiled. "Tell her I chose golems. She'll have fewer reasons to curse."
"Kira always finds a reason." Draxer fell quiet and his expression turned serious. "But seriously, Igi. Out there it's the wild. Not a dungeon with mechanics we know. Real monsters, real death — well, immortality, but the death penalty is harsh. Alone, you don't stand a chance. None of us do."
"I know."
"So you're in?"
Igi looked out the window. The city was slowly sinking into dusk. A group of people with torches passed in the street — probably a new patrol someone had organized. The world was beginning to take shape. Rules were being written in real time, and those who were there when they were written would always have an edge.
Alone, he could cook soup and level Cooking until the end of time. Safe. Stable. And boring as watching grass grow.
"When do we start?" he asked.
Draxer slammed his palm on the table so hard the bowls rattled. "Tomorrow morning. Fenix meets at the south gate at seven. First objective — scout the surroundings, map the dangers, find resources. No heroics, just reconnaissance. Bring your cooking gear, because a camp without food is pointless."
"Of course," Igi nodded. "Cook, alchemist, and future Golem Master who currently can't even make a ball of clay. That'll be a trustworthy list of talents."
"That'll be the best list of talents in the whole city," Draxer corrected him as he stood up. "Because behind that list stands Igi. And I've seen what Igi can do when given time."
He extended his hand. Igi gripped it.
"Fenix," said Draxer.
"Fenix," Igi repeated.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Guild invitation: Player Draxer (Guild Master) invites you to the organization: FENIX.
"From the ashes, we rise stronger."
[ ACCEPT / DECLINE ]
Igi tapped ACCEPT.
Instantly, a guild chat activated in his peripheral vision. The first message flickered in the corner of the screen:
[Guild Chat — FENIX]
Kira: "If it's a necro, I'll kick him personally."
Draxer: "It's a golem master. Breathe."
Morg: "Igi cooks? Seriously? I want soup."
Igi closed the chat and started washing dishes. Tomorrow morning the world would change. But today he still had to finish the evening shift.
That was his nature — even on the brink of adventure, he washed the dishes first.
• •
Chapter X — Classroom, 8:00
• •
Igi was already standing behind the lectern when the last of the five crossed the threshold. Today he didn't wait for them to sit down. He spoke the moment the doors closed.
"Today will be short."
His tone was different from usual. Not strict — he was always that. This time it was quiet. And a quiet Igi was more dangerous than a shouting one.
"I know you have problems among yourselves."
Nobody moved. But Hazela slightly pressed her lips together, and Peter crossed his arms, trying to look indifferent, but his shoulders betrayed him — they were hard as stone.
Igi pierced them with his gaze from under the hood. "I won't pretend to be surprised. Where there are people, there are conflicts. That's normal. But what is not normal—"
The staff struck the floor. The sound resonated through the classroom.
"—is an attempt to kill a fellow combatant in a dungeon."
The silence was so thick you could cut it. Diana looked at Hazela, then at Peter. Kaelen just clenched his jaw.
• •
"Hazela," Igi said, his voice smooth as ice. "In the Crypt of the Damned, you fired an arrow toward Peter. Not at a skeleton. At Peter."
Hazela lifted her chin. There was no shame in her eyes — only stubborn elven defiance. "That human—"
"I didn't say you could speak."
The words cut her like a whip. The collar on her neck briefly glowed blue, and Hazela fell silent, though her eyes burned.
"As you've noticed," Igi continued calmly, "the arrow didn't hit Peter. Not because you aimed poorly — an elf at that range doesn't miss. The collar blocked your shot. It's one of its functions that I didn't tell you about, because I hoped I wouldn't have to explain it."
He paced before the blackboard, his staff tapping stone with every step.
"The collars prevent you from harming each other. Outside the Arena, you cannot use any attack against a fellow guild member — physical, magical, poison, none. The System simply won't allow it. If you want to fight each other, that's what the Arena is for. A safe place, controlled environment, no permanent consequences."
He stopped before them and crossed his arms.
"But the fact that the collar prevented you from causing harm doesn't mean nothing happened. The intent was there. And intent concerns me more than outcome."
• •
Igi leaned against the lectern, and his voice took on a tone they didn't recognize. Not strict, not cold. Threatening.
"So now I'll tell you what will happen next time someone among you starts thinking about attacking another."
He paused. He let the silence do its work.
"You will strip. Completely bare. Both of you. And for the next seventy-two hours, you will be together. Sleeping, eating, training, living — from morning to night, twenty-four hours a day, without a single second of privacy. No walls between you, no doors, no refuges. The collar will see to it."
Peter's eyes widened. Hazela froze in her seat, fingers clenched into the wood.
"And there's nothing you can do about it," Igi added in a light tone, as if discussing the weather. "Until you realize that you're in this together. That each of you has their own problems, their own pain, and their own reasons for anger — and that despite all of it, you must function as a unit."
• •
Peter raised his hand.
Igi looked at him. "Yes?"
Peter smiled — that nervous but bold smile of his that he always pulled out when trying to lighten the mood, even when his knees were buckling.
"I don't have a problem with our beauty, master. And I'll gladly accept the punishment. I'll sleep with her."
The classroom fell so silent you could hear Diana hold her breath. Kaelen looked at Peter with an expression that said: You just signed your own sentence.
Igi tilted his head. His expression couldn't be seen under the hood, but something in his posture suggested he was — perhaps, just perhaps — amused.
"Hmm," he murmured. "What punishment do you deserve..."
Peter stiffened. The smile slowly froze on his face, as if he'd just realized he'd walked into a room full of explosives carrying a lit torch.
• •
Hazela raised her hand.
"If you want to set the punishment," he said to Hazela, "you don't have to bother. I already know."
"For the next forty-eight hours, you won't be able to talk to Hazela. At all. She will only answer if I ask her. Otherwise — silence. And you can't get within five meters of her."
Peter opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Penalty activated: Peter