From above, the forest stretched like an endless green sea. A single figure trudged through it , armor-clad, hammer on his back, a lone man against the wild. Each step was heavy yet steady, the march of someone who had trained not only his strength but his endurance.
William's breath came in ragged bursts, each step sinking into the soft earth of the forest path. The Warhammer pulled at his shoulders, the armor clinked with every motion, and sweat traced hot lines down his back.
He had trained for this ,hours in the gym, weeks spent pushing his stamina beyond its limit , but Neural Odyssey had a way of making even the strongest players feel small.
He straightened, rolling his shoulders to ease the weight. Marching alone through endless trees was nothing new. He had grown used to it, as had many others who wanted to play the game; strength alone wasn't enough ,you needed lungs, legs, and the stubborn will to keep moving.
Just as William was about to give up hope, he caught sight of a distant silhouette on the horizon ,something moving slowly in his direction. His heart leapt. finally Civilization.
It was a relief, he had been marching for hours in full plate armor, burning through an estimated two to four three calories. He urgently needed to eat before it began to affect his in-game physique.
The game was merciless. Every player spawned at a default weight ,eighty kilos, strong enough to fight. But the longer you played, the more the world devoured you.
Miss too many meals and you shrank, stamina dropped, blows lost their force, armor felt twice as heavy. Only death reset the balance, returning your body to its baseline.
The shape ahead resolved into a mule-drawn cart, its wheels groaning with every turn. Perched on the rough boards were two men dressed in threadbare tunics, their shoulders hunched from years of toil. Beside them sat a boy and a girl, clothes patched and faded, their bare feet dangling above the rutted road.
William lifted a gauntleted hand in greeting. At once, the mule slowed, and the cart rolled to a stop. The men exchanged quick glances, then slid down from their seats. Without a word, they dropped to their knees before him, heads bowed low in the dirt.
For a moment William could only stare. All this, simply because of my armor? They think me a lord…But of course men in plate armor were very rare at this time only nobles could wear them.
Movement caught his eye ,the children had scrambled down after their fathers. Mimicking them, they pressed their tiny knees into the soil, trying to bow just as deeply.
The boy's brow furrowed in concentration, while the girl stifled a nervous giggle, sneaking a glance upward before ducking her head again.
The sight pulled at William's heart more than the men's reverence ever could. A smile tugged at his lips under his helm before he could stop it.
He stepped forward. The men's heads jerked up, their eyes widening in alarm as he approached the children. One of them half-rose as if to intervene, but froze under the weight of William's armored presence.
The little girl herself shrank back at first, clutching at her brother's sleeve, her wide eyes flicking between William's helm and the ground.
William slowed, softening his stance. He bent low, his gauntlet open and harmless. After a moment's hesitation, he reached out and lifted the girl into his arms.
A gasp escaped one of the men. The girl stiffened, uncertain—until William tossed her gently into the air. Her fear shattered in an instant, replaced by delighted laughter that rang out like bells. William laughed with her, the sound warm and unrestrained.
The men stared in disbelief, caught between confusion and awe.
The men gaped in silence, unsure what to make of a "lord" who played with children as though he were kin.
No matter how many times William played this game it always amazes him how lifelike these npc act and look.
"My..MY lord ? asked the men confused
"I am no lord so you need not to bow to me" William replied with a grin, still balancing the girl on his arm as she toyed with the plume on his helm. "I am a knight."
"A knight?" the man repeated, glancing at his brother as though to confirm he'd heard correctly. At last, he straightened and bowed low.
"My name is Aldred, my lord, and this is my brother Athelstan. These are my children, Edith and Harold."
William shifted the girl in his arms, offering his free hand to her with a smile."My lady, it is an honor to meet you."
The child hesitated, unsure of the gesture, before placing her tiny hand against his gauntlet."Nice to meet you as well… my lord,".
William chuckled softly before turning his gaze back to Aldred. "My name is Gwyndolin and I would be grateful if you could guide me to the nearest city. I am a stranger to these lands and in need of rest and food."
Aldred scratched at his beard. "City, my lord? We have few of those. But there is York — Eoforwic, where King Æthelred rules."
"York?" William repeated, the name striking like a spark in his mind. Of course he knew it.
"King Æthelred… tell me, what kingdom does he rule?"
"Why, Northumbria, my lord," Alder answered, a touch of pride in his voice.
Northumbria Coupled with the peasants' rustic speech, their rough-spun clothes, and now Æthelred's name, it left little doubt where — and when — he was.
"And… are you being raided yet? By the Vikings?"
"Raided?" Aldred's brow furrowed, his eyes darting to Athelstan. He spoke slowly, confusion heavy in his tone. "Vikings, my lord? I do not know the word you speak."
So he spawned in southern England, somewhere before 793. The locals had no knowledge of the Vikings yet. If he had studied history more closely, he could have pinpointed the exact year from the king's name.
Instead, he looked at them with pity. The waves would soon bring fire, death, and chaos to their shores. The future was cruel, and it felt tragically inevitable.
"Never mind that. Best we get back on the road — I'm starving and in need of rest. I've no coins on me, but I can at least offer to escort you safely to your village."
"No, no, my lord," Aldred said quickly, shaking his head. "It would be our honor to see you safely on your way. We are returning to our village near Fulford, not far from York."
Aldred gave a nod to his brother, and together they ushered the children back onto the cart. The mule flicked its ears, waiting patiently, its ribs visible beneath a shaggy coat. The wooden boards creaked as Athelstan climbed back to the driver's seat.
"Come, my lord," Aldred said, gesturing to the space beside the children. "Ride with us."
Gwyndolin approached. The children scooted aside, wide-eyed, as the knight set one armored boot on the cart's frame.
The moment he shifted his weight, the whole cart tilted alarmingly to one side. The mule snorted and stamped nervously. The boards groaned under the burden, and Aldred shouted in alarm, throwing his arms up as though to catch the thing from toppling.
William froze, caught between embarrassment and laughter. At over a hundred and twenty kilos with his armor and gear, he was a walking siege engine and clearly too much for a peasant's cart.
Slowly, awkwardly, he withdrew his foot, planting it back on the dirt road. He raised both hands in surrender, helm tilting as he let out a sheepish chuckle.
"Perhaps," he said wryly, "I had better walk alongside. I would hate to return your cart to Fulford in splinters."
The children giggled despite themselves, their fear of him dissolving into laughter. Even the mule gave a disgruntled snort, as if in agreement.
Aldred and Athelstan exchanged a look—half confusion, half awe—before Aldred managed a smile. "As you wish, my… lord. You shall have company on the road, at least."
So it was settled: the peasants rode, and Gwyndolin walked beside them, hammer across his back, the cart creaking slowly toward Fulford, the road to York waiting just beyond.