I opened my eyes to the soft light of morning, blinking away the remnants of the spectate session. The memory of Claire’s smile lingered, vivid and warm, but I quickly pushed it aside. Back at camp, the girls and Strider were already waiting. There wasn’t much conversation—just the quiet efficiency of packing up before we set out.

The journey that followed was... dull, to say the least. We trekked across an open grassy field, the kind that stretched endlessly in every direction. No trees, no animals, just the sun hanging lazily in the sky and a few clouds drifting overhead. The kind of scenery that would normally make me daydream or feel some kind of peace, but not today. Today, my thoughts kept circling back to someone.

Claire.

It was like I couldn’t help it. Her face kept popping into my mind—the way she fought with such grace, the sharpness in her eyes, and, of course, that smile. That smile felt like seeing the sun for the first time after a long winter. But now the question burned in my mind: How do I get her to notice me?

Out of all of us, she’s the least approachable. She’s never rude to the others, not exactly—but she keeps her distance, as if she’s built a wall around herself that no one dares to climb. Even Rodrick, who practically makes a sport of flirting with every girl we pass, doesn’t dare approach her. It’s almost comical. Normally, he’d be elbowing me with some comment about her figure, but when it comes to Claire? Nothing. Not even a whisper. I guess even the mightiest of bros knows his limits.

I shake my head, forcing my thoughts to shift gears. Focus, Hector. Now’s not the time to obsess over your little crush. There were more important things at hand—things like Rodrick’s mention of their leader before we left. The leader of the Seven Endeavors.

Rodrick had spoken highly of him, calling him the one who personally assembled this elite force. If Rodrick thinks so much of him, then this guy must be incredible. Probably stronger than Rodrick, which is saying a lot. My curiosity buzzed with questions. What kind of man is he? What’s his story? And if the Seven Endeavors are this powerful, just how strong must their leader be?

The walk dragged on, eating up half the day. The monotony of the field gave way to dense trees, their canopy blocking out the sun. As we pushed through the thickets, a sprawling base came into view, hidden in the heart of the forest. My jaw nearly dropped at the sight.

This wasn’t some small outpost. It was a full-fledged military base, teeming with soldiers—easily over 500, by my guess. The energy of the place was palpable, a mix of discipline and camaraderie as soldiers moved with purpose. We passed through the throng, and I couldn’t help but notice the way people reacted.

All eyes seemed to light up when they saw Rodrick and Ivan. Cheers and greetings followed them like a ripple in a pond, their presence clearly well-known and well-loved here. The same went for the rest of the Endeavors—each greeted with respect and admiration. Well, almost all of them.

No one spared Claire a glance. Not a single word, not a single nod of acknowledgment. It was as if she didn’t exist. If it bothered her, she didn’t show it. She walked with her usual air of icy composure, her head high and her gaze fixed forward. It was almost like she didn’t even notice.

I wondered what it must be like to carry yourself that way. To brush off the opinions of everyone around you as if they didn’t matter. Was it strength? Or was it armor?

We reached the center of the base, where a large tent loomed. The group filed in without a word, and I followed close behind. Inside, the air was cooler, dimly lit by a lantern hanging from the center pole. The first thing I noticed was the table—a heavy, wooden piece covered in maps, charts, and scattered notes. Four men stood around it, their postures straight and commanding.

This was it. The heart of the operation. And if I had to guess, one of these men was the leader I’d heard so much about.

"Hey, Dante," Rodrick calls out as we step into the tent.

The man standing at the center of the room, his back to us, turns slowly. His blue cape sways slightly with the movement, catching the dim light of the lanterns. His armor, gleaming white and adorned with intricate silver accents, is pristine despite the battles it must have seen. And then there’s his face—robotic yet striking, with faint blue lines glowing softly along his angular features. He looks every bit the leader Rodrick described.

"Ah, you’re back," Dante says, his tone calm but laced with authority. "How did it go?"

"Dead," Rodrick replies flatly, his usual cheerfulness absent.

Dante’s glowing eyes narrow slightly. "All of them?"

Rodrick nods, his voice quiet but firm. "All of them."

Dante exhales through his nose, his posture rigid. "And the slaves?"

"We left word with the sheriff in Sully Shark Town. They’ll take care of it," Rodrick says.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The two continue their conversation, their words blending into the background as my eyes wander. The tent feels almost alive with its sense of purpose. Weapons and armor line the walls, meticulously organized. Maps and charts cover the central table, their edges weighted down by daggers and other trinkets. Every detail of this space screams preparation, precision, and power.

My gaze drifts to the man standing beside Dante. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and clad in polished white armor. There’s an air of refinement about him, from the way he stands to the subtle confidence in his expression. He looks like the kind of guy who could charm his way out of—or into—any situation. Definitely someone who’s used to being noticed.

I’m startled from my observations when Dante’s glowing eyes lock onto me. "Who’s that?" he asks, nodding in my direction.

