Chương 11: Floor 1

I stood there for a second, just rotating in place like a confused rotisserie chicken, taking in the majesty of the Plains of Cladea. If "legendary sagas" usually start in a place that looks like a high end golf course designed by someone on hallucinogens, then I was right on track. The grass was so green it actually hurt my feelings, and the air smelled like expensive laundry detergent and hope. But then I actually looked at what the "heroes" were doing.

A few yards away, a group of four guys, who I assumed were the elite vanguard of our civilization, were currently engaged in a life or death struggle with a single, highly motivated raccoon. This wasn't your average trash panda; the little beast was wielding a literal tree branch like a legendary greatsword, swinging it with a level of technical proficiency that was honestly embarrassing for the humans involved.

Every time the branch connected with a thwack, the players let out a collective cry of despair while the raccoon looked like it was one combo away from becoming the new king of the plains. Further down the hill, the "impending doom" vibe took a turn for the surreal. I watched a guy in beginner rags sprinting for his actual life, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated terror. Behind him, bouncing with the rhythmic fury of a thousand suns, was an angry carrot.

It wasn't just a vegetable; it was a root vegetable with a grudge and, from the looks of it, some very sharp leafy greens. The soundtrack to this "legendary beginning" was a beautiful symphony of absolute nonsense. To my left, someone let out a roar of triumph because they'd successfully poked a ladybug to death. To my right, I heard the heartbroken sob of a man who had apparently been outplayed by a blade of grass.

It was a chaotic dumpster fire of amateur hour athletics, a literal circus where the clowns were armed with sticks. And yet, as I watched a girl try to parry a butterfly, I felt a strange, warm sensation wash over me. It was comfort. It was the feeling of finally being among my people: the hopelessly incompetent. [Requirement updated. Please navigate toward the central Monolith to register for your introductory objective. It is strongly advised that you seek out a cooperative group or establish a formal party. Attempting this task as a solo entity is statistically synonymous with a death wish.] I squinted in the direction my high-end dental floss GPS was pointing, following that shimmering golden thread as it bobbed lazily toward a spot just past the massive sapphire vortex of a gate. It was like following a carrot on a stick, if the carrot was made of light and the stick was my own questionable destiny. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

In the distance, rising out of the sea of green like a giant, polished tooth, was a massive slab of white stone. It was the Monolith, and it was currently being swarmed by enough people to make a Black Friday sale at a tech store look like a quiet afternoon tea. I started walking, my boots crunching rhythmically against the grass as I got closer to the epicenter of the beginner-grade madness. As I approached, the sound went from a gentle hum to a full-blown auditory assault.

It was a cacophony of desperation and ambition.

"Level one warrior looking for a group! I have a sturdy bucket lid for a shield and a very positive attitude!" someone screamed over the din.

"Need a healer for the 'Slay Three Slightly Irritated Grasshoppers' quest! Must have own bandages and a high pain tolerance!" another voice bellowed from the thick of the crowd. It was like a job fair for people who didn't know how to hold a hammer. Everywhere I looked, players were frantically trying to form alliances, waving their hands and shouting their stats like they were selling used cars. But among the hopeful recruits, there was a darker, sadder layer to the social cake.

Scattered along the edges of the path were the ones who had already been chewed up and spat out by the economy of this "legendary saga."

"Spare a copper? Just one copper for a guy who lost his only sandal to a level 1 slug?" a player pleaded, holding out a dirty hand while looking like he'd just been through a tumble dryer full of gravel. There were dozens of them, players who were apparently so broke they couldn't even afford to go out and get beaten up by a vegetable. They were stuck in a loop of poverty, begging for enough gold to buy a weapon that wasn't a soggy baguette.

It was a sobering reminder that while I had a "stapler-gun" and a dream, some people were just one bad encounter away from becoming professional scenery. I kept my hand on my Training Prototype revolver, trying to look like a guy who definitely wasn't about to join the begging circle, and pushed my way toward the white stone. I decided to stow my trusty glorified stapler for a moment.

With a flick of my wrist, the Training Prototype revolver dissolved into a flurry of shimmering blue particles, sucked away into the invisible void of my pocket dimension. It was a neat trick, and honestly, the most magical thing I'd done all day besides not tripping over my own feet. I was just about to take that final, fateful step toward the Monolith when the sun suddenly decided to go on strike. A massive, rectangular shadow swallowed me whole, plunging my immediate vicinity into an artificial eclipse.

I froze, my brain immediately jumping to the conclusion that the giant carrot from earlier had called for backup. Then, a voice rumbled out of the darkness. It was deep. We're talking "tectonic plates grinding together" deep, or perhaps a cello being played inside a thunderstorm. The accent was thick, unmistakably Russian, and delivered with a gentleness that somehow made the sheer volume of it even more terrifying.

"A very good morning to you, my friend," the mountain of a man rumbled.

"I see you are making your way toward the stone of destiny. Perhaps you are seeking a quest? Might I interest you in joining forces for my own?" I slowly craned my neck back, and then craned it some more, and then just kept craning until I was basically staring at the clouds. Standing before me was an eight foot tall behemoth of a human being. He was built like a brick outhouse that had spent its entire life lifting other, smaller brick outhouses.

To complete the "absolute unit" aesthetic, he was draped in a black and white Adidas tracksuit that looked like it was holding on for dear life against his biceps. My internal HUD flickered to life, providing a helpful little label for the titan currently blocking my path. [Analysis complete. Target entity identified as Player. Current Status: Level 1.] Level one? How? This man didn't need a sword; he could probably just stare at a monster until it apologized for existing.

He looked down at me and beamed, flashing a wide, toothy grin that was genuinely heartwarming. He was like a giant, Slavic ball of sunshine that could accidentally crush a bear if he hugged it too hard. There was no malice there, just pure, unadulterated friendliness wrapped in several layers of premium polyester.