Richard had been at a campground, gearing up for a weekend hunting trip, when the induction hit.

Originally, he'd planned for a quiet, solitary excursion—his girlfriend’s alternative plans had already annoyed him—but nothing could have prepared him for this.

The sky had split open. The Voice had spoken. And suddenly, Richard wasn’t just a weekend hunter anymore.

He was something more. The induction scared Richard, at least at first. Then—excitement.

Because when the Voice laid out its cryptic instructions—when the list of classes appeared, shimmering before his eyes—one option stood out to him like a spotlight.

Hunter.

A class built for tracking, killing. Hunting had always been a thrill for Richard. He ate what he killed but that’s not why he did it. It excited him. He relished the feeling of superiority.

The moment his fingers brushed the selection, he felt a surge of power. Like the world itself had just opened up to him.

This was it. This was what he was meant for.

One by one people were released from their tutorial with the voice. Many of the campers gathered together to discuss the bizarre event. The air was thick with anxiety and awe.

Richard counted forty people—mostly young to middle-aged, mostly fit.

But only seven of them had chosen combat-oriented classes.

The rest? Crafting. Support. Some kind of blacksmithing class. Maybe these classes would eventually be helpful.

But that wasn’t Richard. It was clear there would be fighting in this new world. Richard would never let someone else do it for him.

The group huddled together, whispering about what to do next. Richard immediately noticed the seven other campers with weapons.

“Look, I’m not saying we need to go full commando,” Richard scoffed. “But if the world really has changed, then rules have too.” A few people nodded. That felt good.

Jared folded his arms, one of the non-combatants. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means we do what we have to,” Richard said. “And maybe we stop wasting time debating it.”

"Richard, I’m not denying that what happened was real,” His tone was cautious, scanning the group like they might shatter if he said the wrong thing.

“But maybe we should gather more information before we charge headlong into this trial?"

Richard’s eyes flashed.

“What’s the point, Jared?" he snapped. "The Voice already gave us the details. I’m not sitting around waiting for something to happen. If you want to waste time–suit yourself—I’m leaving in an hour.”

The Voice had been clear. The trial dungeon was already here. Everyone had five days to join a party or attempt it solo. After that?

The trial would start automatically, like it or not. And there would be no help.

It also warned that the difficulty wouldn’t scale—whether you went in alone or with a group, the challenge remained the same.

Numbers were an advantage.

Which is why Jared, Matt, and a few others were desperate to keep people together.

"We have five whole days," someone argued. "Can’t we take just a little time to get our bearings? We don’t know what’s waiting for us in there!"

Jared, still rubbing his temples like he had a migraine, turned to Matt—one of the few who actually seemed capable.

Matt crossed his arms, his expression level. “I think we should face the trial together,” he said simply. “We’re not all built for combat, and there’s strength in numbers. I’m not willing to risk going in alone.”

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“I’ve had enough waiting around,” Richard muttered, mostly to himself.

But Janette, his girlfriend, heard him.

She placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Babe… maybe we could just take a little longer?"

Richard was getting impatient. He wanted to know what they were going to face. Why wait?

“How many times do I have to say it?” he huffed exasperated. “I’m not here for some campfire sing-along. Am I the only who cares what's happening. Why does everyone want to wait around?”

A murmur rippled through the group. People exchanged uneasy glances.

Matt ran his hands through his hair, though he stayed quiet.

By the end of the day, the majority agreed to enter the trial together. Even Richard, despite his lone wolf mentality, saw the advantage in numbers.

When the trial began, chaos erupted immediately.

Waves of Chaos Spawn—twisted, jagged creatures—descended on them in droves.

Some panicked. Some fought. Richard moved with purpose—loosing arrows, drawing his knife when enemies got too close.

Matt held the front line, a shield and short sword braced against the onslaught. It was brutal.

But with time, the group learned how to work together.

They set up barricades. Archers took safer positions. The trial stretched on.

The fourth wave was massive chaos spawn swarmed. Richard deftly picked them off one by one. He was a machine.

