Under the pitch-black night canopy, Charles sneaked into Ritou. The air on this border island felt so heavy and suffocating, filled with tension that was almost physically palpable.
Paper lanterns hanging along the streets emitted a dim and sickly purple light, creating long shadows that danced like ghosts.
At every corner, Doushin samurai patrolled with stiff and fierce steps, their black armor creaking softly, their sharp eyes scrutinizing every passerby with unmasked suspicion.
Charles moved like a shadow, his dark cloak—looted from one of the ronin—making him nearly blend into the darkness of the narrow alleys reeking of seawater and garbage.
He observed the foreign merchants trapped on the island, their faces filled with despair and exhaustion. They sat in front of their closed shops, staring blankly at the streets, trapped in a golden cage created by the Sakoku Decree.
He hid in the shadow of a teahouse, his sharp ears catching whispers from the patrons inside.
They weren't talking about trade or the weather. They were talking about the Vision Hunt. About their friends who had lost their ambitions, about their families who had fled, about the Tenryou Commission samurai who could appear anytime like ghosts to seize someone's most precious possession.
Vision Hunt… so the story is exactly as I knew in the game… Charles thought, a thin smile etching onto his lips. Ei… why are you so obsessed with eternity, stripping away the dreams and ambitions of your own people. Why not just be obsessed with me?
At that moment, across the street, an old craftsman was arguing with two Doushin samurai.
The old man clutched his chest tightly, where a Geo Vision shone with a warm golden light. His face was filled with desperate pleas, his voice trembling as he tried to explain that the Vision was his only source of inspiration and life.
However, the samurai didn't care. One of them, with a cold and emotionless face, stepped forward and with one quick and rough motion, snatched the Vision from the craftsman's hand.
Charles watched everything from the darkness.
He saw the golden light in the Vision dim and finally extinguish. And at the same time, he saw something far more horrifying.
The fire in the craftsman's eyes, the spirit and passion for life that had been blazing there, also extinguished instantly. His face, once filled with emotion, now became blank, his muscles slackening, and his body, once upright in resistance, now slumped as if all his bones had softened.
He just stood there, staring blankly ahead, an empty human shell.
The scene didn't affect him at all.
No anger, no pity, nothing. He just stared at the tragic scene for a moment with the same cold gaze, before finally nodding slowly to himself.
…
In the midst of the ruined cafe room, Arthur sat casually on the chest of the Ice Golem he had destroyed.
The giant body was now nothing more than a mound of cracked dead crystals, reflecting the cold midday sunlight.
In his right hand, Arthur held the golem's core. He tossed the core into the air, letting it spin, then caught it back with a soft tap from his leather glove.
He did it again, and again, as if waiting for the universe to throw a joke to entertain him.
However, no one laughed.
Only silence answered.
He stopped. His fingers gripped the cold core, feeling its fading vibrations, before finally slipping it into his cloak pocket with an indifferent motion.
Arthur jumped down from the ice wreckage, his boots landing on the wooden floor with a heavy sound. He shook his cloak, dislodging the dust of ice and snow flakes clinging like giant dandruff.
His movements were elegant, but his eyes radiated deep exhaustion. He stood there for a moment.
Then, reality bit him again.
The hunger came like a tidal wave, gnawing at his stomach walls. He stared at the nearby table, where the piece of baguette he had thrown earlier lay stiff.
The bread looked like a stone age artifact, hard, cold, and unappetizing.
"No choice," he muttered, his voice echoing in the empty room. "This is all there is."
Reluctantly, he grabbed the bread. Its surface was rough and as cold as ice. He raised it to his mouth, staring at it for a moment with one eye narrowed, as if assessing a tough enemy. Then, he bit into it.
KRAK!
The sound wasn't of crisp bread, but of something breaking.
A piercing cold sensation immediately spread from his teeth to his gums, then hit the nerves in his brain. Arthur growled softly, his face contorting against the torturous tingling.
He chewed with difficulty, trying to warm the frozen flour piece in his mouth before swallowing. It tasted bland, like eating compacted dust.
"Seriously?" he complained to the empty air.
