Pag collapsed onto the forest floor, his limbs heavy, his chest tight. Exhaustion, a familiar companion on this perilous journey, wrapped around him like a suffocating blanket of weariness, threatening to drag him into oblivion. His muscles screamed in protest, each breath a shallow gasp that did little to replenish the oxygen his body craved. The world spun around him, the charred remnants of the clearing blurring into indistinct shapes against a backdrop of smoke-filled sky.
The crimson and gold runes that marked his mana scarring, once blazing with the intensity of a supernova, now flickered weakly, embers struggling to reignite in a windless void. The wild mana of the Whisperwood, which had surged through him moments ago, empowering his pyroclasm, fueling his defiance, now ebbed away, leaving behind a chilling void that mirrored the emptiness within him.
He had won. The imposter, the monster, was gone, consumed by the very chaos it had sought to wield. But the victory tasted like ashes in his tongue.
As Pag lay there, his gaze fixed on the swirling smoke that danced above the charred remains of the twisted oak, a soft chime, the familiar notification sound from the game’s interface, broke through the haze of his exhaustion. A translucent window materialized before him, the script stark and official against the backdrop of the ruined clearing:
Pag blinked, his mind struggling to process the words, his thoughts sluggish, mired in the quicksand of his weariness. Support ticket? What support ticket? He searched his memory, sifting through the labyrinthine events of his journey, the encounters, the battles, the conversations that had brought him to this point.
And then he remembered. The stat sheet glitch. The persistent stagnation of his character’s attributes, despite the challenges he had overcome, the battles he had won, the skills he had mastered. He had submitted a ticket to the developers, frustrated by the lack of progress, the feeling that something was fundamentally wrong with his avatar.
A surge of annoyance, a flicker of defiance, ignited within him, pushing back against the encroaching exhaustion. Marked as complete? What did that even mean? Had they fixed the glitch? Had they adjusted his stats, upgraded his skills, acknowledged the imbalance that had plagued him from the start? Or had they simply dismissed his concerns, brushed aside his ticket as an insignificant anomaly in a world teetering on the brink of chaos?
He pushed himself up to a sitting position, his movements stiff, his joints protesting with pops and clicks that echoed in the unnatural silence of the clearing. He accessed his character sheet, the familiar interface shimmering into existence before him. He scrolled through the attributes, his gaze scanning the numbers. Something was different.
Player Name: Pagacco Level: 20
Class: Mage Subclass: Pyroclasm
Profession: None Specialization: None
Currently Active Title: Enemy of Soohan Most used Skill: Flames
Alignment: Inflammatory
Health: 120/190 [R:10] Mana: 15/1223 [R:10] Stamina: 4/79 [R:11]
Points Earned: 2578
Reputation:
Soohan: Blood Feud (-9999) Draggor (155)
Lunar Empire (0) Red Fox Caravan (0)
Arcane Core (12) Backstreet Boys (-500)
Unionized Draggor Thieves Clans (-500)
Attributes:
Strength: 14 Constitution: 17 Dexterity: 29 Intelligence: 29
Wisdom: 79 Charisma: 85 Piety: 0 Luck: 22
Karma: -2
Combat:
P.Attack: 10 M.Attack: 173 Accuracy: 89% Agility: 27 Speed: 8
Critical: 0.21 Endurance: 10 Focus: 30 P.Defense: 10
1. Def: 25 Armor: 10 Hygieian Meter: 72
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Active Status Effects:
Stinky I - Exhaustion II – hungry I
Skills: /_ERROR
Titles
Enemy of Soohan – Novice Pyroclasm - Cartographer I - Fabulous
His stats were higher. They weren't where they would be had he been actively training them, but they had risen considerably. Excitement, a welcome jolt of adrenaline, surged through him, banishing the last vestiges of exhaustion. They had fixed it. The glitch was gone. His character was progressing.
He scrolled further down the character sheet, to where his skills should have been listed. But instead of the familiar litany of abilities and proficiencies, he was met with a jumble of alphanumeric characters, a glaring error code that pulsed ominously against the backdrop of his character sheet. Pag frowned, his excitement dampened by a wave of unease. What did this mean? Was this another glitch, a side effect of the developers’ intervention? Or was it something more sinister, a sign that the instability within the game was spreading, corrupting even the most fundamental aspects of his virtual existence?
