Chương 135: City of Players

He was met by a bustling city. Creatures of every conceivable race moved along the streets, chatting with one another about their own affairs, hurrying somewhere or simply strolling without any particular purpose. Skyscrapers rose overhead, seeming to stretch straight toward the sky itself, their peaks lost in a thin haze of clouds lit from below by the city's colorful glow.

Small flying platforms flickered between the buildings now and then, carrying cargo or the occasional passenger, and somewhere in the distance came the steady, muffled hum of thousands of voices, merging into the single continuous noise of a great city. Dozens of mismatched signs and advertisements crowded the building facades, flaring up in colorful lights, shimmering, cycling through one image after another, as if competing for the attention of any passerby.

Some advertised potions and relics for dungeon runs, others restaurants, from which drifted the scent of unfamiliar but incredibly appetizing food, while still others simply played bright, abstract clips whose meaning Lloyd couldn't quite grasp. Suddenly, something rushed by overhead, along rails strung between the buildings — a train that looked so new and sleek it seemed to have been pulled straight out of some distant future.

Its smooth, polished sides reflected the light of the signs, and it moved almost silently, leaving behind only a faint hum and a brief gust of warm wind.

In fact, everything around him looked as though it belonged to some far more advanced era — except for the Players, who stood out clearly against the backdrop in armor that looked like something knights might have worn a couple hundred years ago: heavy pauldrons, plate mail darkened with age, marked here and there with the scars of old, long-healed dents — a strange, almost absurd contrast against all this gleaming, fast-paced modernity.

Lloyd drew a deep breath of the cool evening air, tinged with a mix of machine oil, something frying at a nearby street stall, and a faint electric freshness usually felt after rain, even though the sky above the city remained perfectly clear.

"My home world," flashed through his mind, and for a moment something warm, almost forgotten, stirred in his chest, as if only now had he truly understood that he was actually back. He let the breath out and set off down the bustling streets, looking around with the curiosity of someone long unaccustomed to such sights.

Creatures of every possible appearance passed him by — some tall and lean, their skin tinted a faint blue, others short and broad-shouldered, wrapped in dark hooded cloaks — and none of them seemed to pay him any particular attention, as if such diversity were the most ordinary thing in the world for this city. He'd gone only a couple of meters when his attention was caught by one of the massive screens mounted directly on the side of a skyscraper, glowing bright, almost blinding against the deepening dusk.

On the screen, a battle was underway between two Players — they circled one another, moving so fast that Lloyd could barely follow their strikes, which blurred into smeared, nearly indistinguishable streaks. Passersby kept stopping nearby, craning their necks to watch the duel, some loudly commenting on what was happening, others placing bets on the spot, transferring credits — the local digital currency — to one another through small glowing bracelets on their wrists.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. This fight was taking place at the Heavenly Arena — a place where battles between Players could earn all sorts of rewards. But the greatest reward of all was the Heavenly Tournament.

It was held once every three years, and the winner received untold riches, the rarest of relics, and a fame that would follow him for the rest of his life, turning the champion's name into something like a legend that people would still be telling stories about in taverns and town squares for years to come. The corners of Lloyd's mouth turned down on their own, and his eyebrows followed suit a moment later.

"But at my level, I can forget about the Heavenly Tournament for at least the next century," he thought with a touch of bitterness, turning away from the screen and continuing on his way.

After a few more blocks, past storefronts filled with strange goods and street vendors all clamoring to sell their wares — relics that might or might not have been genuine, unfamiliar-looking fresh fruit, amulets glowing faintly from within — Lloyd stopped at a small shop to buy himself a cup of coffee, a habit he'd somehow managed to hold onto even after everything he'd been through lately.

Almost instantly, thin blue tentacles emerged from the shop's window, carefully and deftly handing him his finished order, wrapped in a paper cup bearing the shop's logo. He held his wrist up to a small glowing scanner beside the window, and with a short, quiet beep, a handful of credits were deducted from his account. Payment made, he continued on down the road, sipping his drink unhurriedly and taking in everything around him with interest. For some reason, the whole scene fascinated him immensely.

Before the Catastrophe, he'd never been fond of loud, crowded places — quite the opposite, in fact; he'd avoided them whenever he could.

"So what is it about all this that has me so captivated now?" he wondered, taking another sip of the hot, slightly bitter coffee, feeling the warmth of the cup slowly thawing his chilled fingers. He walked on unhurriedly, passing another intersection where a small glowing sign hovered right in the middle of the road, politely warning pedestrians about the cleaning drones patrolling just above head height.

Somewhere nearby, a group of young Players burst out laughing, apparently having just returned from a successful run, and for a moment Lloyd felt a small pang of envy — at how light and carefree they seemed, as though everything he himself had been through was nothing more than an everyday adventure to them. Lost deep in his own thoughts, he didn't notice a figure appear right in front of him until he collided with it with a dull thud.

From the sudden impact, the coffee splashed out of the cup, spreading in a dark stain across the pavement and over something else — whatever it was he'd run into — while Lloyd himself, losing his balance, crashed to the ground with a thud, painfully striking his elbow against the hard pavement.

And then, through the noise of the crowd and the general din of the city, Lloyd heard a strangely familiar sound — a short, steady hiss, coming from the spot where the hot liquid had spilled, as though the coffee, on contact with something, had briefly let out a hiss, like steam being released, or a flame being doused in water.

There was nothing frightening or unsettling about the sound itself — an ordinary, unremarkable noise, the kind you could hear anywhere in a city like this — and yet, for some reason, it instantly stirred something fairly recent in Lloyd's memory: fragments of images, vague sensations, something familiar and elusive that he couldn't quite pin down, but which made him freeze there on the ground for a moment, as if trying to recall something important.