I straighten up, my pulse quickening. "Uh, hello, sir! My name is Lance." Somehow, despite my nerves, the words come out smoothly, and I manage not to trip over my own tongue.

Rodrick steps forward, his tone earnest. "Dante, I’ve got a favor to ask. I want you to recruit him. Look, I know he’s only level one, but I see a lot of potential in him. He’s quick to adapt, and he’s already proven he can handle himself in tough situations. Ivan and I both vouch for him—trust me, he’s got what it takes to be a great soldier. Please, Dante, give him a chance."

Rodrick bows deeply, a gesture of respect that catches me off guard. Without thinking, I follow suit, lowering my head in unison.

Dante doesn’t answer immediately. He studies me for a moment, his unreadable gaze making me feel like I’m under a microscope. Just as the silence begins to feel unbearable, the man beside him—Voly—speaks up.

"Rodrick, I understand your loyalty to this boy, but we have policies for a reason," Voly says, his voice smooth but firm. "We only accept level five players and above into the Cardinals. I’m sure he’s important to you, but personal connections can’t override—"

"He’s in," Dante interrupts, his voice cutting through Voly’s protest like a blade.

Voly blinks, clearly caught off guard. "Sir, with all due respect—"

"I’ve made my decision," Dante says firmly, turning to face him fully. "No buts."

Voly hesitates, his jaw tightening. "May I ask why?"

Dante’s glowing eyes narrow slightly as he replies. "Voly, last month we lost the Robbins family to the demon army. Their strength, their resources—they were critical to our efforts. If we’re going to win this war, we can’t afford to turn away help. Rodrick and Ivan are two of our most trusted members, and I value their judgment. If they believe in this boy, then so do I."

With that, Dante steps toward me, his hand extended. "Welcome to the Cardinals. I’m Dante, leader of this army."

I take his hand, gripping it firmly despite the tremor in my fingers. "Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down."

Voly steps forward next, his earlier resistance replaced by a composed smile. "Welcome aboard, Lance. My apologies for the hesitation earlier. I’m Voly, a general in the Cardinals and Dante’s left-hand man. It’s a pleasure to meet you."

I shake his hand as well, nodding. "Thank you. I’ll do my best to prove myself."

They return to their work, discussing strategies and logistics as if nothing had happened. For me, though, it’s a moment I’ll never forget. As I step outside the tent, a wave of pride washes over me. I feel like I’ve taken my first real step toward something meaningful.

But my elation is short-lived.

"I don’t accept it."

The voice is cold, sharp, and unmistakable. I turn, and there she is—Claire. Her arms are crossed, and her glare could freeze the air around her. There’s no mistaking the hatred in her expression.

"That happy-go-lucky face of yours won’t mean a damn thing in the long run," she says, her voice dripping with venom. "Dante might’ve let you in, but I haven’t. You won’t last. You’ll just end up dead like the little maggot you are."

Her words hit hard, every syllable laced with contempt. But there’s something else behind her eyes—something deeper, harder to define. Maybe she’s testing me. Maybe she means every word. Either way, I won’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

I force a smile, meeting her glare head-on. "Well," I say, my voice calm but resolute, "I guess I’ll just have to prove myself worthy, won’t I?"

For a moment, her eyes narrow, her gaze burning into mine. Then, with a scoff, she turns and walks away, her presence as cold and unyielding as ever.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Despite her words, despite the weight of her disdain, I feel something else stirring inside me. Determination. If Claire doesn’t believe in me now, I’ll work twice as hard to earn her respect. One day, I’ll show her—and everyone else—that I belong here.

With that thought grounding me, I step away from the tent, ready to face whatever comes next.

"Hey, Noobmaster69," I call out, my voice cutting through the quiet.

Rodrick turns, raising an eyebrow at me. "Yeah? What’s up?"

I hesitate for a moment, then take a breath. "Can you tell me how to log off this game?" I ask. It’s been three days since I entered this world, and while the excitement and adventure have been overwhelming in the best way, reality is starting to creep back in. My parents must be freaking out by now. School? Not so much of a concern—I joined the game on a Friday, so at least I have that buffer. But today is Sunday. Monday’s looming, and I can’t just vanish forever.

Rodrick scratches the back of his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Oh, right. Logging off. Yeah, that might be important." He gestures for me to follow. "Come on, I’ll show you."

I fall into step behind him as he leads me out of the forest. The towering trees thin out, giving way to an open stretch of road. The sun hangs low on the horizon, its warm light painting the path ahead in shades of gold and orange. It’s beautiful in a way that feels almost too real—every detail, from the faint chirping of distant birds to the soft rustle of the wind through the grass, is vivid and alive. It’s easy to forget this is all supposed to be a game.

Rodrick doesn’t say much as we walk, his usual chatter replaced by a calm focus. It’s not long before we reach the outskirts of a new town. The wooden sign at the entrance creaks slightly in the breeze, the faded lettering spelling out the name: Luka Town.