Let me set the scene.

We’re all standing in a circle. Jagon, the Caster, is in the center, holding his staff aloft like he’s about to part the Red Sea. Okay, so far, so good.

He starts chanting in a language that sounds like someone threw a dictionary in a blender, and the others join in. Not bad—maybe he’s actually casting something.

Not wanting to look out of place, I mumble along, praying I’m not accidentally summoning Satan. Just as I’m starting to get the hang of the gibberish, Jagon’s staff glows bright blue. Uh-oh.

And I’m right—the fun begins here. My chest tightens like a vice, and I suddenly realize how much I enjoy breathing. I clutch my chest, feeling the mana draining out of me. The pain spikes, spreading fast. I’m this close to shouting at Jagon to cut it out when—bam—I blink, and everything goes pitch black.

Before I can make sense of what just happened, Jagon’s voice cuts through the darkness: “Let there be light,” he says, and just like that, light blasts into my eyes, nearly blinding me

What the hell was that? When I finally manage to open my eyes, I’m in a completely new place. Holy crap—teleportation!

Gone is the starry night, replaced by a clear morning sky and an endless stretch of green. The open field seems to stretch forever, dotted with tents and packed with fighters of every kind. Snow-capped mountains loom in the distance, their peaks kissing the sky, and the wind carries their icy breath, filling my lungs and sparking new life in my veins.

Rox limps out first, taking the lead, and we fall in line, nodding at the guys who glance our way. The path is narrow and winds through more corners of the base than I care to count, dragging us past all the essentials that keep this place running.

We pass the kitchen—a big tent with utensils crudely made from soil, currently on fire. A bunch of guys are busy stirring them and hacking away at meat. Food situation? Check.

Next, we hit the communal area, which is basically a freezing river where guys force themselves to bathe and, apparently, drop their loads. I stifle a laugh as I spot blobs of poop floating downstream. Then it dawns on me—I’m going to have to wade through this later. Shit!...literally.

A few more turns, and we come across an open field in the center, serving as a training ground—or maybe an arena, judging by the two guys going at it while the others cheer them on.

That’s about the gist of it. Too many guys, not much else.

Then we come to a tent, and Rox finally stops. I half-expect him to just slide in, but instead, he calls Jegon forward. The guy just raises his staff and starts mumbling more of his usual gibberish. A minute later, the tent entrance starts glowing. Must be a lock.

Rox pulls the curtain aside and waves us in. I almost head inside, but I stop when I hear him call for a healer—'him,' specifically. Another guy! Seriously? The healer class should be, no, must be reserved for women. It’s only fair that everyone on this wretched land gets to experience a gentle touch during healing… but that’s just wishful thinking.

Also, did I mention it’s all men here? Big, burly, smelly men—everywhere. That can’t be right, can it?

Just to be sure, I step back out and scan the area. Nope, not a single trace of a woman, no matter how hard I squint. I thought it was just our group, but now it’s painfully obvious—this entire base is a damn sausage fest. Why? Are women not chosen for the Tutorial? Come on, we need more equality. What have feminists been fighting for since the dawn of humankind if not this?

“You want a separate invitation?” Rox asks, annoyed.

“No, sir,” I say, slipping inside. Rox follows, letting the curtain fall with a click.

The inside of the tent is surprisingly spacious and warm—maybe that magic heater theory wasn't too far off. It’s the perfect spot to lie down and catch some rest, just like everyone else sprawled out on the grassy floor. Wait, grass? Yeah, magic really does work wonders.

I drop down beside Brad. He’s clutching his blade like it’s his lifeline, even as his eyes start to droop. Doesn’t say a word, but that look he shoots my way? Yeah, it’s all “Not you again.” But right now, I’m too tired to give a damn.

I unstrap my sword, lay it next to me, and use my cloak as a makeshift pillow. As I let my body sink into the grass, one thought crosses my mind: damn, this grass is comfortable.

Hand over my head, I’m just about to drift off when Rox announces, “Those who want healing, prepare your points and wait. For the rest of you, get some sleep. But remember—you need to be up in six hours for base duty. That’s non-negotiable. However, it is voluntary… just like sleeping in this warm tent or using any other base resources. So, set your clocks and get on with it.”

Everyone nods like it’s old news. I nod along, trying to piece it all together.

Trading points for healing? Weren’t healers supposed to level up by healing, gaining points in the process? Sure, but I guess if it’s free, it loses value, so you’ve got to pay. Makes sense. Still, I’m attached to my points, and since it’s not a woman doing the healing... I’ll pass.

And then there's ‘base duty.’ You've got to pull your weight to enjoy the perks. Fine, but just six hours of sleep? Come on! How am I supposed to get any proper rest? And, for crying out loud, how do I even set my clock?

