Richtor KongRu

- Dawson Creek Town -

[Regional System Announcement: Congratulations, Alaric for being the first player to reach level 10]

[World System Announcement: Congratulations, Alaric for being the first player to reach level 10]

Grifden’s shock couldn’t have been more complete; his jaw fell and hung open until he leaped to his feet and shouted, his voice echoing loudly inside the crammed-full room, “Holy crap, that guy is insane! Another world first already?! He's even in our region! How is there someone that strong around here? He's got to be at least a national-level martial. Someone that famous living anywhere near Firik City should’ve made waves.”

Richtor nodded along until Grifden assumed the mysterious Alaric was someone unknown, “Supposedly, each region is crazy huge. Like, half the size of Earth, huge. We have no way of knowing what city that guy’s from. He could be the leader of a huge dojo, or even a hidden master who's playing for fun.”

Grifden scoffed, rolling his eyes for good measure, “I heard those old monsters could punch through duracrete and steelphene. Why would someone that powerful in real life play a game where they become so much weaker? It's probably one of their disciples who's being paid tens of millions to pave the way for some rich bastard's kids.”

Richtor wasn’t the biggest fan of Grifden. Not only did the guy forget his voice came equipped with a volume knob, but he was also the newest member of their crew and seemed to think he needed to make up for that by being a know-it-all and having the last word in every discussion.

The group's resident egg-head, and Richtor's oldest childhood friend, Kevinsbakon, sensed the two were about to get into it again, “Oh, that sounds a lot more feasible. Those rich kids have it way too easy. I wish I was a martial… We’ve only been playing for a day and I already regret not taking those kenpo classes more seriously.”

Grifden lashed out at the nerd whose in-game avatar was several times larger than his skin and bones physical body, “Not this again, Kevy. Nobody wants to hear for the fiftieth time how you could have been a famous, national-level martial, ‘if only you hadn’t taken an arrow to the knee.’ You know what? Enough sitting around.”

Richtor’s eyes narrowed as Grifden stood and dust himself off, “Hey, where are you going?”

“What do you mean? We need to get out of this town. That Alaric monster, and tons of others, are all getting further and further ahead of us. We can't keep sitting here like this! We need to do whatever it takes! We’ve already talked about how this game is going to change the world with its time dilation. There's money here, real money! Well, more than enough that we could quit our crap jobs and play full-time. We don't have a minute to lose, let alone hours!”

Deloralicious—the only girl in their group of eight—tutted while wagging her finger back and forth, “Don't let the FOMO get to you, Grif. Rick’s brother is coming to help, let’s wait a bit longer. Besides, we just got to experience our throats being ripped out for the third time, I need a break.”

Grifden’s crush on Deloria was the entire reason he joined their merry band of friends a few months ago, and he always grew annoyed when she mentioned Richtor; this time was no exception, “How is one random guy going to make a difference? Why don’t you tell us what level this amazing brother of yours is?”

It’s not like I want to wait for him either. He always ends up as the center of attention when he's around my friends. Then again, he sounded pretty confident that he could help, and this really sucks. Maybe we should wait. He’s been… different the last couple days. Well, if Deloria wants to take a break, then we should stay put. She's the most likely to quit and that would be a damn shame after we all took work off to enjoy the launch together.

As Grifden opened his mouth to continue, Richtor cut him off, “I don’t know what level he is, his profile was set to private but he’s strong enough to get from his zone to ours.”

Kevinsbakon whistled, “Well, that's not nothing. He's coming all the way here for us and he definitely knows how to travel, which we don't. How dumb would it be to get halfway to the next town, die, then end up right back here again?”

Deloralicious snapped her fingers, which then turned to finger-guns that she pointed toward Richtor, “He's the one that gave you all those other tips, too. I mean, he sounds pretty reliable. I think I'll wait.”

