"Welcome to Ancient Myth, warrior."
The voice washed over Tony like sunlight through glass—clear, unplaceable, both intimate and vast. Images unfurled behind his eyelids: continents stitched from memory and myth, cities carved into mountain ribs, oceans where leviathans played. He felt the world assemble around him in a sequence so cinematic it stole his breath.
Urisun. A name that smelled of old maps and older wars.
In the cutscenes he watched, Urisun was populous and proud: humans trading along riverways, elves tending silver groves, dwarves hammering star-iron beneath basalt, giants moving like living hills, dragons circling the peaks like royalty. For ages they had kept to their own—alliances fragile, borders respected, hatred and admiration balanced into uneasy peace.
Then the gate cracked.
The portal between worlds, the thin seam that had always been sealed, burst open like an infected wound. From it poured the Underworld and the Demon Realm—savages in shapes that flinched at the mind to recall. They came like a storm with teeth. Villages smoked, fields drowned in blood, and the three great realms—mortal, demon, under—consumed each other in a slaughter that textbooks would call apocalyptic.
Tony watched heroes rise from that crucible: commoners who became legends overnight, demigods who held back tides of fiends, and one name whispered with a mixture of worship and fear—the Mortal Emperor who sealed the gate at the cost of his own divinity. After a thousand years the scars faded into new cities, statues, songs. Civilization rebuilt. The story closed itself like a saved file.
Tony blinked and found himself standing on clouds.
The scene shifted from tableau to present: the sky was a cathedral of white, wind stroking him with a cool breath, birds weaving a music that might have been composed to lull gods. Objects of light hung around him—spheres, sigils, weapons spinning slowly in impossible balance. And in the center of the vision, a woman walked out of nothing: white dress like moonlight, hair the color of river foam, eyes that looked at him as if they were appraising a curious insect.
He tightened his stance.
Training had taught him to never be distracted—never let beauty or fear unbalance the mind. Losing focus was a luxury he could not afford. The woman's presence, however, moved something in him; for a fraction of a second the world thinned and he felt foolish for being human.
She smiled, but it was not a warm smile. It was a measured tilt, an expression that might be used when one decides which of many toys to play with first.
"You remain composed," she said. Her voice threaded through his head, like glass ringing. "A blessed one, then. Tell me—what shall I call you, young warrior?"
Tony drew himself up and answered before his tongue could betray him. "Mad Demon," he said. The nickname had come to him as a defiant badge; in the Abyss he had earned it. On impulse, it felt right to claim it here.
The goddess nodded, faint amusement in the arch of her brow. "Mad Demon. A domineering name—suitable."
She lifted a hand and eight illusions bloomed before him—figures of armor and posture, each representing a class. They shimmered like mirages: Guardia Knight, Summoner, Priest, Hunter, Swordsman, Berserk, Thief, Mage. The guide spread had promised generic explanations for beginners, nothing personal. This was… different.
"In Ancient Myth there are eight paths," the woman intoned. "Each soul has affinities. If you wish, I will tell you which align with yours."
Tony's heart hiccuped. In the manual, the guide only catalogued classes. Personal advice—this was the stuff of legends and old myths. He swallowed a grin. "I'd be glad to hear it."
Her fingers drew through the air. Four of the illusions dulled—Guardia Knight, Summoner, Priest, Hunter—until they were little more than smoke. "These have low compatibility with you," she said. "They will be a struggle. You can still learn, but your ascent will be slow."
She pointed to the remaining four. "Swordsman, Berserk, Thief, Mage. Swordsman and Berserk are the closest resonance. Thief and Mage can follow. My counsel—Swordsman. It is, in form and spirit, carved for you."
Tony felt a warmth of approval swell in his chest. Of course he would choose a sword. The blade sat where balance and etiquette met violence; it was his language. "It was my choice already," he said. "Your words don't change it, but they do boost my confidence."
A smile crossed her face, and at that moment Tony believed the scene was a reward for something—an audition, a test. He tapped the swordsman illusion.
Light poured down like a curtain. For five seconds Tony felt the world compress into a single, delicious point. Then the world unfolded and his body wore new clothes.
The armor was black as a crow's wing with faint, ghostly white veins running like lightning across the weave. It fit him like a memory. Five pieces—sword, chest, gauntlets, greaves, boots—materialized and settled around him with a soft chime. The sword at his hip, though, stole his gaze.
It looked like a katana—slim, elegant—but no ordinary blade. Its four-inch edge sang with darkness. The steel was black, veins of red like a heart's pulse traced along the blade. The hilt was wrapped in crimson leather; a single gem glowed at the pommel. He drew it on instinct and the weight was perfect, whispering death and promise in the same breath.
He tapped the floating description, hungry.
[Name: Humming Blade]
[Type: Unique]
Durability: 110/110
Attack Power: +15
Attack Speed: +10
• Deals an additional 30% damage to monsters.
• Increases critical rate by 50% when attacking monsters.
• Increases monster drop chance by 20%.
The numbers made his chest ache with something close to joy. He wasn't even level one and yet he held an item that could tilt the scales of early play. For a solo player, a high-drop, monster-focused sword like this was a dream. For a swordsman like him it bordered on obscene.
He laughed aloud—low and delighted. "What the hell. Level zero and I'm already blessed."
The goddess' eyes flickered once, and for a breath she looked… startled. Only for a heartbeat. Then her expression smoothed, like a lake returning after a stone. Tony noticed the change and felt a sliver of unease. If a goddess could be taken aback by his sword, then the sword was no simple starter kit.
"You are fortunate," she said, though the words carried a note he could not place. "That blade will draw attention. Guard it well."
"Will do," he said, running a thumb along the hilt. It hummed—not an audible sound, but a thrum in his bones, like a promise of things to come.
She tilted her head. "Choose your realm to begin. The three major regions each have their own temperament—peaceful, balanced, and chaotic. Your spirit calls for battle. I sense you will not begin in peace."
Tony felt the old thrill rise: the hunt. "Send me where there is chaos. Where the fights never end." He raised the Humming Blade and pointed it to the sky, a grin twisting his lips.
"Expected," she murmured. "Then go. Meet your destiny."
She waved a hand and the cloud-stage dissolved. The world slotted into place with the disorienting clarity of arrival: a market square, the smell of fried bread and horse oil, banners flapping, players and NPCs blended in a living tapestry. The city was a bastion of noise; a lamplighter argued with a merchant; a child chased a mechanical fox; in an alley, two men were already arguing over a quest board.
Everything felt absurdly real—sun on skin, grit underfoot, the metallic tang of a weapon owner's sweat.
Tony flexed his fingers around the hilt. The Humming Blade tasted of potential. Around him avatars—other new players—were fanning out, some awed, some already sprinting. He scanned the faces, his eyes hungry for the first test. This was the beginning not only of a game, but of a path he intended to carve into legend.
"First day," he breathed, half to himself. "First blood."
A corner vendor hawked potion samples. A group of novice fighters sparred in the square for coin. A boy tripped and his satchel burst, spilling a handful of low-tier herbs onto the cobbles. The world moved on, and beneath its bustle Tony heard only one thing: the battlefield calling.
He smiled, and in the cradle of that smile the name he had taken—Mad Demon—felt less like a boast and more like a fate.
"I will make this world tremble," he said, and the Humming Blade thrummed in answer.