Five days had passed since the launch of Continent of Destiny's closed beta. Aside from getting mercilessly flattened by a mysterious game boss on day one, the players were thriving.
They had effectively seized Silversky Town, transforming it into their starting zone. From this hub, they pushed out into the surrounding wilderness, exploring, grinding, and building.
Aided by magic, manpower, and a slate of new policies, Silversky Town had undergone a radical transformation. The most obvious change was the crop of new, red-brick houses sprouting up along the streets.
Each was built to the player-owner's unique, and often bizarre, specifications, creating a jarring but vibrant architectural contrast to the town's original timber-and-plaster buildings.
The players had thrown themselves into construction with a fervor that bordered on obsession; many hadn't even bothered to level up, prioritizing the creation of their perfect virtual home.
Next came the public toilets. At the fervent insistence of the beastkin, their Saintess had enacted Silversky's first new law: all residents, human and beastkin alike, were required to use designated public facilities. Improper waste disposal would result in severe penalties.
The original human townsfolk were baffled by the rule, but with the beastkin now in charge, they complied with the seemingly pointless ordinance.
Within three days, the change was undeniable. The streets were clean, the packed-earth roads free of filth and refuse.
The players weren't surprised. The more time they spent with the beastkin, the more they understood them. They were a race of people who, despite their general weakness, possessed an incredible passion for life. They strove to make their environment as clean and comfortable as possible, sometimes to a fanatical degree.
It was a trait they shared with elves, but where elves were proud and aloof, the beastkin were gentle and friendly. They meticulously groomed themselves daily—trimming their nails, brushing their fur, and tending to their ears and tails.
Though they had no natural body odor, they seemed almost compulsively driven to maintain a state of absolute, fragrant cleanliness. Even male beastkin would crush a type of local herb, similar to mugwort, and apply the juices to their skin to repel insects.
This obsession with cleanliness culminated in the town's new public bathhouse. It was constantly occupied, and any player hoping for a wash had to endure a long queue of fastidiously clean beastkin.
With a safe haven, the beastkin no longer had to hide. They walked the streets openly, their faces bright with a hope and vitality that had been absent before. The players, living in harmony with them, had now generally reached level 10—the threshold for their first class advancement.
The task was simple in theory: independently kill a Tier 1 magical beast.
In practice, it was anything but. Mindlessly spamming skills wouldn't work. The game required a degree of mastery over one's abilities. A player didn't have to replicate the skill description flawlessly, but their form had to be precise, their movements fluid and connected.
As a result, many were still stuck, unable to advance. But it was only a matter of time. With practice, their understanding would deepen, their muscle memory would improve, and they would all eventually meet the condition.
On the newly constructed town wall, a group of players sat on the stone ramparts, leaning against the crenellations as they shuffled a deck of Gwent cards. They had all accepted the sentry duty quest.
The objective was simple: patrol the wall for a set amount of time and then collect a reward from the Saintess. It was a relaxed, AFK-style quest, and the limited slots were snatched up within minutes every morning.
Of course, none of them were actually standing guard. The panoramic view of rolling pastures and distant, majestic mountains was nice, but one can only stare at a landscape for so long before it becomes a boring screensaver. Most of their time was spent chatting and playing cards.
TestosteroneRex was one of today's lucky few.
The very same TestosteroneRex who had once proclaimed, "If this game gets popular, I will literally eat a bag of dicks," was now a die-hard Continent of Destiny fanatic. He'd gladly stay logged in 24/7 if he could, even if it meant being called the Sausage King every single day.
A player in the middle of a card game saw him approaching and grinned. "Yo, Sausage King! Back on wall duty?"
TestosteroneRex didn't answer. He just pulled a Gwent deck from his system inventory, slapped it on the stone floor, and announced, "Who's up for a few rounds?"
"Deal me in."
They quickly immersed themselves in the fun of the card game, completely unaware that a figure was approaching them.
…
"So, you guys just play cards up here? Isn't that a little like, dereliction of duty?" A calm male voice spoke from behind them.
The players were too absorbed in their game to even look up.
"Duty? Man, screw duty," one fired back. "You think I'm grinding this wall for chump change? Can't level, no decent drops. All we can do is hide up here, play some cards, shoot the shit. It's a lifestyle."
"For real. We're the real ones up here," another chimed in. "Lookin' good and playin' better."
