She guided me through winding streets that seemed to defy gravity. Ancient brick towers leaned at impossible angles, held together by pulsing blue runes that carved paths through the mortar. The wealthy districts gleamed with enchanted marble and floating gardens, while darkness pooled in the alleys below. Guards in gleaming, ethereally blue armour watched our passage. Some had pauldrons that seemed to contain moving fire, living ice. At each gateway, enchanted weaponry floated in the air while trees pulsed with magical light, a show of power and protection.

We crossed into areas where buildings sat closer together. Less magic. A maze of crooked buildings and smoke-filled streets. Market stalls lined the thoroughfare, merchants hawking everything from potions that sparkled like starlight to charms that whispered promises in voices that weren't quite human. My mind only caught vague images, overwhelmed and ravaged by the mental attack. The sweet stench of decay grew stronger as we walked deeper into the city's bowels. Black mould crept up the walls like veins, and figures lurked in the shadows of narrow alleys, the sound of steel on stone echoing in the darkness.

"Watch your step," Lyn warned as we passed a group of beggars huddled around a flickering purple flame. Their eyes glowed with an unnatural light, skin mottled with black veins. One reached for my ankle but Lyn pulled me away.

Floating carriages drifted overhead, pulled by creatures made of pure energy. The wealthy passengers wearing masks, not once looking down below as we passed underneath in their shadow.

"Almost there," Lyn said as we approached a weathered pub sign swinging in a non-existent breeze. "The Broken Crown."

A woman in tattered clothes grabbed my sleeve. "Spare some copper for the cursed, sir?" Her skin was nearly translucent, shot through with pulsing black lines, something dark and writhing visible in her eyes. Before I could respond, Lyn pulled me toward the pub's entrance.

The wooden door creaked open, releasing a wave of warmth and noise. Inside, the upper class patrons lounged at polished tables, drinking from goblets that never seemed to empty. Enchanted lanterns cast dancing shadows on the walls.

I barely had time to take it in before someone slammed into me, sending me sprawling onto the floor. A man in expensive robes sneered down at me, his eyes flickering with that same corrupt purple light.

"Watch yourself, kinless scum," he spat.

"What the—" I started, but before I could stand, Lyn stepped in, pulling me to my feet.

The tavern keeper slapped down two bowls of steaming stew, chunks of meat and vegetables swimming in a rich broth. My stomach growled – I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt real hunger. In the game, eating had just been another stat boost.

I wolfed down the food like a starving man while Lyn watched, stirring her own bowl thoughtfully. The flavours were intense, overwhelming – nothing like the muted sensations of the VRMMO. When was the last time I'd tasted real food?

"I've told you my name," she said finally, her voice carrying a curious blend of American clarity overlaid with European inflections - like many others I'd heard here. Even Queen Hella had spoken with unmistakably American pronunciation, though others seemed to mix in these strange European undertones. "So how about yours?"

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Zach." The name felt strange on my tongue, like something from another life. "Listen, I need to know – what happened back there? With the Queen? And why can't I access my menu or skills?"

Her spoon froze halfway to her lips. She set it down carefully, eyes studying my face. "Menu? Skills?" A small frown creased her brow. "The summoning must have scrambled your mind worse than I thought."

"Summoning? No, I was in Sword Dance – the VRMMO. I just defeated Magnamartis, I hit max level, I was supposed to be free..." My voice trailed off at her blank expression.

"VR... what?" She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Listen carefully. You were summoned here by the Church's ritual, but something went wrong. The Queen's mental probe shouldn't have hurt you like that."

I sat back, my bowl forgotten. "That's impossible. I was just in the game. I was level 100, I had the Armor of Magnamartis, I—" I reached for skills that weren't there, for power that had vanished like the memory of a dream as you wake up.

"What year do you think it is?" she asked gently.

"I... I don't know. 2030 maybe? I lost track in the game."

She shook her head slowly. "It's the 13th cycle of the 2nd eon, and you're not in any game. This is real." She glanced around the tavern, then leaned closer. "But maybe some of that fighting experience you remember could be useful. The Church has never attempted a summoning quite like this before, so your mind might have trouble adjusting."

I stared into my empty bowl, mind racing. If this wasn't the game, and it wasn't Earth... "Why was I summoned?"

"The dungeons are spreading," she said grimly. "Getting stronger. The Queen needed a hero." She gave a bitter laugh. "Though I don't think you were quite what she was expecting. A kinless… anyway I'll speak to the bar owner, see if we can't find something to help you."

I held my head in my hands and by the time she returned my mind had come back to me a little. I was taken down to a courtyard.

"The owner here has a rat problem, they're as weak as it gets so you should be able to sort them out."

A scratching sound pulled me from my reverie. There, in the corner of the courtyard, a massive rat the size of a large dog was gnawing at the base of the wall. Its matted fur was an unnatural grey, muscles rippling beneath as it worked.

"Perfect," Lyn said, stepping back. "Just deal with this one and we'll get you sorted."

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

The rat noticed us, turning to reveal yellowed teeth and eyes that gleamed with feral intelligence. My hands instinctively moved to draw a sword that wasn't there, to activate skills I no longer possessed. In the game, I wouldn't have even had to do anything, passive abilities, familiars, enchanted armour, aura. It wouldn't let it get in visible distance without being torn to shreds., a burst of mana, any of a hundred abilities I'd earned through blood and sacrifice.

But here I was just... flesh. Weak. Human.

The rat moved like lightning - so much faster than I expected. My body tried to respond with practised grace, but everything felt wrong. No strength enhancement, no combat prediction, no automated defensive stances. Just me.