[Set your Clock: 00:00]

You will be reminded in 00:00 hours.

A system screen pops up, and I roll my eyes. Of course, it’s that simple.

Setting it to six hours, I shift to the side and close my eyes. First thing when I wake up, I’ll ditch the duties—just for a while, alright?—and track down Nethan. Our friendship has to mean something. Like maybe he’ll help me strengthen my mana veins or teach me some mana arts. There are plenty of ways to repay a life saved.

* * *

I was all set to ditch the base duty and go find Nethan. I’d already mapped out the path, following the same route they said he took, off on some side-quest or something. But just as I’m about to head out, I hear a call.

“Hey… hey… hey buddy, you got a sec?”

The hesitant tone nearly makes me ignore it, but I turn around out of common decency. It’s a kid—barely a teen—swathed in rags. Sweater, shawl, the whole deal. How’d he get all that when everyone else is freezing their asses off outside the tents? Maybe I could borrow some layers from him.

“Not really, but I’ll make an exception,” I say with a forced grin. “So, what’s up?”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

He steps closer, extending a shaky hand. “Tenner, the Watch. They call me that because I just sit around and watch.”

“Colt. Just Colt,” I reply, noting his odd title and wondering how long he’s been around to earn it. No matter. He seems like one of those left-behind types who could use a hand. “So, Tenner, what do you need to know about the Tutorial? Ask me anything.”

“So, um,” he steps back, putting a little more distance between us. “I know you just woke up,” he points at my bedhead and the water still dripping from my beard, “and you probably don’t want to talk about this, but... have you finished your base duties?”

My grin slips, and I arch an eyebrow. “Uh…” Honestly caught off guard, I reply, “Is that a prerequisite for doing anything else? Because the guys told me I could do my hour whenever, as long as it’s during my stay.” Yeah, I made sure to double-check that.

“Oh,” he suddenly looks like he’s had a realization, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. “Right, of course. Have a nice afternoon then.” He waves me on and quickly disappears into the passing crowd.

“What the hell was that?” I mutter, then shrug it off and move on. I need to find Nethan fast, or if he gets on with his side-quest, he’ll be lost to me for who knows how long. Or he might be on it already, who knows.

Asking other players for directions, I manage to cover a good chunk of the way quickly. But then, I start catching random scoffs, snarls, and eye rolls for no apparent reason. By the time I’m halfway there, the hostility is so thick that no one even bothers talking to me anymore.

“What is wrong with you people?” I ask aloud, standing in the middle of the bustling crowd.

The answer comes back, “Look up, jackass!”

I glance up, and before I know it, “What the fuck,” slips out as I spot a giant floating screen above my head, with the word "ASSHOLE" in bright red, all caps, blinking like some kind of fucking neon sign. I wave at it, but it just keeps flashing, bold as ever.

“Who the hell put that there?” I mutter, but then the real question hits me. “Why?”

Doesn’t ‘asshole’ mean someone who’s a jerk? How am I a jerk? Oh, right. Freeloading off everyone at the base. Damn it. The realization slaps me across the face pretty hard, and I drag a hand through my hair, groaning.

Who did this? Tennar. It’s gotta be that little prick. He was the first to bring up my base duties, and when I didn’t hop to it, he probably thought, “Why not humiliate the guy? That’ll teach him a lesson.”

“You little fuck,” I grumble under my breath, only to earn glares from practically everyone around me. “What?”

“Go finish your duties, dumbass,” someone shouts. “It’ll go away on its own.”

“Of course, it will,” I mutter, nodding with a resigned sigh. What choice do I have? Still, fuck you, Tennar. You could’ve just told me!

* * *

Just like the guy said, the sign disappears the second I finish my hour-long volunteer shift. But by then, the damage is done.

When the glares and curses aren’t enough, someone decides to get creative. Two minutes before I’m free, I’m just washing my dagger when they spot the sign and kick me in the ass so hard I’m pretty sure my nuts explode. I go flying straight into the river—landing right next to a fresh blob of floating poop. The crowd erupts into laughter and cheers, and as I lay there, soaking wet, humiliated, and squirming in pain, a little part of me dies inside.

Chopping meat for an hour straight without a single bite, and this is the thanks I get. “So, yeah, you're welcome, Tennar,” I mutter, dragging myself up and swiping the water off my face.

I glance up, and finally, the sign is gone. So is the laughter—just like that, I’m not even worth a look. “Assholes,” I spit into the river, the water rippling with my disdain. Grabbing my dagger, I stumble out. Dripping wet and pissed off, I start looking for a quiet spot where I can dry off and pretend this day didn’t happen.