He forced another bite, but this time his frustration peaked. He hadn't survived the horrors of the Abyss just to choke to death on frozen bread in an abandoned cafe.
He needed real food.
Hot soup.
Grilled meat.
Something to remind him that he was still human, not a walking corpse!
Arthur walked toward the cafe door. His hand pushed the heavy and creaking door leaf. The wind chime above it tinkled—ting-a-ling—a cheerful sound but out of place in this dead city.
He stepped out, back onto the snow-shrouded streets.
The cold wind immediately greeted him, playing with the edges of his cloak.
Arthur slipped both hands into his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched against the cold, and began walking without a clear destination.
His eyes, accustomed to vigilance in darkness, now swept the white city's ruins with a bored but sharp gaze.
After walking past several blocks of collapsed buildings, Arthur's steps suddenly halted.
His gaze fixed ahead, piercing the thin haze hanging in the air.
In a small square surrounded by frozen fountain statues, he saw movement.
Not the stiff and soulless movement of undead, but dynamic, colorful, and alive movement.
Three male figures were fighting.
Their opponent was an Ice Golem, slightly larger than the one Arthur had just destroyed.
The creature roared, its massive ice arms swinging wildly, trying to crush the small intruders.
However, the three men moved with trained coordination.
"Ryan, attack it!" shouted one man. He wore Liyue-style clothing with brown and gold accents. At his waist, a Geo Vision shone brightly.
The man named Yueshu stomped his foot on the ground.
DUM!
From beneath the snow layer, amber-colored stone pillars burst out at lightning speed. The rocks wrapped around the Golem's legs and arms, holding it in place. The Geo structure was solid, radiating an unshakable stability aura, like a mountain refusing to submit to a storm.
The Golem thrashed, ice scraping against stone, creating a horrifying grinding sound, but the stone grip didn't release.
"Now!"
Ryan, a green-haired youth with a Dendro Vision, shot forward. He didn't carry a heavy weapon, but used agility and natural elements. His hands extended, and from his fingertips, emerald green energy radiated.
Thorny vines, somehow growing amid the freeze, exploded from the ground. The plants wrapped around the Golem's body already restrained by Geo rocks, squeezing it, seeking gaps between ice joints.
The synergy between Geo and Dendro created a perfect prison. The rocks provided foundation, while the plants provided choking pressure.
The third man, seemingly the main attacker, jumped high using Yueshu's shoulder as a foothold. His sword gleamed, and with one clean slash, he shattered the exposed Golem's core.
PRANG!
The Golem shattered into pieces, collapsing into a harmless pile of ice.
The fight was short, efficient, and showed a level of teamwork that impressed Arthur a little.
As the ice dust settled, Ryan approached Yueshu. Their gasping breaths formed white clouds in the air.
Ryan raised his hand, and they high-fived. "Good job, Yueshu," Ryan said, a wide smile adorning his face.
Yueshu nodded, his serious face softening slightly. He brushed dust from his clothes. "Don't let your guard down yet. Let's head to the next place. Supplies in this sector are secured."
Arthur, still standing in the distance, observed the interaction with an analytical gaze. He saw their familiarity, saw the trust built between them.
However, what caught his attention most wasn't their friendship, but the keyword just uttered: Supplies.
They seem like good people, Arthur muttered to himself, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. I'll just tail them. Maybe… they'll lead me to a place full of food.
As he muttered this, his hand reflexively held his rumbling stomach again. His priority was simple: survive.
And right now, surviving meant following those with access to a kitchen.
Arthur was about to step forward, starting his tailing, when suddenly he felt something.
At that moment, he suddenly felt the same sensation as when someone stared at him from the darkness, a subtle tickle at the nape making his neck hairs stand.
His instinct screamed one word: Danger.
Arthur stopped. He didn't immediately turn. He let seconds pass, calming his breath, sharpening his senses. Then, with slow and deliberate motion, he turned.
His eyes swept the white landscape behind him, past ruined buildings, past bent street lamp poles, and finally stopped at a high point in the distance.