Its teeth found my neck before I could dodge. Real pain exploded through my body, not the muted pressure of the game but sharp, searing agony that made my vision blur. Pure instinct took over - I grabbed its matted fur and used my whole body weight to slam it against the ground.

I could feel warm blood running down my neck, my own blood, real blood. The rat thrashed beneath me as I desperately held on, its claws raking across my arms. This wasn't a boss fight with carefully timed patterns. This was brutal, messy survival.

With strength born of desperation, I smashed its head against the stone floor again and again until it finally went still.

Achievement!

[ Survivor ]

Almost die killing your first monster!

+1 STR

No

I fell to my knees.

Anything but that.

Anything but the game.

I slammed my hands against the ground. Cowed.

My heart plummeted. The familiar blue notification hovered before me like a spectre from a life I had left behind. I staggered backward, the weight of realisation crushing the air from my lungs. This... this can’t be the game. It feels too real. The earth, the air, the light—the sensations hit me like a tidal wave of clarity, too vivid, too raw. I swallowed hard, trying to push back the rising panic. But the blue boxes... the EXP notifications...

If this isn’t the game, then what is it? What have I woken up to?

Suddenly, everything felt wrong. I should be in a hospital. Someone should be monitoring me—waiting for me to log out. But instead, here I was, in a place that shouldn’t exist. My mind spun with questions that had no answers. I wasn’t ready for this, not after everything... everyone... I had lost.

I must've finished the game, we had descended on the final boss’s lair. An army of knights, magicians, healers, beast tamers. The entire raid party had been resplendent and powerful, yet we were unprepared.

It was a suicidal choice, yet the longer we waited the more people we lost. My team, I did not know what had happened to them. Some had perished before my eyes. The rest, I don’t know. They got me to the throne room. I had fought Magnamartis, and the glitch had worked.

We had entered with so many, and in the end there were so few, and that was all for naught?

I couldn't even feel myself think, should I throw up or should I stand and cheer? I didn’t know what to feel, whether I should be feeling at all. It was all too much. Yet the idea that I had sacrificed so much for nothing, it paralysed me, I began to see the faces of those I had seen die, in their last moments their eyes were lit up with such terror, such desperation. The walls rustling contained their whispers, their last cries, their begging.

I had made it out. I had logged off. But what did I leave behind? Faces flashed before my eyes—some I had fought with for years, some who had died only days before. Their expressions in their final moments... the horror, the desperation... it was etched into my mind like scars. I could still hear their screams, faint but unrelenting, echoing in my thoughts like the wind through the trees. They had sacrificed everything for me to stand in front of that throne—and for what? What was this victory worth if it cost every single one of them their lives?

The ache in my chest swelled. The longer I thought about it, the more crushing the weight became, until my legs nearly gave out. They were gone, and yet here I stood, breathing air that should have been theirs. I should feel relieved—grateful, even—but all I felt was a gnawing emptiness, like I’d traded one prison for another.

I breathed in, and breathed it out. Letting those thoughts settle deep back into the recesses of my mind. It was too much.

I could feel my new STR improvement in a way the game could never. My muscles burned with a deep, living ache - not the cold numerical increase I was used to. Each movement felt different, more grounded. When I flexed my fingers, I could feel the tendons shift and pull, the raw power building beneath my skin. In the game, strength was just a multiplier on PHYS damage. Here... here I could feel every fibre of enhanced muscle working in concert, the way my body moved with new purpose.

Another rat appeared, larger than the first. But something was different now. As it charged, time seemed to slow - not from any game effect, but from pure, living instinct. I could feel new strength coursing through my muscles, an organic power that had nothing to do with numbers or status screens.

As the rat leaped, I let reflex take over. Stepping inside its attack, one hand grabbing its throat while the other slammed into its belly. The impact shuddered up my arm - real force, real momentum. Not the clean, predictable physics of the game, but the raw, messy reality of flesh and bone.

The rat thrashed, but I could feel the difference that single point of strength made. Not as a percentage or multiplier, but in the way my fingers dug deeper, how my stance held firm where before I'd stumbled. When I slammed it against the wall, I felt the precise moment its spine gave way.

It crumpled to the ground, and I stared at my hands. In the game, strength was just a number that made my attacks hit harder. But this... I could feel how my muscles bunched differently, how my body moved with new awareness. Even my breathing had changed, deeper and more controlled.

The rat's blood was warm on my hands, its fur still bristling with fading life. No pixelated damage numbers, no clean death animation. Just the heavy finality of a real kill.

The rat corpses lay before me, blood staining the cobblestones. Real blood. Not pixelated damage effects or pre-programmed death animations, but actual life that I had taken with my own hands. The gravity of that hit me harder than any boss fight ever had.

I looked down at my trembling hands, still sticky with blood and dirt. They were scraped raw, fingernails torn, knuckles bruised, it wasn’t right, but yet it was.

The achievement notification mocked me, floating there like a ghost from my past life. Was this just another game? Another trap? But games didn't have this... weight. This consequence. When I breathed, I could feel every cut and bruise protest. The metallic taste of blood in my mouth wasn't a status effect - it was real.

"Oh goddess..." Lyn's voice came from behind me. I turned to see her standing in the doorway, face pale. She rushed over, nearly slipping on the blood-slicked stones. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have... I thought -I mean, even the weakest people here can handle..." She rushed to my side, examining the wounds on my neck and arms. "How are you even still conscious? Your will stat must be... " She shook her head. "I really messed up. I should have checked your stats first."

"Stay here," she said firmly. "I'm going to get someone who can help. The temple has healers who won't ask questions." She squeezed my shoulder. "Just... don't move. Please."

"Wait! Tell me is this a game? Why are there stats! What is happening!"