[Scythe Demon] Rank: Elite Monster Level: ?

Health: ?

Physical Attack Power: ?

Physical Defense: ?

Magic Defense: ?

Skill: ?

...

A long string of question marks filled the stat window, cold and unhelpful. Even Vera’s brow creased slightly as she studied the display, her expression caught somewhere between caution and curiosity. She turned toward Butler and asked, "Uncle, are you sure we can kill these monsters?"

Butler let out a low, easy chuckle, the kind that came from a man who had spent too many years in games to be rattled by a few unknown variables. "Yesterday afternoon," he said, "I received a weapon crafting blueprint from the market. It can be used to forge silver-grade longswords. One of the materials, called Magic Ironstone, drops from these creatures." He said it casually, as though the matter were already settled.

Vera’s lips curled into a faint smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes but carried a quiet confidence all the same. "Since that’s the case," she said, "I’ll give it a try and see if I can withstand it."

Don waved his hand and said, "Wait a moment, I’ll go and rent a high-ranking priest for you."

Even as the words left his mouth, the golden team leader icon flickered to life above his head, catching the ambient light of the game world. He pulled open his friends list and scrolled until he found Bernita’s name, then sent her an invitation to join the group. The pretty girl was already level 28, which was no small achievement. She had clearly been grinding with focus and dedication lately, pouring hours into her progression while others idled. The moment her character loaded into the party interface, her voice came through bright and startled, as though she had stumbled onto something unexpected. "Extraordinary!? Top three on the level leaderboard!"

Vera turned her gaze toward Don with an expression that mixed amusement with something sharper, something that had the faint edge of teasing. "Goodness," she said, drawing the word out slowly, "so you haven’t met many guys while playing games, but you’ve met quite a few girls. Look at that sweet little voice."

The heat that rushed to Don’s face was immediate and total. He could feel it spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and he crossed his arms defensively. "Come on, this is my girl. Besides, she has a husband. I wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on her."

"Huh? So if she doesn’t have a husband, you should... you know?"

The voice came from somewhere to his left. Quinn stepped out from the loose cluster of players gathered nearby, her blue robe shifting around her like water as she moved. The Wolf Orc race carried a particular strangeness when it came to their female magic users. Their figures were strikingly, almost impossibly perfect, the kind of proportions that drew the eye whether you intended to look or not, comparable in their lushness to the most idealized of real-world beauties. This was no accident of game design. Wolf Orcs were, at their origin, incarnations of fox spirits, creatures whose allure was woven into the very fabric of their existence. Their figures and appearances carried that supernatural magnetism as a matter of course. Quinn, playing as Under the Hibiscus, was no exception. Her avatar was full and striking in a way that her real-world self was not, though her face retained the soft, round features of someone who looked far younger than she acted, a loli-like quality that sat in strange contrast to everything else about her.

Don silently thanked whatever luck had kept Yates in bed this morning. That man was a notorious lolicon, and the sight of Quinn would have put all kinds of unwanted ideas into his head.

Bernita’s voice came through again, a little flustered, softened by embarrassment. "Hehe, actually, Don is a really nice guy, so please don’t make fun of him."

Vera said, "Bernita, come over quickly. We’re at the entrance of Fies Village. I’ve sent you the coordinates in the team chat."

"Uh-huh."

True to her word, in less than three minutes Bernita’s character materialized before the group, her avatar loading in cleanly at the village entrance. The air around Fies Village carried that particular stillness that existed just before a hunt, the kind of quiet that felt temporary and thin.

The old, slovenly Butler stood nearby, his in-game appearance as unkempt as ever, the virtual wear on his gear somehow perfectly matching his general disposition. He couldn’t help letting his gaze drift over to Don a couple of times, taking in the young man surrounded by girls on all sides. Then he leaned in close and murmured with unmistakable feeling, "Youth is fucking wonderful!"

Don flattered him without missing a beat. "Old man, in my heart, you’ll always be only seventeen years old."

