[The British Isles, Wessex — March of 793]
For many veteran gamers, Neural Odyssey was a strange game , with the potential to be perfect, if not for the eccentricities of its developers. One of the biggest controversies came early on: players discovered that in-game coins — gold, silver, and copper — could be exchanged for real-world currency.
Many dismissed it as a reckless idea, convinced the game would collapse into a cash-grab before long. A patch eventually will rebalance the system, but not before chaos spread across the servers.
At the time, the simplest exploit was just to keep dying until you spawned in a region without castles or garrisons — places like the British Isles or the untamed stretches of northern Europe. Entire guilds would deliberately gather in one such spawn point.
With their superior gear from their one-time custom armor and weapons, they could easily crush the local defenders, strip the land bare, loot everything of value, and vanish before any resistance could form.
But there was always the risk of losing that very gear. Even though players had the advantage in equipment, the NPCs had the advantage of experience.
These were men hardened by a lifetime in brutal lands — fighting off raiders, enduring famine, and surviving endless civil wars. The average untrained player, by comparison, barely knew how to hold a weapon properly.
At best, they jabbed with the pointy end, clumsy and awkward. They had never known true hunger, never worked the soil, never swung steel for their lives. Food was something delivered to their doorstep, not something fought for tooth and nail.
And then came the second point. In most games, guilds were a nightmare for solo players — swarms of organized bullies that ruled whole servers. But in Neural Odyssey, even the very idea of guilds never stood a chance. There were no fixed spawn points, no safe zones to gather in.
One member might wake up on the coast of Africa, another somewhere in the frozen wastes of Scandinavia, and another might die of thirst in the Arabian desert before they even found a tribe. With no way to regroup, the dream of guilds collapsed before it could even begin.
But there was some very rare cases a group of players who got very lucky to spawn relatively close to their desired location and near other players even sometimes from the same guild.
"AHHHH, finally, dude! We did it — we spawned together! Duuuuude, let's go! We'll strip those NPCs bare!"
The voice belonged to a giant of a man — six feet tall, towering over the locals of this age. His armor at first glance was impressive: a full suit of steel plate, the kind that would make any lord gape in envy. But the closer you looked, the stranger it became.
Every surface of the steel was painted in gaudy colors — deep crimson, bright violet, and sickly green — in wild, mismatched patterns. The helmet's crest curved like a fool's cap, with little brass bells dangling from its tips. Tiny jingles accompanied each step, a ridiculous soundtrack to an otherwise imposing figure.
Even the pauldrons bore gilded swirls and diamond shapes, making the whole suit less like the gear of a knight and more like a carnival parody of one.
It was battle-ready steel, make no mistake — but dressed in the mockery of a jester's garb.
Strapped across his back hung his weapon of choice: twin war flails, each chain ending in a brutal spiked ball the size of a man's fist. And, because subtlety was clearly foreign to him, the iron heads had little brass bells welded on, so that every movement made a chorus of jingles — cheerful in sound, murderous in purpose.
The other six men around him were hunched over, clutching their heads — the telltale posture of players who had just respawned. Most wouldn't act like this unless they'd died and come back multiple times in quick succession, their nerves rattled by the experience.
"What do you mean, we did it?" another voice cut in. This one came from a man in the same garish jester-painted steel, though his weapon was different — a massive bastard sword resting across his shoulder. "Mark, The guild said raiding parties should be no less than fifty players to compensate for our lack of combat experience. There's only six of us here. We should wait for the others."
"Wait? Wait?!" The first jester-giant threw back his head and let out a bark of laughter, bells jingling with every wild motion. He whirled one of his twin flails until the spiked head whistled through the air. "Jason, Do you have any fucking idea how many credits I dropped on this game?
I'm not waiting around while the others crawl in — let's make some credits before the raid leader even gets here! I need to test these flails on something that actually screams, grind a few combat skills on the locals. What's the point of this gear if I don't get to bash in some NPC skulls?"
Jason adjusted the oversized bastard sword strapped across his back, his painted jester plates creaking as he shifted. He frowned, scanning the treeline.
Mark grinned, bells jingling as he leaned in closer. "Jason, buddy… you worry too much. Look at us — we're strutting around in full plate, swinging weapons worth more than all of these peasants' villages. Six of us is plenty. These NPCs don't stand a chance."
