Might of Players

---Logan's POV---

I watched as the chat in the group continued.

[GameLord420]: By the way, who is this Viktor who can cast Fireball? The guy seems pretty skilled with magic.

[MemeKnight]: That would be the leader of our faction. The one who actually knows what he's doing, unlike some people here

[LootGoblin]: [Screenshot of obtaining Chronicles of Aeltia beta test qualification]

[LootGoblin]: Hahaha! I am also a beta tester now! Guess who just joined the elite club? (⌐■_■)

[MemeKnight]: Holy crap, where'd you get a beta slot? Aren't there only three players in this game right now?

[LootGoblin]: Hahaha, I wrote a 10,000-character essay in the comments section at the end of the application form. Pure passion, baby!

[Actually_Hitler]: You bastard! No wonder you went silent in the group earlier—you were busy securing a jackpot!

[MemeKnight]: The devs are clearly watching! I'm going to reapply right now!

[GameLord420]: I think my application wasn't detailed enough. I'm going back to edit it! What exactly did you write in that essay?

[LootGoblin]: A gentleman never kisses and tells~

I watched the group devolve into chaos, everyone scrambling to secure beta slots.

The newly qualified beta tester, LootGoblin, was immediately exalted.

Everyone wanted tips from him—surely there was a trick to getting into the beta test, right?

"Why'd only you get in when we all submitted applications?"

But LootGoblin, now with his beta status, got cocky and spent his time bragging, irritating everyone.

In frustration, the group quickly muted him.

But since he was also a group admin, he simply unmuted himself and went back to showing off.

[LootGoblin]: Perks of being an admin! You can't silence greatness!

The group descended into anarchy, with arguments flying everywhere. I couldn't stop laughing, my sides almost hurting from the hilarity.

Suddenly.

A user called "Pretender" joined the conversation.

[Pretender]: Heh, look at you water armies having fun all by yourselves

[Pretender]: How much of the scam money do each of you get from that 10 bucks fee?

[Pretender]: Even stooping to this kind of shady cash-grab. I'm so disappointed in you, NeverShowOff!

[Pretender has left the group chat]

My smile froze on my face.

Pretender had been one of my long-time fans. With their colorful bubble text standing out in the chat, there was no way I could pretend not to see it.

And that wasn't all. It was as if some agreement had been made in secret—more users started leaving the group one after another.

[MaytheWorldBeFreeofOnlineScams has left the group chat]

[TheInternetIsNotaLawlessPlace has left the group chat]

[BobTheBlob has left the group chat]

[...]

The exodus finally stopped after a while.

[GameLord420]: ... It's okay, bro. We believe in you. Bros before scam accusations!

[MemeKnight]: If you really wanted to make dirty money, you'd have joined the blind box craze all the big influencers were promoting last year. Remember when you turned down that sketchy NFT sponsor?

[LootGoblin]: Four years as a loyal fan, bro. Don't worry!

[Actually_Hitler]: NEIN NEIN NEIN! A company capable of such GLORIOUS battle effects would never disgrace themselves with such PETTY THEFT! These graphics alone deserve a place in the Gaming Hall of Fame! 10 bucks? PATHETIC! If they were scammers, they would aim higher, JA?

[LootGoblin]: Exactly. I just checked—only 12 people signed up. If it's really a scam, the devs would have the worst monthly revenue in the industry!

My heart warmed at their support.

[NeverShowOff]: It's okay. Time will prove everything. Things are already better than I imagined

[NeverShowOff]: It's getting late. Goodnight, everyone

[Actually_Hitler]: Got it, bro. A soldier must rest to fight another day! Only well-rested troops can defend our gaming honor! Rest well!

I quickly set my avatar to gray, showing I had gone offline.

[GameLord420]: Sigh, he's really hurt. He's saying goodnight at just 10 p.m.?

[MemeKnight]: He's probably crying quietly under the covers right now!

[LootGoblin]: Ah, the fragile hearts of today's youth...

I logged out of my chat app and immediately reopened the Chronicles of Aeltia promo video, which I had never actually closed.

"Whoa! Oh! So cool!"