Kevinsbakon nodded vigorously, “Me too. I'll wait. Dying sucks ass. I'm not dumb enough to sign up for that more often than necessary.” They each shuddered at the all-too-recent memory of being ripped apart by wolves. Kevin’s voice turned solemn as he wrapped his arms around his knees, “Why are they even doing this to us? We didn't do anything to them. Shouldn’t they be thinking the same thing as us and wanting to catch up with that Alaric guy? Why waste time on a few nobodies like us?”

Grifden jumped at the opportunity to insert himself back into the conversation, “You're being way too narrow-minded. What if it's not only us? What if they recruit everyone in town? How crazy would it be to have several hundred, or even thousands of peons running around collecting a few copper a day? That adds up quick, and like I said, this game is going to make some crazy money. I bet some of the big guilds that moved here from other games could already scrap together a few gold if everyone contributed.”

MourningWood spoke up for the first time, “Shouldn't we join them then? Wouldn't we be able to get a lot further ahead if we had a big guild backing us?”

Richtor gagged, having gone that route before in a previous game. He was all too familiar with how large guilds used their lower rung members like slaves, “Hey, if you want to be told what to do, where to go, and what boring-ass items to farm for the rest of your life, go right ahead.”

“No reason to be a dick about it. I was only suggesting. I think being part of a huge guild someday would be pretty awesome. Like joining the army and protecting your country. Nothing dishonorable or stupid about that!”

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Before Richtor could tell him the error of his ways, Grifden tried once more to convince them to leave, “C'mon Ricky. Let's all go together. We can meet your brother on the road. That will save time for us, and him. Compromise a little bit! Staying here is pointless. And Deloria, I’ll definitely protect you so you don’t have anything to worry about. You can even stay at the entrance to town until the coast is clear.”

Richtor was about to tell him off but instead took a hard look at each of his long-time friends. It didn’t take a genius to see they were ready to try again and the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint them. Even Deloria looked open to the idea after the suggestion she could hide at the entrance.

“Fine, one more time.”

image [https://i.imgur.com/7AF18SZ.png]

“I don’t see ‘em. I think we’re in the clear,” Milkdud—the group's resident five-foot-nothing gym bro—looked left and right, his head sticking out past the town’s wall while the rest of him was safely tucked inside.

SanctimoniousNut sneered, “Isn’t that exactly what you said last time?”

Grifden was quick to soothe his best friend, “Dying sucks for sure, but there’s no reason to get mad.”

“The dud took a scouting skill and has yet to actually scout anything with it…” SanctimoniousNut deadpanned.

“Give him a break, these skills aren't as easy to use as they seem. I don’t recall you actually hitting anything with those little fire-puffs of yours,” TwistedReligion—Richtor’s childhood neighbor—snickered.

“You hit once! One single time and now you’re all that, huh?” Sanctimonious fired back.

TwistedReligion popped his nonexistent collar and drawled in a silky smooth voice, “Damn, it feels goooood to be king.”

Richtor held in the bark of laughter that desperately wanted to escape, “I’m all for delaying excruciating pain with friendly banter, but I also want to get the hell out of here if we actually have a chance. Let’s do this!”

They charged out in a ragged mob, Richtor and Grifden in the lead. The rest uncertainly followed behind, save for Deloralicious who stayed in the safety of the town. Even if the rest died, the Vaaterran guards stationed at the gate would kill any beasts before they had a chance to get close to her. The group barreled down the road and made it to the nearby forest. Just as Deloralicious was regretting her choice to stay behind, a lone figure stepped out of the woods.

Richtor’s steps faltered as his brain attempted to comprehend what he was seeing. It wasn't the handsome man’s tall, wiry build or slicked-back hair that beggared belief, it was the two thrashing wolves he carried by the scruff of their necks.

“L-l-level three!” Milkdud's stuttering was replaced with outright terror as he spun around to run, only to be stopped fast by the sight of the nine people who had dashed out of the forest to surround them. Three of their captors were the all-too-familiar goons who had run groups of wolves to kill them previously.

A round of curses from Richtor’s friends was silenced by the skinny man’s braying laughter. He drawled in a mocking tone, “So… you're the stubborn fools who can't see the sky for what it is?”