Butler snorted, the sentiment evaporating instantly. "Enough nonsense, just help with the advertising! I’m leaving now. Deliver the goods tonight, at least two stacks of Magic Essence Iron!"

The number landed like a physical blow. Don stood very still for a moment, processing it. In Realms Online, a single stack counted as one hundred units. Two stacks meant two hundred pieces of Magic Essence Iron, and Butler was requesting this before the party had even drawn a single weapon. Don’s face arranged itself into an expression of profound suffering, the kind that came from being asked something deeply unreasonable by someone who knew full well it was unreasonable and simply did not care.

The girls saw his expression and burst into laughter, the sound of it scattering through the quiet entrance of the village like something warm and sharp at the same time.

After that, the production team peeled away and withdrew, leaving only the players of Extraordinary Studio and Bernita standing together. Seven players in total, quiet now, settling into the focused calm that preceded a proper fight.

Quinn swung the long staff loosely in her hand, her grip relaxed, almost bored-looking. Then she placed one foot forward, twisted her slender waist, and began to move. She spun lightly, five full circles, each rotation precise and unhurried, the hem of her robe fanning out around her ankles. As she moved, five dazzling halos bloomed from somewhere above and cascaded down over the group one after another, each one settling like a warm current moving through the body. The sensation was hard to describe exactly, something like vitality being quietly topped off, like breathing in air that was simply better than the air that had been there before. Five distinct status effects appeared above each player’s head simultaneously, their golden text hovering and stable.

[Ode to Life]: Increases maximum health by 5%, lasting 60 minutes.

[Ode to Iron Wall]: Increases the maximum physical and magical defense by 5% for 60 minutes.

[Hymn of Power]: Increases the maximum physical attack power by 5% for 60 minutes.

[Hymn of Wisdom]: Increases maximum magic attack power by 5% for 60 minutes.

[Ode to the Gale]: Increases movement speed by 0.2 meters per second for 60 minutes.

They were basic skills, and the bonuses reflected that plainly. A five percent bump here, a small speed increase there. At this stage of the game, the numbers were modest. But Don could already see the shape of what a high-level Dancer would look like in a large-scale raid, and the picture was not modest at all. At the later stages, when these percentages scaled into something significant and entire guilds were built around protecting a single dancer, the demand for the class would be enormous.

Don chuckled, watching the last halo fade. "You seem a bit like the sorcerer in Battle Online."

Quinn turned to look at him, her expression souring immediately. She stuck her tongue out with the practiced ease of someone who had been perfecting that particular gesture for years. "If it’s about spellcasters, then just copy it directly. Why would programmers design such a profession? You’re such a stupid old man."

Don’s jaw tightened. He turned to Vera with a look of long-suffering appeal. "Vera, I beg you for permission to beat this kid up. She’s talking such an infuriating thing."

Vera did not even glance in his direction. Her attention was already forward, already on the hunting ground ahead. "Uh, I’m all set. Let’s go. Little Don, hurry up and help me out."

Don turned to her with wide, wounded eyes. "Boss, even you are bullying me."

"Stop it, hurry up and come here to be the kitchen knife, you good-for-nothing."

They left the village together, the tree line thinning out as the path opened into broader terrain where the Scythe Demons were known to roam. Vera wasted no time. Being the highest level among them and carrying the kind of fearlessness that came from knowing exactly what her equipment could do, she moved with immediate purpose. Her hand dropped to the crossbow at her hip, drawing it in a single fluid motion, and she fired at the nearest Scythe Demon before it had even registered the group’s presence. The bolt caught it cleanly, and the creature swayed on its feet, staggered by the impact as a bright damage number bloomed above its head.

"1459!"

Don made a mental note. The crossbow, being the only ranged secondary weapon available to the War Spirit race, was notorious for its wildly variable damage output. A number like 1459 could easily have been the ceiling, a lucky roll at the high end of the range. He assumed as much. He was wrong. Vera raised the crossbow again almost before the first number had finished fading, and the second bolt hit harder than the first.