From the perspective of Alessio Leone
Even though I had agreed with Freya that she would keep all the gold coins we earned from the battle against the Green Moon Lich, I kept a small portion for myself.
Five hundred coins.
Not enough to change anyone's fate, but enough to buy me a return to Eldenwall when added to what little I still had left.
At that point, it was all that remained of my fortune.
The portal from Durnholde to Eldenwall cost an absurd two thousand gold coins — a price that would make even great merchants hesitate.
For me, it meant only one thing: I was officially broke.
The ten thousand dollars I had invested in the game on the second day were gone like sand through my fingers.
Not wasted — every cent was reflected in the weight I now carried on my back.
The Bulwark of Titans.
The shield didn't feel like a mere item — it was a presence.
Even at rest, it exuded a living density, as if it carried the memories of fallen giants, fragments of their strength imprisoned within.
The sound of metal when I moved my shoulders was deep, resonant — as if the air itself acknowledged its worth.
I didn't regret a thing.
Not for a single moment.
An epic item was the kind of investment that defined a player's future.
Not only for its immediate power but for the promise embedded in every line of code, in every rune etched into its surface.
For now, I was only level 5.
The ascent of essence granted me stat increases at each new tier, but their true value would only reveal itself later — when equipment bonuses began to interact, multiplying effects and turning players into true monsters of power.
That was the fate reserved for survivors.
For those who accumulated.
When base attributes began to merge with relics, when every point became an exponential multiplier, the monsters of the Black Tower would be born — players capable of challenging entire armies alone and winning.
They would become legends.
And I intended to be one of them.
Obtaining the Bulwark so early wasn't just luck and knowledge of the future — it was being ready at the right moment to seize the opportunity.
And even if an item's full power would only become evident later, that didn't mean it was useless now.
Every small advantage at this stage of the game could snowball into something massive.
And I was building mine.
That's how you won in this world: not through haste, but through patient accumulation.
One item here, one skill there.
All adding up quietly, until the world realized — too late — what you had become.
I looked at my balance floating before me, the two glowing coins on the screen a near-ironic reminder of everything I had invested.
It wasn't much.
But it was enough.
All I needed now was to reach Eldenwall.
The next piece of the board waited there — and I knew that if I played it right, today's scarcity would become tomorrow's profit.
I closed the menu.
The sound of metal around my body echoed like a silent warning:
from this point on, every step would be an investment.
And the cost — in gold, blood, or time — didn't matter.
Because, in the end, the result always justified the price.
I paid my fare.
The metallic clinking of coins piling in the attendant's hand sounded heavier than I'd expected.
Two thousand gold coins.
As the interface confirmed the transfer and the portal began to react, I turned to Freya beside me.
She paid calmly, with that unshakable poise she always maintained even when the world was collapsing around her.
But knowing her as I did, I could see the subtle discomfort in her eyes.
She was already paying for herself, her children, and her sister...
And from the impatient glance she threw my way — part reproach, part concern — I was certain she would've paid my fare too, had I let her.
But I preferred not to.
My relationship with her was already... complicated enough.
I didn't need more confusion.
Especially with the two little ones sleeping peacefully in her sister's arms.
Small, golden spheres of warmth and innocence, breathing in unison as Lotte — still enchanted by them — cradled them like sacred creatures.
She had no idea what they truly were.
And honestly, it was better that way.
Some things needed to remain unspoken.
At least for now.
Fortunately, the kingdom didn't recognize them as people.
To the system, they were only summons — bound creatures.
They didn't need tickets, didn't count as travelers, didn't exist in the bureaucratic sense of the word.
If not for that, another four thousand coins would've vanished in this simple crossing.
With everything ready, we approached the platform.
The Durnholde portal was a breathtaking sight — a monumental arch of dark stone, carved with ancient inscriptions glowing in blue and silver.
Runes of transport moved slowly across its surface, like silent mechanical gears turning in light.
The air vibrated with condensed energy, and a faint static tingle brushed across my skin as I neared it.
Freya stood ahead, steady, her black hair catching the ethereal glow of the portal.
Lotte followed close behind, the twins still nestled in her arms, while the rest of the group waited further back — each lost in their own thoughts and expectations.
Before taking the final step, I turned around.
Behind us, Durnholde stretched silent under the gray digital dusk.
Massive walls, towers with tattered flags, markets crowded with NPCs and passing adventurers — everything looked so stable, so eternal.
But I knew it wasn't.
I watched it for one more moment, letting the memory settle —
the voices, the scent of iron, the amber lights in the windows.
A place that would soon become nothing more than memory — another ruin remembered by those who came after.
Then I drew a deep breath, stepped forward, and entered the portal.
The light enveloped me —
and Durnholde was left behind.