Jason tightened his grip on the hilt of his bastard sword, the gaudy jester paint catching the light. "Don't forget, Mark — these NPCs fight better than most players. They've lived their whole lives swinging axes and pitchforks."
Mark smirked and gave a lazy twirl of his flail, the spiked head hissing through the air. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But we're not just any scrubs stumbling in from spawn, are we? We're guild elites. We got proper drills, real instructors breaking down how to use this gear. The average Joe swings till his stamina empties, we strike to kill."
Jason's frown eased just a little, though he didn't lower his guard. "True enough. And what are the locals gonna have? Rusty spears, maybe a leather jerkin if they're lucky. Helmets, if they can even afford iron."
He turned to the others, arms spread wide. "What about you? You don't mind some extra credits, do you? Why wait for orders when the gold's just sitting out there?"
Most of the men muttered in agreement, but one stepped forward — the officer. His armor was darker, sharper. "Mark, enough. You know the rules. No raids until fifty men are gathered. That's how we don't lose our gear."
Others quickly added. "He's right. If we charge in now, we'll get slaughtered. These NPCs may look like farmers, but they fight like demons sometimes."
Mark's grin only grew wider. He spun his flail lazily, the spiked head whistling through the air. "I'm not talking about fighting, am I? Just scouting. A walk down the road, see what's out there. If we find a fat little village, we mark it for later. No risk."
The officer frowned, torn. The men around him looked restless, some rubbing their temples from respawn fatigue, others just itching for something to do.
Finally, he gave a sharp sigh. "…Fine. We scout. Nothing more. And if you swing that damn flail without my word, Mark, I'll make sure the guild strips you of your rank."
Mark's grin turned wolfish. "Deal."
NOTES AND FUN FACTS
Currency in Anglo-Saxon England – The standard coin of the time was the silver penny, first minted in the 8th century. These were used mainly in trade, taxes, and payments among nobles, merchants, and the Church. Ordinary peasants rarely handled coins at all; daily life was based on barter — grain, livestock, or labor were exchanged instead of money. Gold coins were extremely rare, usually reserved for royal gifts, dowries, or international trade. To most villagers, coins were mysterious objects they might never even see in their lifetime.
Many players of Neural Odyssey, raised on TV shows, movies, and fantasy games, assumed every peasant's hut would be hiding a chest of gold coins. Only later would they discover how wrong they were: most villagers might never see a coin in their entire lives.
The first Viking raid – The infamous Lindisfarne raid on June 8, 793, shocked all of Christendom. Monks were killed or enslaved, treasure was stolen, and word spread quickly. To many Anglo-Saxons, it felt like the end of the world had begun.
Castles in England – True stone castles did not appear in England until after the Norman Conquest (1066). In 793, defenses were mostly wooden palisades, earthen banks, and ditches. Alfred the Great (later in the 9th century) introduced burhs (fortified towns) to resist Viking raids.
The very concept of England didn't exist yet – At this time, the island was divided into several Anglo-Saxon kingdoms: Wessex, Mercia, Northumbria, and East Anglia. Together, historians call this period the Heptarchy.
Northumbria turmoil – In 793, Northumbria was weakened by civil war, with kings often deposed and restored by rival nobles (thegns and ealdormen). This instability made it easier for Vikings to raid later on.
Everyday clothing vs armor – Common peasants like Aldred and Athelstan wore simple wool or linen tunics, often patched and faded. full Plate armor like William/Gwyndolin's didn't exist yet in real history (Anglo-Saxon warriors wore mail and helmets). His appearance would look impossibly advanced — almost godlike — to locals.
Everyday clothing vs armor – Common peasants like Aldred and Athelstan wore simple wool or linen tunics, often patched and faded, sometimes with a cloak of animal skin for warmth. Footwear was crude leather shoes, and belts doubled as tools to carry knives or pouches.
In contrast, William/Gwyndolin's full plate armor would have been centuries ahead of its time. Anglo-Saxon warriors of 793 typically had mail shirts (if wealthy), conical helmets with nose guards, and wooden shields. A peasant would never see, let alone touch, anything like plate.
To the villagers, such beautifully forged and ornately crafted armor — polished steel of the Raging Wolf set — would look almost divine. The intricate engravings, rich colors, and flared plume were not just protective but symbolic, more like the regalia of a legendary prestige.
Even kings at this time would not have possessed armor of such quality. That's why the peasants instantly mistook William for a great lord or a king.