He scrolled back up to his attributes. A new notification, bright yellow and impossible to ignore, flashed across the bottom of the screen:
Unallocated points? Pag frowned. He had never seen this notification before. He attempted to access the allocation menu, eager to distribute the points, to further enhance his character’s abilities, but another notification, this one edged in red, blocked his access.
Advance his class and subclass? Choose a profession? Pag stared at the notification, a mixture of confusion and frustration swirling within him. He hadn’t given much thought to these aspects of the game. He’d been so focused on survival, on navigating the chaotic twists and turns of his journey, that he hadn't considered the more strategic elements of character development.
He glanced at the icon of Dedisco’s power, the swirling vortex of green energy that pulsed steadily on his character sheet. Was this a consequence of the god’s influence? Had his pact with Dedisco somehow altered the rules of the game, locked him into a path that demanded a different approach, a deeper understanding of the intricate mechanics that governed this virtual world? Or was this simply a natural progression, a challenge designed to test his knowledge, his commitment, his willingness to truly master the complexities of Ludere Online?
He took a deep breath, the air sharp and clean in his lungs. The exhaustion was gone, replaced by a surge of determination, a renewed focus. He had faced death, defied gods, and embraced chaos. He would not be deterred by a few unexpected notifications. He would figure this out.
He would level up.
Pag’s gaze flicked back to the error code where his skills should be. He tapped it experimentally, hoping to trigger a help menu, a troubleshooting guide, anything that would shed light on this new obstacle. But nothing happened. The code remained stubbornly in place, a mocking reminder of the game's instability, the ever-present possibility that the developers’ intervention had only exacerbated the underlying issues that plagued Ludere Online.
He had unallocated stat points. Points that represented his character’s growth, his potential, his power. But they were locked, inaccessible until he navigated this new layer of complexity, this unforeseen hurdle in his path. He needed information. He needed guidance. He needed… a mentor.
His thoughts drifted to Aviva, his constant companion on this perilous journey. She had a deep understanding of the game’s mechanics, a strategic mind that complemented his more impulsive, action-oriented approach. She had guided him through countless challenges, offered advice, shared knowledge, and pushed him to think beyond the immediate threat, to consider the long-term consequences of his actions. She would know what to do.
He reached for the messaging function on his character sheet, his fingers hovering over the familiar interface, but hesitated. Aviva was still recovering from their encounter with the imposter, resting in a secluded grove a few miles back, her body and spirit mending under the gentle ministrations of the Whisperwood’s magic. He didn’t want to disturb her, to burden her with his problems when she needed time to heal.
He considered his other options. He could reach out to other players, seek advice on the forums, or even try contacting the developers directly. But a wave of unease washed over him. The forums were rife with rumors of exploits, glitches, and even malicious code injected by rival gaming companies seeking to sabotage Ludere Online. And the developers… well, their track record wasn’t exactly stellar. He wasn’t sure he could trust them with this, this fundamental aspect of his virtual existence.
A new thought struck him. What about the NPCs? The non-player characters that populated Ludere Online were, for the most part, sophisticated AI constructs, designed to guide players through the game’s intricate storylines, offer quests, provide information, and even train them in specific skills and professions. Perhaps one of them could shed light on his situation. Perhaps one of them could act as a mentor, a guide through the labyrinthine world of character advancement.
He glanced at his surroundings, the charred clearing offering no immediate solutions. He needed to find a town, a village, a settlement where he could interact with NPCs, seek out those who possessed knowledge of the game’s more esoteric mechanics. He opened his map, the familiar interface shimmering into existence before him. He scanned the surrounding area, his gaze searching for signs of civilization, a beacon of hope in the vast expanse of the Whisperwood.
And then he saw it. A small village, nestled in a valley a few miles to the west, its name glowing softly on the map: Willow Creek. It wasn't a major hub, not a bustling metropolis filled with high-level players and powerful NPCs. But it was a start. A place where he could begin his search for answers, a stepping stone on his path to unlocking his full potential.
He took a deep breath, the air crisp and cool in his lungs. He closed his character sheet, the error code lingering in his mind, a challenge to be overcome. He adjusted his pack, the weight of the Heart of the Abyss a comforting presence against his back. He turned towards the west, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, a breathtaking backdrop to his journey, a silent promise of a new dawn, a new chapter in his adventures within Ludere Online.
He started walking, his footsteps silent on the soft earth, his gaze fixed on the distant mountains that silhouetted the horizon, the whispers of the Whisperwood fading behind him, replaced by the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat, a drumbeat of determination, a symphony of hope.
He had a goal. He had a purpose. He would level up. And he would not be alone.