I watched, captivated as I stared at the uncensored blood and monster fragments on the screen. "Look at that footwork! That's not animation, that's actual combat training!"

"Every time I watch this, I notice something new in the fighting moves!"

The magical effects in the promo were outstanding, and the logical, realistic melee combat was just as good! Even as a professional game reviewer, I couldn't find any flaws. If anything, it felt like watching a real-life combat tutorial.

Licking my lips, I grinned slyly. "Finally, the group chat quieted down. Time for another round of the promo!"

Click! Play!

After watching it countless times, I had even memorized the background music and hummed along as I watched.

Finally, satisfied, I leaned back with a happy sigh.

"This feeling... So good!"

Checking the time, I realized a new day had already begun.

"Time flies," I muttered, clicking my tongue.

I picked up my VR headset, only to find the game was still inaccessible. With a frustrated sigh, I put the headset back.

"If I can't log in tonight, my character will be two in-game days behind by morning."

"I wonder if my game character will starve to death."

I leaned back in my chair, wriggling like a restless worm.

"Argh, it feels like a thousand ants are crawling all over me! I need to play Chronicles of Aeltia! I'm gonna die without it!"

I desperately wanted to play.

---Third POV---

In Aeltia, the afternoon was peaceful with all the players gone.

Through the dense canopy above, sunlight filtered down in gentle rays, painting the forest floor with dappled shadows.

Edgar's climbing vines crept forward relentlessly.

Finally, as the last shadow of the dense forest fell behind him, his vision opened up.

Signs of human activity appeared in the distance.

After a long journey, he had finally left the Great Oak Forest.

The forest was filled with monsters, and its central region was a forbidden zone occupied by high-level magical creatures.

Yet, it's abundant magical resources and the buried treasures of a bygone era attracted countless adventurers and mages, who risked their lives to venture into its depths.

Where there was danger, there was opportunity.

Where there was opportunity, there were desperate souls willing to grasp it.

Where there were people, towns were formed, thus giving rise to Nary Town and Letscher City.

However, not everyone could afford fine clothes, live within the city walls, and enjoyed the protection of the city guards.

A significant portion of the lower-class population couldn't bear the high taxes of urban living and instead reside outside the city-state.

They survived by cultivating the tax-free, inexpensive lands near the Great Oak Forest.

All the while, they scrape together savings to secure a ticket that would allow them and their families refuge within the city when the magical tides inevitably arrive.

---

Blades of resilient grass covered the slopes, swaying with the wind. Only a few patches of land were exposed, revealing newly sprouting crops or crude wooden huts, resembling a few holes torn in an otherwise clean sheet of fabric.

Edgar deftly climbed over the hill.

He found a makeshift house of thatched grass tucked in a sheltered spot from the wind. The placement wasn't random—it offered a clear view of approaching visitors while remaining partially hidden from casual observation.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

He rapped rhythmically on the door three times.

However, silence greeted him from within.

There was no response.

His expression remained unchanged. "Stop pretending. I know you're in there."

Still, there was no answer.

He took a deep breath.

"This time, I've brought something more than Altari coins."

As soon as the words fell, a soft click sounded.

The tightly shut door creaked open.

An old man, wiry and dark-skinned, with sharp, wolf-like eyes, poked half of his body out. His weathered hands gripped the doorframe, ready to slam it shut at the first sign of trouble.

He scanned the surroundings warily. "These days, you can't be too careful..." Only after confirming there was no danger did he visibly exhale in relief.

The old man's name was Fuki.

It didn't sound much like a name, but such naming conventions were common among the lower classes in Aeltia. In fact, Fuki's name could even be considered elegant.

At least it wasn't something haphazard like "Fukju" or "Likmadig," names often derived from the weirdest thing...

Edgar had met him just a few days ago.

Fuki was a local bigshot, having lived here for five years and earned a good amount of respect.

From him, Edgar had purchased ten garments made of resilient grass and a pile of farming tools for twenty Altari coins.

Resilient grass grew prolifically and was abundant everywhere.

Its sturdy, low-moisture fibers made it easy to weave into clothing, making it the most common attire for the lower class.