A bit of walking helps ease the pain in my balls, and I soon find a spot tucked away in some light foliage, not far from the busy shore. Oddly, it's deserted. I’m guessing the thick fog rolling over the river is keeping everyone away. I could investigate. But a little voice in my head tells me that’s not the brightest idea. Could be risky—who knows what’s in that mist.

So, I settle down to dry my clothes, draping them over some low-hanging branches. With that sorted, I decide to take a plunge into the cold water. It’s refreshing and clears my head, helping me forget about Tennar and his little tag skill that keeps the base in check, probably. Maybe I’m being too harsh on him—he’s just doing his job, after all. The real assholes are those guys who made me think I could dodge my duties. Bunch of retarded apes, really.

Done with my impromptu bath, I dry off with some naked calisthenics, then squeeze into my damp clothes. They cling to me like a second skin, and the cold wind makes me shiver, but it’s better than nothing.

I head toward the wall, where the side-quest awaits. What’s the wall? A massive barrier supposedly designed to keep us safe—or so some guy said. Safe from what? No clue. Hopefully, it's just nature doing its thing and not something with teeth.

I head west, following a narrow path up a small hill. As I climb, the number of newbies drops, replaced by grizzled veterans rushing around in blood-streaked armor. A sinking feeling settles in my gut. Is there a fight happening inside this supposed safe base?

By the time I reach the top and see the chaos below, it’s clear. The fighters are battered—bloodied, missing limbs, deep gashes, and bite marks everywhere. The tents echo with pained howls, yet the base behind me hums along like nothing’s wrong. Am I missing something? Is this the side-quest? Where’s the wall?

Either way, Nethan’s my focus. I can’t have him dying on me again, not until he pays me what I’m owed.

I scramble down the rocky stairs, scanning the wounded and the few still standing, looking for Nethan. I peek into each tent, half-expecting to find him seriously injured, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Just as I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief, a barrel rolls across my field of vision. I squint, the shape coming into focus. “That’s not a barrel…Nethan!”

I bolt after him, weaving through the maze of tents, bumping into armored bodies, getting scratched up in the process. Nethan dives into a hole in the wall, charging headfirst like the idiot he is. I line myself up to follow when someone steps in my way. I skid to a stop, face-to-face with a lanky guy in mud-stained armor.

“Who the hell are you?” he snaps, sizing me up like I’m a stray. Fair point—I’m not exactly decked out like their usual lot. “Where’s your weapons, armor, muscle?” Yeah, yeah, I get it.

“I’m with Rox’s team. If I don’t get in there, one of his best is gonna die—and he still owes me a lot,” I say, keeping it blunt.

His brows shoot up, all skeptical. “You don’t look much like a fighter,” he sneers.

“That’s because…” I say, drawing my sword with a sharp shing, tossing it high in the air. I try to keep my cool even as panic creeps in while it falls. I desperately try to feel the pull, but there’s nothing. As it clatters to the dirt with a resounding clang, I remember that my mana’s been cut off by that damned boss. Shit!

“Because…” the guy scoffs, and I let my shoulders slump in defeat.

“Why not just let me go, please?” I ask, putting on my best puppy eyes.

He shrugs, barely bothered. “Go on,” he says with a smirk, stepping aside.

I’m eager, but the hole’s gone. “What… No!” I frantically search the rocky wall. There’s no trace of it. “You just blew my only chance at saving him!” I scream, frustration getting the better of me.

“No, I didn’t!” he fires back, spitting the words out. “Everyone gets their own portal, dumbass. It’s a side-quest. You can’t just hitch a ride.” His tone’s dripping with condescension, but he’s not wrong. “Check your quest window first, moron. Then save your tantrums for someone else.”

As he walks off, I find myself nodding. Maybe I was a bit too eager. I can’t stop Nethan, so what’s the point of risking my neck? To provide support? What kind of support—moral? Yeah, right.

I pull up my quest window, and there it is:

Side Quest: Thwart the Invaders, Safeguard the Base, and Etch Your Name in History

For a thousand years, the base of Taman, established by the First of the Players, has stood as a sanctuary for all who seek refuge. Yet, this long-standing peace has not been without its trials. The Natives, the snow dwellers—commonly known as Death Walkers—have grown increasingly uncontrollable. Conventional defenses are no longer sufficient. These threats now challenge the very walls that stand between order and chaos, threatening to erase the base from existence.

As a player, it is your duty to ensure this does not happen. The peace must be preserved, but the choice to act rests solely with you.

Will you choose to protect the base?

YES / NO

Minimum participation time: 30 minutes.

Maximum participation time: 2 hours.

Rewards: Equivalent to, or greater than, those earned in dungeons.

----

So, do I protect the base or not?