Alan set off through Willowbrook, guided by a compass that hovered in the corner of his vision like a backseat driver with a PhD in passive-aggressive navigation. The marker pulsed with increasing brightness whenever he faced the right direction and dimmed reproachfully when he strayed, displaying all the subtle encouragement of an overenthusiastic kindergarten teacher armed with gold stars and infinite patience.
"Continue forward at the next intersection," a disembodied voice suggested. Alan jumped, then scowled at nothing in particular. The voice continued, unperturbed. "Your destination lies ahead. Would you like to enable auto-pathing?"
"Absolutely not," Alan muttered. The mere suggestion that he needed help walking in a straight line offended him on a spiritual level.
The path wound past the village's outer houses, where NPCs tended gardens. One woman had been watering the same plant for what seemed like several minutes, her smile fixed in place with the kind of determination usually reserved for retail workers during holiday sales. Alan made a mental note to avoid prolonged eye contact with the locals.
His minimap chirped - actually chirped, like a digital bird suffering from optimization issues - as he approached his destination. The woodpile sat at the village's edge, where the neat cobblestones gave way to worn dirt paths. A wooden fence marked the boundary between civilization and wilderness, though both sides looked equally manicured.
The interface burst into activity, determined to ensure he couldn't possibly miss the obvious pile of logs:
**[TUTORIAL ZONE: Woodcutting Basics]**
Below it, more text appeared with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated tour guide:
**[Here you will learn the ancient and mystical art of cutting wood into smaller pieces of wood!]**
Alan stood before the woodpile, watching as helpful indicators sprouted above each log like particularly aggressive mushrooms. A passing villager noticed his blank stare and offered sage advice: "Wood's meant for chopping, you know." He nodded wisely and continued his patrol route, which appeared to consist of walking in a perfect circle while dispensing obvious information to newcomers.
The interface, perhaps sensing Alan's mounting skepticism, helpfully highlighted the entire woodpile in a golden glow. Just in case the floating icons, glowing markers, and pulsing minimap hadn't made it abundantly clear that this was, indeed, where wood could be chopped.
* * *
Against the woodpile leaned an axe, positioned with the sort of careful casualness that suggested either divine intervention or very thorough game design. Its wooden handle gleamed with fresh varnish, the blade caught the sunlight at a mathematically perfect angle, and a soft glow outlined its form like a metalworking halo.
**[Basic Axe]**
**[Quality: Common]**
**[A serviceable tool for turning big wood into smaller wood]**
The description hovered in his vision, rotating slowly as if participating in some unseen auction display. The interface seemed determined to present this mundane tool with the gravitas normally reserved for legendary artifacts or limited-time promotional items.
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Alan reached for the handle, half expecting his hand to pass through it like a mirage or trigger a cut-scene about the chosen one who would save the realm through the mystic art of woodcutting. Instead, his fingers closed around solid wood.
A surge of warmth traveled up his arm, reminiscent of pins and needles but distinctly more magical and considerably less alarming. The sensation spread across his shoulders and down his spine, as though his nervous system had just received a software update. Golden light spiraled around his hand.
**[Basic Axe equipped!]**
**[Damage: 2-4]**
**[+2 Woodcutting]**
**[+1 Potential Workplace Injury]**
The numbers floated before him like particularly ambitious soap bubbles. Alan squinted at the last modifier, wondering if the interface's sense of humor was an intentional feature or a coding oversight. Either way, it seemed the digital gods had blessed him with the most underwhelming starter weapon since the invention of the pointy stick.
* * *
A growl rolled through the clearing. Alan turned, axe raised in what he hoped was a threatening stance rather than the universal signal for 'first-time weapon user about to have a very bad day.'
From the tree line emerged a wolf. Not the sort that appeared on conservation posters or wildlife documentaries, but the kind that game designers created when someone said "make it bigger" and "more teeth" until the art department staged an intervention.
**[COMBAT TUTORIAL INITIATED]**
**[Gray Wolf (Level 2)]**
A red health bar materialized above the wolf's head. Alan's own health and stamina bars were at the bottom of his field of view, green and blue respectively, both thankfully full. He wondered briefly if the designers had considered how psychologically damaging it might be to constantly see one's life force quantified as a diminishing percentage.
**[Tutorial: Combat Basics]**
**[Press W, A, S, D to move]**
"This isn't a keyboard," Alan muttered, sidestepping as the wolf's muscles bunched for a leap. The interface paused, recalibrated, and tried again:
**[Simply move to dodge attacks!]**
**[Use weapon to strike enemy!]**
**[Hint: The pointy end goes toward the opponent]**
The wolf lunged. Alan dove right, his body responding with unexpected grace, as though muscle memory he didn't remember having kicked in. The beast's claws scraped air where he'd stood moments before.
**[Successful dodge! +5 XP]**
**[Tutorial: Basic Attacks]**
**[Say "Power Strike" to execute special attack]**
"You want me to what?" Alan backpedaled as the wolf circled, its eyes reflecting his health bar with unsettling precision. "In the middle of a fight, you want me to just... Power Strike!"
The last words triggered something. The axe blade briefly glowing with blue energy. His body moved with the fluid grace of someone who'd spent years practicing this exact movement, executing a perfect overhead swing that caught the wolf mid-lunge. The impact sent shockwaves up his arms, and floating numbers erupted from the point of contact like confetti:
**[-8 HP! Critical Hit!]**
The wolf's health bar dropped by a third. It staggered back, shaking its head, looking almost offended that its tutorial victim had managed to land a hit. A cooldown timer appeared in Alan's vision: **[Power Strike: 30s]**
**[Congratulations! You've learned your first combat skill!]**
**[Now defeat the enemy to complete the tutorial!]**
The tutorial wolf circled left. Alan swung the axe again. The satisfying thunk was accompanied by floating damage numbers and a surprisingly realistic yelp.