The Kingdom of Yoan, to which Nary Town belonged, used a currency called Sol. Resilient grass clothing usually cost between 1 and 5 Sol. One Altari coin was worth 100 Sol.

Although it seemed Edgar had paid exorbitantly, the reality was that Fuki would have much preferred 100 Sol over 10 Altari coins. Currencies of too high a value often felt like burning coals in the hands of common folk.

For Edgar, due to his identity, such coins were practically useless anyway. The transaction a few days ago had been a fair exchange of mutual necessity within acceptable price ranges.

Now, Viktor had instructed him to procure more beginner gear for players.

Edgar immediately thought of Fuki as his trading partner.

Fuki stepped aside, creating enough space for the paladin to enter the pitch-black room. "Come in."

Edgar crossed the threshold, and the door promptly shut behind him.

The room, with its tightly sealed doors and windows, remained gloomy even in daylight.

Fuki fumbled around until he lit an oil lamp. "Darkness hides more than poverty," he muttered, positioning the lamp carefully.

"And sometimes reveals more than light," Edgar said, watching the shadows across the walls.

The flickering light barely illuminated the narrow room, which could be described as barebones—an empty shell of a home.

Aside from a table, a broken bed, a three-legged stool, and a few jars tucked in a corner, there was nothing else.

As Edgar observed the even barer room than the last time he visited, he remarked dryly, "Your act of poverty is a little overdone."

Fuki snorted. "How could a noble knight like yourself possibly understand the lives of us little people?"

He dragged a square stone from the corner to the table and wedged it beneath the three-legged stool. Although the stool was still unsteady, it was better than its earlier wobbly state.

Fuki plopped himself down on the stool, crossing one leg over the other. "Go ahead, former Knight of the Dawn who once brought the Radiant Church to the pinnacle of its glory in the Age of the Divine, only to deal it a crushing blow in the end... The infamous Fallen Blade, Edgar Raynor. What is it you wish to trade for this time?"

Edgar raised his eye. "Your intelligence isn't bad."

He scrutinized Fuki more carefully than during their first meeting. No matter how he looked at the old man, Fuki seemed like an ordinary human through and through, untouched by any magical modification.

And he was at the twilight of his life, only a few years from its end.

Yet, within two days, Fuki had managed to uncover his true identity!

"This level of information isn't something a drifter from the wastelands would have access to. Who exactly are you?"

Fuki chuckled hoarsely, his laughter rough with age, unpleasant to the ears. "When survival depends on information, you learn to gather it quickly." He leaned forward. "Heh, so I said it already—noble knights don't understand us little people's ways."

"If an old man like me can survive five years living next to monsters, I'd better be clever in other areas!"

"We don't know magic, so we hone the one skill we can—reading people."

Then, his tone shifted. "I've heard about The Watchers. We're all in the same sinking boat. Please, let's show some mutual understanding."

"Life is hard for everyone. This will be the last deal. After this, please don't come back."

To common folk, the mysterious world of magic and epochal battles had nothing to do with them. They only wanted to survive in peace.

The paladin narrowed his eyes slightly, mildly surprised. The old man's attitude was far more neutral toward the organization than he had anticipated.

Still, Edgar had nothing in common with the so-called "little people."

His surprise flickered briefly before disappearing, just as Fuki refrained from questioning the purpose of the traded goods. Edgar likewise chose not to pry into the old man's background.

He pulled out a prepared list of items.

"I need as many resilient grass clothes and farming or construction tools as you can provide. The more, the better."

Fuki' forehead throbbed with visible veins as he stared at the long list of tools.

So much for a fair trade—Edgar was utterly shameless!

Though the items listed were all basic tools, the sheer variety was overwhelming. Even the largest shop in Nary Town might struggle to gather them all at once.

The more Fuki read, the more regret consumed him. Had he known he'd be dealing with such a troublesome figure, he would've gone to hide in the town.

No, the moment he discovered Edgar's true identity, he should've packed up and moved overnight!

The further he read, the more his heart sank. Edgar had even listed a slew of iron weapons under the guise of farming tools.

Not even attempting to disguise their purpose—it left Fuki struggling to feign ignorance.