He stared there in silence, long enough. His gaze met empty space, but he knew, something was there.
After several moments, when no threat appeared, Arthur shifted his gaze back forward, toward Ryan and Yueshu who were starting to move away.
He decided to ignore the observer for now. His stomach was more important than his paranoia.
He stepped, vanishing behind the street corner, following the food hunters' trail.
In the distance, at the spot Arthur had stared at, on top of the remnants of a clock tower whose roof had collapsed, a man was sitting.
He was at a dizzying height, where the wind blew stronger and colder, but he seemed undisturbed.
He sat casually on the stone edge, one leg dangling over the deadly abyss, while the other was bent supporting his arm.
The man was tall, wearing a long black cloak fluttering in the wind like raven wings. His hair was pitch black, contrasting with his pale skin and the white sky background. His face was handsome, adorned with a thin smile.
He stared at Arthur's receding back in the distance.
"He's indeed sensitive to his surroundings," the man muttered. His voice smooth, carried by the wind, not directed at anyone but himself.
His eyes, dark like ocean depths, glinted with amusement.
He had seen how Arthur destroyed the Golem in the cafe, how he ate the frozen bread with a suffering face, and how he sensed his gaze from such a distance.
"As expected from someone who managed to escape the Abyss," he continued.
He stood, balancing his body on the clock tower's edge. The wind hit his face, but he didn't blink.
"Interesting. Very interesting."
Without a run-up, without hesitation, the black-haired man stepped forward, dropping himself from tens of meters height.
His black cloak billowed, catching the wind, and his body glided down with defying gravity softness.
He descended as gently as a falling raven feather, landing on a snow pile without sound, without leaving footprints, before finally vanishing into the alley shadows, following the trail of the game that had just begun.
…
After witnessing an old man's ambition forcibly seized in the middle of the cold streets, Charles withdrew back into Ritou's labyrinth of narrow alleys.
He leaned against a damp and mossy wall, letting the darkness swallow him.
It seems I need something to hide my identity… Charles sighed.
With the remaining Mora he looted from the ronin, he navigated the most rundown back alleys, where the air was filled with the stench of rotting fish, spilled cheap sake, and thick despair.
There, behind a dirty cloth curtain, he found a small market.
Charles's eyes widened. I didn't expect there to be a market here… why have I never seen it in the game?
Could the developer have made changes to this world? As he said this, he walked while looking around.
Dim lanterns illuminated piles of goods that seemed to be smuggled items and stolen artifacts.
An old merchant with one squinted eye stared at him suspiciously as he approached.
Without a word, Charles stared at him for a moment before placing several Mora coins on the rickety wooden table.
The merchant understood.
He gave him a simple ronin outfit set: a dark indigo kimono that was worn, black hakama pants, and a pair of sturdy geta sandals, and a fox mask (kitsune men) made of white ceramic.
Charles stared at the mask for a moment. The mask was adorned with elegant but cold red strokes, its narrowed eyes and thin smile creating an unreadable and slightly terrifying expression.
After that, he left the place.
In a dead-end alley that was silent, Charles removed his old clothes. He folded them neatly, a small farewell ritual for the man he once knew, then stored them in his inventory.
As he donned the new ronin outfit, he felt different. The rough fabric felt foreign on his skin, but also fitting. Finally, he put on the fox mask.
Instantly, the world around him felt a little farther, muffled behind the narrow eye holes.
…
The cave wasn't just a hole in the ground; it was the earth's wet and slimy throat.
Its walls were coated with black moss that didn't need photosynthesis, living off remnants of death energy seeping from the soil.
The air inside felt heavy, still, and oppressive, as if gravity worked twice as hard here.
Its smell was a nauseating mix of rusted iron, wet earth, and faint sulfur, the scent of something long waiting in the darkness.
The dripping water sound—drip... drip... drip...—fell from stalactites into murky puddles on the cave floor, creating a monotonous rhythm that could drive an ordinary person insane.
Suddenly, that rhythm broke.
Heavy and impatient footsteps echoed from the cave mouth. The steps were arrhythmic, irregular.