Richtor spat an angrily retort, his eyes glued to the vicious wolves, “It's never going to happen! We won’t join your guild. Are you the leader of these losers who can't take a hint?”

An infuriated little man from behind them screamed, practically frothing and spewing spittle with every word, “Watch your tongue or I'll cut off your lips and use ‘em to sew your mouth shut!”

The skinny man shook his captive beasts, rattling them into submission, “Now-now, MercilessLee, you're scaring the recruits, again.”

“We're not going to join you, no matter how many times you kill us!” Kevinsbakon shouted. Unfortunately, his shaking arms stole any of the threat his avatar's massive form may have instilled.

“That's fine with me,” the handsome man shrugged, “I honestly don't mind losing the services of one of my boys by having him follow you around indefinitely. Who knows, killing you every day may yield more income than regular farming. ZionLine is still new, it's hard to say what the most efficient use of time is at this point…”

Richtor swallowed hard, hearing the absolute conviction and sincerity in the nonchalantly delivered threat, “W-why do you keep doing this to us?” He shook his head, not understanding why anyone would go through so much trouble for a bunch of nobodies.

The handsome leader smashed the two struggling wolves together, momentarily stunning them, “What? You're asking that now? Well, who knows, maybe hearing the truth will finally bring you to your senses. I'm not anyone special, either. Sure, I'm a martial, but I'm only one of fifty out here gathering soldiers for our guild's bright future. There isn't a town in this zone, nor a single solo player that we haven't approached. So, obviously, groups like yours with good teamwork and no affiliation would never be overlooked. You’re right about something though. At the moment, you really are nobodies, and you'll stay nobodies until you submit and join the ranks.”

The stunned silence that wrapped around the dreary road was broken as the wolves regained their senses and returned to their futile thrashing and yowling.

“Are there any benefits to joining besides no longer being harassed?” Grifden's voice shocked Richtor out of his incoherent disbelief. He stared hard at his friend, recognizing the calculating squint of his eyes.

Before Richtor could think of something to say, the leader responded by effortlessly lifting the wolves and shaking them, “I brought these pups back as a token of gratitude to those who chose to follow willingly. See, we at DyingNight take care of our juniors. We also take care of our enemies…”

“Alright, I'll join. C'mon Nut, it's about time we start playing this game seriously.” SanctimoniousNut followed with no hesitation, the two crossing the short distance to the leader and standing off to his side to face the group. When Grifden noticed that nobody else followed, he rolled his eyes, “Seriously guys? This is a no-brainer. How much more time are you going to waste? If we had joined right away, instead of getting killed back to zero, we would probably be level three. Time is money, and we're throwing away both by being needlessly stubborn.”

MourningWood glanced between his long-time friends and the two newcomers he had introduced to the group. He made his choice and moved to join Grifden, “Sorry, guys. Anything is better than this.” When Richtor nodded without recrimination in his expression, MourningWood refused to meet his eyes.

“Three is a good start, it's no problem if you need another day or two to make up your minds,” the leader remarked as the encirclement closed in around them.

Before they could be completely surrounded, Milkdud made a break for it but the nasty little psychopath from before blurred forward to block his way. When they collided, a red shield shimmered around them both before Milkdud was thrown backward, “So fucking weak! Know your place, worm!” The crazy bastard shouted while kicking Milkdud repeatedly, each strike caused the red shield to flicker into existence while simultaneously the force behind the blows sent him sliding across the ground ever closer to the leader.

“No!” Richtor shouted as the leader dropped one of the level three wolves right on top of Milkdud who was torn apart in seconds. TwistedReligion tried to run too but slipped on the blood soaking into the dirt. The leader's boot pinned him to the ground where the second wolf tore into him with claw and tooth.

One by one, Richtor watched his friends die before he too had the pleasure of once more experiencing his throat being ripped open as he was eaten alive. All the while, braying laughter rang in his ears.