As the wave ended people cheered. Richard started to step forward, expecting the wave of praise. But no one looked his way. The cheers weren’t for him. They were for Matt. Why were they only cheering for Matt?

II killed just as many. Probably more. But no one cared. They only saw Matt. Something inside Richard burned. Part of him wanted to join in the celebration. But why should he have to go to them?

Richard wiped blood from his knife, stepping over a body—only to pause. He frowned. An arrow stuck out from a Chaos Spawn. His arrow. But when he glanced at the pile it was in… His stomach twisted. That was Matt’s pile.

"What the hell?" he said, stalking over. "Matt—why is my arrow in your pile?"

Matt blinked. “I wasn’t keeping score," he said, confused. "I figured we were all in this together.”

Richard scoffed.

"Together?" he repeated, shaking his head. "Look around. While some of you hid, a few of us actually did the work. I’m not sharing my kills."

Matt’s jaw tightened, he exhaled before he spoke.

"Fine," Matt said, his voice calm—but a muscle in his jaw twitched. "I’ll be more careful."

But Richard saw the twitch. So…Matt thought I was being petty? He smirked.

Perfect little Matt was getting pissed? Good. Let him stew in it.

-

Once the trial ended, the group reassembled, weary but victorious.

"Everyone okay?" Matt asked, scanning the group. His eyes flicked past Richard. No pause. No acknowledgment. Like he wasn’t even there.

“Mostly,” Jared said. “A few cuts, but nothing major.”

One of the younger fighters, Alex, grinned. “I was behind that big rock, when that freaky centaur sent Matt flying.”

Matt chuckled, rubbing his shoulder. “My shield took most the hit.”

“Oh really? The shield was just soaking up damage as you cartwheeled across the dirt?” It was Elise the lone healer in their group. “Is that why I had to use all my mana to get you back on your feet?”

Matt scratched the back of his head as people laughed. It was the kind of laughter that only comes after surviving something brutal. The kind that made you feel like a team.

Richard just leaned against a tree, watching.

He should’ve been standing there with them. He’d fought just as hard. Hell—his shot had finally brought the monster down. But no one was looking his way. No one had cheered for him. Just Matt. Always Matt. Richard’s fingers dug into the bark. He could still feel the weight of his bowstring on his fingers. He could still see the kill shot. So why wasn’t anyone else seeing it?

His fingers dug into the bark.

After a few minutes, Matt’s eyes flicked toward his status screen. His expression shifted.

“Did anyone else… get a notification about clearing three dungeons to claim a territory?”

Heads turned. People checked their own screens. Nothing. Richard looked to his own screen. His eyes narrowed.

Matt explained the objective, outlining what the system had chosen to reveal to him and only him.

“Look, I get wanting to play it safe," Richard scoffed, stretching out casually. "But this whole ‘wait and see’ approach? That’s how people get left behind. Fighting means leveling. Leveling means power. And power means surviving. But hey—maybe talking about home will keep us safe.”

Matt didn’t rise to the bait. He never did. Instead, he folded his arms and met Richard’s glare evenly. “We’re not saying we won’t clear the dungeons,” he said, voice steady. “But we need to understand our surroundings first. Owning a territory might give us answers about this inducted world—and maybe even help us reconnect with our families.”

“And maybe,” Jared added, “we build a safe haven. At least get some walls up so we can defend ourselves. I’d like to put my woodworking skills to some real use.”

Richard snorted. “Oh, please. You’re just scared. It’s time to fight for once.”

Matt’s composure finally broke. “Richard! That’s enough.” His voice cut through the discussion like a blade. “Everyone’s doing their best. If you’re not going to contribute, then maybe you should sit this one out.”

The words hung between them, heavy and unyielding.

For a moment, Richard’s cocky smirk faltered—just slightly. His jaw working, and his fingers curled against his knee. Then, after a long pause, he forced out a bitter, “Fine.” his response clipped.

His smile returned, but this one was thin, forced, barely concealing the sting of pride underneath.