Each boot stomp on the wet stone sent sharp echoes bouncing off the narrow walls, awakening sleeping shadows.
Jason stepped into the cave's main chamber.
The man looked restless, his body trembling not from cold, but from excess unsated adrenaline. His eyes wild, scanning the darkness with naked hunger.
He licked his dry lips.
However, before he could step further into the meeting circle, a voice suddenly stopped him.
"Jason, you're too hasty in taking action."
The voice wasn't loud, not shouting. It was deep, calm, and echoing like tectonic plates grinding far below the earth's surface. The voice had a weight capable of crushing someone's spine of courage.
Jason stopped abruptly, as if hitting an invisible wall. His shoulders tensed. He took a deep breath, trying to swallow back his nervousness, then slowly turned toward the voice's source—to the cave's darkest part, where shadows seemed denser than night.
"Forgive me, Captain," Jason replied, his voice slightly trembling. He licked his lips again, tasting the lingering salty sweat.
"I... I was too impatient. When I learned there were two Players right in front of me, right before my eyes... it felt like seeing sheep lost at the cliff's edge. My hands itched. My blood boiled. I just wanted to..."
"You just wanted to satisfy your hunger, and forgot the bigger purpose," the voice cut in again.
From within the darkness, a pair of eyes slowly opened.
Those eyes were red. The red of old dried blood, the red of a dying star still capable of burning anything approaching it.
They were the eyes of someone who had seen too much death until death itself grew bored of him.
The Captain sat there, on a natural stone formation resembling a throne. His body large, wrapped in a cloak as black as the surrounding shadows, making him seem to blend with the darkness itself.
Only his red eyes became beacons in that absence of light.
"Don't make the mistake a second time, Jason," the Captain said, his gaze piercing straight into Jason's soul, stripping him bare. "We are not wild animals pouncing on anything that moves. We are mechanisms. We are spider webs. We must wait for the right time. Patience is the deadliest poison for those who think themselves heroes."
Jason bowed his head, avoiding that burning gaze.
He knew that behind the Captain's calm voice, lurked a threat of violence far more terrifying than anything any Player could do.
However, Jason soon realized something else. The pressure in the air grew heavier. He felt other gazes piercing his skin.
He wasn't alone with the Captain.
Around the curving cave walls, from behind stalagmites and rock crevices, pair after pair of eyes began to open or glow faintly.
Some yellow like cat eyes, some pale green like poison, some white without pupils like the blind who see everything.
They were the other hunters.
They sat in silence, like gargoyle statues waiting for night to fall.
No one spoke, no one moved, but Jason could feel their judgment.
They stared at him simultaneously.
Jason didn't respond to their stares. He forced a thin smile, then walked stiffly toward an old wooden chair at the circle's edge. The chair legs screeched loudly as dragged across the stone floor, a sound that made several pairs of eyes in the darkness narrow sharply.
He sat in silence. His body slumped slightly, trying to make himself look smaller, less conspicuous.
He closed his eyes briefly, regulating his still racing breath, trying to dampen his noisy heartbeat.
Behind his closed eyelids, he still saw the shadows of the two Players who escaped him.
After a while, when he felt calm enough, he opened his eyes again and looked toward the Captain.
The atmosphere in the cave fell silent again, but now that silence had an electric charge. All eyes now focused on one point: the red-eyed leader.
The Captain slowly rose from his seat.
His movements slow and heavy. He looked at everyone in there, sweeping his gaze from one hidden face to another, ensuring every soul in the room was bound to his will.
"This world is sick," he began, his voice low, echoing off the wet walls. "This world is feverish from the presence of parasites coming from outside. They, the Players, think this is their playground. They think fate is a toy they can reset at will. They forget... that every garden has its guardian."
His red eyes glinted in the darkness.
"We have waited long enough. We have sharpened our knives in silence. We have let them feel safe, let them grow fat with their levels."
He paused, letting his words seep like poison into the ground.
"Let us begin," he said, the voice echoing, bouncing, and finally swallowed by the earth's depths.
"Hunting the Players."
…
A/N: I'm still expecting comments!
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