"Oh yeah," a third said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "We freakin' love it here."
"Besides, who's gonna attack this place? Silversky's got jack-shit for loot."
"And if they do? Pfft. We're Murderhobos, right? Let 'em come."
"It's been dead for weeks," the first player added. "The only action we got was that Lord of Frostfell dude. Since then, nothing but rescued beastkin. Even the merchants don't come through anymore."
…
"And what if the Lord of Frostfell decides to come back?" the man's voice asked again.
At that moment, TestosteroneRex was on the verge of victory. He slammed his final, game-winning card onto the pile, feeling like a god. He overheard the question and, without a second thought, put his hands on his hips and let out a booming laugh.
"If I see the Lord of Frostfell again? I'll personally dropkick him right off this wall!"
A cold, humorless smirk touched Alistair's lips. With a heavy CLANG, he drove the tip of his greatsword into the stone between the cards. He spoke slowly, his voice dangerously calm.
"Is that so? Why don't you show me?"
"You're not the Lord of For—" TestosteroneRex started, his voice faltering as he finally turned. His bravado evaporated. His eyes went wide. His voice twisted from a confused mumble into a raw scream. "Oh. Oh, crap. HOLY CRAP! THE Lord of Frostfell IS BACK!"
He scrambled backward, nearly choking. Standing there, sword planted in the stone, was the Lord of Frostfell himself.
Behind him, arrayed in silent, perfect ranks, was an army of armored soldiers, their killing intent a palpable force. And more terrifyingly, peering over the edge of the wall from the outside were ten massive, snarling bull heads, their eyes locked directly on him.
"SHIT! HE'S HERE TO TAKE THE CITY!"
"FUCK THIS, I'M OUT! I just hit level ten, I'm not getting reset to zero again!"
"That's a… a very large… bull… head… waaaah!"
After the initial shock, the players scattered like birds, stumbling and crawling over each other to get off the wall. They immediately threw open their public channel menus.
!!! THE Lord of Frostfell IS BACK !!!
HE BROUGHT AN ARMY!
AND MINOTAURS
Let's just bail, Silversky is done for…
Bail? FUCK THAT! LET'S DO THIS! I WANT TO EAT STEAK!!
The news spread like wildfire. Within minutes, every player in the area had gathered at the town gate, weapons drawn, ready to defend their respawn point to the death. Whatever happened, they couldn't lose their starting zone. That would be the ultimate humiliation.
Riven was among them. He had spent every waking moment of the past few days training, grinding, and assigning quests to other players to farm experience for himself. All of it was for the moment he would meet the Lord of Frostfell again and claim his revenge.
He was now level 20. According to his precise calculations, activating his Breakthrough skill would skyrocket him to the terrifying heights of level 54.
He would become a Sky Knight. Today, the Lord of Frostfell would die!
"You arrogant bastard," Riven snarled, his face contorting into a mask of fury. "I wasn't even looking for you, and yet you dare show your face here again?"
"Fine! Today you will learn the price for provoking me!"
"CHAAARGE—!"
His eyes bloodshot, his teeth grinding with rage, Riven threw himself forward like a rabid beast. He activated Breakthrough, his power surging, his status panel flashing—
[Name] Riven
[Identity] Mayor of Silversky Town, Child of Destiny
[Power Level] 47 (Earth Knight) (Temporary)
...
"Huh?"
Riven skidded to a halt. Wait. Where's level 54? Why did it only go up by two?
He blinked, looking at his status. Then he looked at the Lord of Frostfell, who stood at the town gate, watching him with a cold, unimpressed expression, a sea of grim-faced soldiers at his back.
Riven swallowed, an almost imperceptible motion. He then silently, slowly, began to back away, melting into the crowd of players behind him.
This isn't cowardice, he told himself. It's a strategic retreat. He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day. Discretion is the better part of valor. Patience is a virtue…
His inner monologue of tactical wisdom ended in a silent, pathetic wail.
But my Breakthrough charge… I wasted my ultimate… sob…
Unlike Riven, who was having a complete meltdown, the other players were starting to notice something strange. The Lord of Frostfell and his troops weren't glowing red. Their health bars were yellow, indicating a neutral status.
As long as the players didn't attack, he wouldn't either.
"What's going on?" someone asked. "Isn't he here to attack us? To take back Silversky?"
The players looked at each other, utterly baffled.