The morning sun barely pierced through the dense canopy of floor one's western forest, casting streaks of gold across the leaf-strewn ground. Kirito moved silently among the trees, the weight of his black sword resting lightly at his side, his eyes scanning the shifting shadows. The Golden Key pulsed faintly in his pocket, its rhythm syncing almost unnaturally with his heartbeat.
Today, he was hunting a dungeon spawn — a group of corrupted wolves that had begun terrorizing smaller players near the river. Word had spread: those who wandered too far were easy prey. Kirito didn't care about fame, but he cared about efficiency, and the Key hummed as if urging him forward.
Ahead, the corrupted wolves emerged, their eyes glowing a sickly green, their teeth bared in unnatural snarls. They moved with unnerving intelligence, flanking any player foolish enough to challenge them.
Kirito stepped into the clearing. The other players froze, unsure whether to fight or flee. He didn't answer their unspoken question. He simply drew his sword.
But then it happened.
The Key in his pocket burned with golden light, and a strange pulse echoed through his body. The air rippled as if reality itself bent around him. Before his eyes, countless weapons — swords, spears, axes, even long-forgotten relics — materialized midair, spinning and hovering around him. They glimmered with an otherworldly light, their edges sharp, their presence heavy with history.
"The Gate…" Kirito whispered.
Without thinking, he raised a hand. In an instant, a golden spear shot forward, piercing one of the wolves mid-leap. A flurry of swords spun outward, striking the remaining creatures simultaneously. Players nearby gasped, some screaming in fear as the weapons struck with precision that no human could hope to match.
Kirito realized then: the Key had opened something within him — a treasury of weapons, each with its own knowledge, its own weight of history. The Gate of Babylon had awakened.
Time seemed to slow as the wolves fell. He felt the weight of hundreds of weapons orbiting him, each waiting for his command. A spear from some ancient digital simulation, a sword from a legendary game, a golden halberd with runes he couldn't read — all poised, all lethal.
The players surrounding him stared in awe. "What… what is that?" one whispered.
Kirito didn't answer. He was both exhilarated and cautious. Each weapon had its own will, a history he could sense in fleeting visions: battles fought, heroes fallen, victories celebrated and lost. It was intoxicating — and terrifying.
The corrupted wolves lunged again, faster, more coordinated. Kirito twirled his wrist, and a hundred spectral blades shot outward in perfect arcs, disarming and cutting them apart before they could close the distance.
Then came the real test: a massive alpha wolf, larger than the others, its fur crackling with corrupted energy. Kirito focused. He didn't just swing his sword. He commanded the Gate. A golden portal opened above the wolf, and from it rained dozens of swords, spears, and axes, each striking simultaneously. The wolf let out a digital howl, disintegrating into fragments of light and data.
The forest fell silent. The remaining players stared at him, mouths agape, hearts pounding. Some kneeled instinctively. Some stepped back in terror. And Kirito… he felt something stir within him, a faint echo of another consciousness, ancient and regal, whispering:
"Well done, o bearer of my will. The Treasury responds to its King."
Kirito staggered back, breathing hard. He had won — effortlessly — but a shiver ran down his spine. This was more than power. It was influence, dominion over the very code of this world. And somewhere deep inside, he realized that the Gate was not just a tool. It was alive.
The hum of golden light faded, the weapons dissolving into nothingness, leaving only Kirito and the stunned onlookers. He exhaled slowly, trying to ground himself. His mind raced.
What was that? What had just happened?
The Key in his pocket no longer pulsed softly. Now, it burned like a heartbeat, insistent and insatiable. Kirito knew that this was only the beginning. The Gate of Babylon had chosen him — and it would demand more than he had ever faced.
He sheathed his sword, walking through the fallen leaves with the other players following cautiously behind. Whispered rumors had already begun to spread: "A golden swordsman… a demon of light…"
But Kirito didn't care about whispers or fame. He cared about survival, about understanding this new power, about keeping control. And as he walked deeper into the forest, the Gate pulsed faintly in his pocket, a silent promise and a warning.
The Treasury has awakened. And I am its King…