The night's chill had left me stiff and weary. When I finally opened my eyes, the timid light of dawn was breaking on the horizon, its first golden rays gradually illuminating the empty streets of Drakathen. I rose from my makeshift sleeping spot and brushed off the dust clinging to my coat—a testament to a night spent battling the relentless cold. Though my ragged clothes had kept death at bay, the experience had been anything but pleasant.
Around me, the city was beginning to stir. Sleepy merchants unfolded their stalls with slow, practiced motions, their wares spread out beneath the early light. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the faint smoke of distant furnaces. Still, there was nothing particularly inviting in this scene—only the persistent hum of a world that forces on, like a machine whose worn gears grind on in indifferent routine, much as I do.
I wandered to a nearby bench, heavy legs and a troubled heart urging me to take a moment's respite. I sat and exhaled deeply, allowing my thoughts to drift.
Orvhalis: A Cruel Land
Orvhalis is a merciless place—where the weak are trampled and the strong thrive. Yet beyond its brutal surface, the world holds secrets and mysteries I once ignored within the game. My earlier indifference now weighed upon me like a boulder. One such enigma was the Fellmire—a vast area shrouded in a thick, grayish fog. I remembered only that it had been introduced during the game's cutscenes, a detail I had dismissed as unimportant. Now, that oversight seemed a monumental mistake. I recalled that the Fellmire emerged after the war of long-forgotten sovereigns, but I knew little of their adversaries, the true nature of that conflict, or the mysteries hidden beyond the fog. All I was certain of was that crossing its boundaries was perilous—so perilous, in fact, that high-ranking guards were perpetually posted as sentinels.
And what of the taxes? In this world, citizens were burdened by exorbitant levies, yet there was no apparent improvement in their lives. Where did the money vanish to? Who was truly in control?
There was so much I did not know, so many questions still unanswered. My restless mind continuously sifted through scattered fragments of information, seeking clarity with every passing moment.
Shaking away these ponderings, I refocused on my immediate objective: the Hunting Portal. I recalled its mechanics with precision:
1) Timing: The portal opens every two weeks and remains active for one hour.
2) Mandatory Quests: Once inside, exit isn't immediate. A message indicates how many monsters must be slain—say, ten—and only upon meeting that requirement is a fighter free to leave; alternatively, they may choose to press on. For support classes, the quest parameters are tailored to their specialized skills, such as healing or protection.
3) Temporal Discrepancy: Time inside the portal moves far slower than outside—a single day within equates to one minute in the real world. Thus, if a fighter's loved ones grow anxious, they can pay for an "immediate recall" via the guild. Mages managing the portal then summon the fighter—if still alive. Should one member be recalled, the entire group is forced to return.
It was a ruthless yet ingenious system, designed to pressure and push every combatant to take risks. And me? I had nothing left to lose.
By the time the sun had climbed high, I spent what little money I had on a meager breakfast—a slice of dark bread and a weak, watered-down soup. It wasn't much, but it fueled me enough to press on. I watched as fighters of all kinds gathered in the square near the portal: warriors with gleaming swords and sturdy armor, mages cloaked in intricate robes, and archers with longbows etched in glowing runes. They carried robust packs brimming with resources and potions. In contrast, I possessed only my worn coat with its empty pockets and a common dagger—a difference that weighed heavily on me.
I sensed their stares. Some looked at me with quiet disdain; others exchanged silent, knowing glances. I was human—a race considered weak and untrustworthy in this game. Without words, their contempt spoke volumes: "He'll likely perish immediately," they seemed to think. And perhaps they were right. Yet, that very judgment ignited a burning resolve within me. Tired of being underestimated, I vowed to prove that even a human could defy expectation. In this world, races looked down upon us precisely because we were seen as likely to act treacherously—a stereotype based on actions that, all too often, turned out true.
Then came the guard's proclamation: "You may enter now! The Hunting Portal is open for one hour!" The murmur of the crowd swelled as warriors surged forward, each with a strategy of their own. I weaved through the throng, careful not to attract undue attention.
The portal itself was a sight to behold. Two towering black columns, embossed with intricate symbols pulsing with latent magic, rose from the ground. Between them, a shimmering, liquid surface quivered with energy. It wasn't merely a reflection of the sky—it was a gateway to another realm.
I stopped short before its luminous barrier. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a defiant challenge to my doubts. Every fiber of me urged retreat, yet I forced myself forward—one cautious step at a time—until I crossed into the unknown.
Chapter-End.