Chapter 3: Too Far to Look Ahead

No HP or MP.
No skills or quests either.

To be precise, there’s no window displaying them.

I’ve got a minimap, an equipment window, but why are those missing?
It doesn’t quite make sense, but whatever.
Guess I can only rely on myself.
Ugh, that sounded so cringey.

No quest window to guide me.
I have to figure out what to do and make my own choices.

No skill window listing my abilities.
No system to automatically guide my movements.

I have to know and manage my own state.

Freedom feels this heavy and terrifying, huh?

I glance at the minimap again.
Countless red dots in the purple zone.
Blue dots struggling to break through.
It doesn’t look easy.

They’re outnumbered from the start.

Plus, the central red dot keeps replenishing the others.
The blue side doesn’t seem to have backups.
Some are even dropping out, one by one.

What should I do?

I don’t have enough information.

Knowledge is power.
What kind of world is this?
What are those things?
Who are the Hunters, and are they safe for me?
How will they treat me?
I don’t know anything for sure yet.

If I go out there, it’s like saying, “Here, eat me!”

Rational decisions are what keep me alive.

Freedom means taking full responsibility for my actions.

The red dots don’t decrease.
The blue dots are slowly retreating from the front line.

Are they finally pulling back?
But some blue dots stay behind.
If everyone fled at once, it’d be a massacre.
A few must be holding the line to buy time.

What choice should I make?
That question keeps swirling in my head.
Round and round.
Like an unsolvable knot.
Dangerous.
The word from the archive’s documents flashes in my mind.
Danger, danger.
The monsters out there, the Hunters, what they carry.

The risk is my very existence.

Those Hunters—should I help them?
Even a baby could see this situation is dangerous.

They seem to be retreating.
But not completely.
Are they regrouping at the edge of the purple zone?
I zoom in on the minimap as far as it goes, but no more blue dots appear.

That’s all of them, then.

I look at the red dots again.
A few times, a chunk of them vanished instantly, but that’s it.
Their numbers have already surpassed the original count.

They’re losing ground while the enemy grows.

If they clash again, the Hunters will lose.
Hunters—people—could die.
But me?
Help them?
How?

Crunch.

My hand tightens unconsciously.
Nothing’s visible in my grip, but something solid asserts its presence.
The cold feel of a rod.

“Oh.”

Right, I forgot.

The transparent gear costume I bought for the price of a meal.
It just makes equipped weapons or gear invisible.
I put it on before exploring, but only now does it sink in.

The rod I’m holding—it’s the “Nemesis Staff.”
A level 150 cleric-only weapon.
The only properly enhanced and enchanted item in my arsenal.
A near-endgame piece.
The only name I bothered to memorize.
That’s how precious it is.

For a free-to-play player like me, it’s endgame-tier.
Especially tailored to my class and talent.

My class is Berserker.
Your typical greatsword-wielding character.
No mana, hence no need for it.
When health drops, attack power and speed increase.
Passive true damage that ignores defense.
High raw damage, low scaling—a free-to-play player’s dream.
Praise the Godserker.

And why does a Berserker use a staff, you ask?
That’s where the “talent” system comes in.

To put it simply, it’s a system separate from your class, adding variety to the game.

For example:
Double-jumping in midair with casting abilities.
Turning a dodge into a brief invincibility skill.
Reviving or gaining temporary invincibility.
Or using weapons from any class.

Staffs rely on magic as their base stat.
But Berserkers deal fixed damage with high raw output and low scaling.
If a staff’s unique ability outshines a greatsword’s, you pick the staff.

I look at the invisible Nemesis Staff.

Stats, magic—none of that matters.
I check the unique ability below.

[Unique Ability / Toggle, Permanent Duration]

• The Nemesis Staff lets the user surrender to vengeful emotions, boosting their power.

When health is above 30%, deals fixed damage equal to 10% of max health per second.
When health is below 30%, recovers 4% of max health per second.
When active, all normal attacks are critical hits.
When active, all attacks are guaranteed to hit.

For its original owner, a mage, it’s a gimmick weapon.
Equip it, and a few hits from a random monster turn you into paper.

But for a Berserker, whose damage spikes at low health, it’s perfect.

Thanks to a player named [GirlsArePrettiestWhenCrying] who posted about it, the Nemesis Staff let free-to-play Berserkers dominate mid-tier raids.
Fck, what’s with that username?

Of course, it’s useless beyond that.
The talent, once considered trash, shone again because of this.

Free-to-play Berserker playstyle: keep health low, close in, swing the staff with boosted attack power and speed, deal fixed damage and constant criticals, store damage from the item and other sources, then unleash it with a skill to obliterate bosses.
A true badass is born.

Well, for free-to-play players.
High-spenders have different characters.
Their weapons have these options as standard.
Plus, staffs rely on magic stats.
Your growth caps out here.

Also, fixed health-based damage can kill you instantly.
Health always at 30%?
Yay!
(Boss’s brutal AOE attack.)
Wah, dead.

That’s the history behind this weapon.
Its price skyrocketed, out of reach for free-to-play players.
High-spenders use it for alt characters.
Worst user ever: [GirlsArePrettiestWhenCrying].

I begged my friend for it, and the satisfaction when I got it still lingers.
Back then, nothing scared me.
As a player, those were truly fun times.

I snap out of my thoughts and check the minimap.
Maybe because I was thinking about the game, this feels like a game’s prologue.
Like some grand adventure’s about to start.

This is why games are dangerous.

“You wake up in an unknown place and head toward a strange noise.”

Probably something like that.

I recall the first scene when I launched the game.
Similar to now, but in a forest, I think.

Thinking about it now, it’s laughable.
I think the first quest was to save someone under attack.
So many similarities.
Except now, it’s multiple people.

What made me think I could save them?
I knew nothing.
Am I an idiot?

“Sigh…”

Like an idiot.

My body heats up.
Like my blood’s boiling.
Why’s this happening?
My heart starts pounding like crazy.

I really shouldn’t do this.

I look at the minimap again.
The blue dots are mostly evacuating now.
Only two remain in the zone.

It’s dangerous.
Life’s unpredictable, every moment a crisis.
Do I tremble in fear or move forward with the best plan?

The world outside the blanket is dangerous, but I can’t stay under it forever.

If it’s come to this, I’ll do what I want.
With a plan, of course.

I’ve always lived doing what I wanted.
Like an idiot.

“At the building’s center, there’s a [Gate] or [Gatekeeper], or both.
The blue dots—Hunters—are potentially dangerous, so avoid contact.”

Hit fast and run.
That’s my plan.

Hunters are a problem too.
I don’t know what they do or what kind of group they are.

“All I can do is take out that central thing.
If Hunters approach, I escape, no matter what.”

Since this world’s similar to mine, I’ll head to a city.
Hit up a library or an internet café for info.
Sleeping… I’ll figure it out.

Homelessness sounds kinda romantic.

I stand up.
Destination: the building’s center, a circular plaza-like space.
The red dot inside.

Sorry, Erosion Entity.
I’m in a shtty mood today.

I’m coming to wreck you.