Tokyo, December 8, 2034.
Ginza Dome. Full capacity.
The Aetherion World Championship final had reached its decisive moment: Stage 3 — Duel Dominion. Overall series score: 3–3. Whoever won this stage would claim the triple crown.
The map was "Void Coliseum"—a circular arena suspended in space, with a transparent glass floor revealing swirling stars far below. Floating pillars provided the only cover. No mana regeneration. No healing items. Pure individual skill.
Supremo had been in the arena for four consecutive duels.
Four digital corpses from Dragon Sovereign lay dissipated around him. Four points for Eisenfaust. The Japanese crowd, usually reserved, chanted his name in borrowed German: "SU-PRE-MO! SU-PRE-MO!"
The main commentator, voice hoarse from shouting, announced in simultaneous English and Mandarin:
"Incredible, ladies and gentlemen! Supremo has single-handedly eliminated the first four players from Dragon Sovereign! Now only their captain remains—the legendary Heavenly Blade, rank 1 solo queue in China for three straight seasons!"
Heavenly Blade entered the arena with calm steps. Imposing avatar: crimson armor with golden dragon accents, twin curved swords in hand. He gave a slight nod—respect between kings.
Supremo returned the gesture with absolute silence. Aeternum, his legendary lance, rested on his shoulder.
The timer hit zero. Barriers dropped.
Heavenly Blade opened with his signature: Dragon Mirage—three illusory clones appeared instantly, each performing a different attack sequence. The crowd held its breath.
Any ordinary player would have hesitated, trying to identify the real one
Supremo did not.
He took a short diagonal step to the left, rotated his body exactly 37 degrees, and activated Piercing Void toward the center-left clone. The lance cut through the air with its characteristic hiss.
The clone dissipated. Wrong.
But the move had already been calculated as bait.
The real Heavenly Blade had used the clone to flank from the right. He emerged four meters away, swords crossed for a Crimson Cross Slash.
Supremo already knew.
In the exact frame the swords began to glow red, he canceled the lance's recovery animation with a micro-dash backward, spun 180 degrees mid-air, and triggered Orbit Pull—the gravitational field yanked Heavenly Blade half a meter forward, breaking the perfect timing of the slash.
The arena erupted once more.
"He predicted the flank from the clone's spawn delay!" shouted the analyst beside the commentator. "That's neural-level reading!"
Heavenly Blade wasted no time on surprise. He used the pull to close distance and unleashed an eight-hit combo, alternating between the twin blades at blinding speed.
Supremo blocked the first three with the lance shaft, sidestepped the fourth by a minimal margin, intentionally took the fifth (calculated damage: 11% HP) to gain positioning.
On the sixth strike, he interrupted with Counter Helix—the lance spun in a spiral, applying a 0.8-second stun.
Enough time.
Supremo advanced. Thrust → Aerial Impale → Spin Cancel → Ground Slam.
Every strike landed frame-perfect. Heavenly Blade tried to block the last, but the armor-break debuff from the prior slam was already active.
The lance pierced the Chinese avatar's chest
Ace.
The entire stadium rose to its feet. Fifty-two thousand people standing.
Supremo remained motionless at the arena's center, lance planted in the glass floor. Starlight danced on the blade.
In the official tournament chat, a single message appeared:
"GG."
Triple championship secured. Third consecutive MVP.
He was, without question, the greatest player Aetherion had ever seen.
Cut.
Berlin, January 15, 2035.
Thirty-eight days later.
Klaus Reinhardt sat in his ergonomic chair, staring at the powered-down neural helmet on the desk. The room was in twilight; only the cold light from Alexanderplatz filtered through the tall windows, reflecting off the dark visor of the AetherLink Pro.
The memory of victory was still vivid: the perfect weight of the lance, the absolute silence before each prediction, the roar of the crowd that seemed to come from another planet. But now the silence was different. Heavy. Empty.
Four hours earlier, everything had ended.
The Eisenfaust virtual meeting had begun like so many others: review of strategies for the 2035 season, analysis of new Aetherion patches, task division for spring bootcamp. Viktor Braun, the team's public captain, led as always with his confident, charismatic tone. The other four members—Felix, Anna, Jonas, and Moritz—were present, avatars aligned in the circular screen.
Klaus joined as Supremo, but his avatar was set to standard tournament mode: closed helmet, opaque visor, voice lightly modulated by filter. No one, not even his teammates, knew what he looked like in real life.
It had been a deliberate choice from day one.
At in-person events—press conferences, award ceremonies, official photos—Klaus always wore the Aetherion Global League's official mask: a full black visor with subtle blue LEDs, provided by the organization for "player privacy and security against doxxing and harassment." The public justification was safety, but for Klaus it was more than that.
He valued anonymity like few others
Being recognized on the street, signing autographs, posing for selfies with hysterical fans—none of it suited him. Klaus enjoyed walking Berlin's streets unnoticed, sitting in any café and observing people without anyone knowing the triple world champion was there, drinking a black espresso. Being just another face in the crowd was a freedom he would never trade.
That was why, even in-game, Supremo's avatar was customizable: average height, generic athletic build, face permanently hidden by a self-crafted helm from years ago. Only Lena, the team's tanker, had a vague idea—they had met in person twice at European bootcamps, always in neutral locations with Klaus wearing a cap and dark sunglasses.
In that meeting, Viktor opened with a sentence that made no sense:
"We have a serious matter to discuss before the agenda. It concerns Supremo."
Klaus frowned internally but kept the avatar motionless.
"We have discovered evidence that internal Eisenfaust strategies were sold to Dragon Sovereign over the past six months," Viktor continued, sharing a folder of files on screen. Precisely edited logs, fabricated screenshots of conversations, financial transfers traceable to an offshore account registered in Klaus Reinhardt's name.
It was a flawless setup. Klaus spotted the flaws immediately: timestamps too perfectly aligned, phrases in the "leaked conversations" nearly identical to ones he used in private meetings. Someone had spent months preparing it with obsessive care.
He didn't shout. He didn't lose composure. He simply asked, voice modulated neutral:
"Who brought this 'evidence' forward?"
Viktor hesitated for a fraction of a second—enough.
"It doesn't matter who brought it. The facts speak for themselves. Guild management has been informed. They demand your immediate exit to avoid public scandal."
The other four members remained silent. None looked directly at Supremo's avatar. Anna glanced away at the virtual window. Jonas drummed his fingers on his real desk—a nervous tic Klaus had known since their first regional tournaments.
In that instant, Klaus understood everything.
It wasn't just Viktor. They were all involved. The Chinese offer must have been astronomical: seven-figure individual contracts, exclusive Tencent Gaming sponsorships, star status in the world's largest super-guild. And he, Supremo—the mind that had carried Eisenfaust on his back from the beginning—was the final obstacle.
He could have fought. He could have demanded an independent audit, hired Europe's best cyber-lawyers, exposed the technical inconsistencies in the logs. But it would take months, maybe years. And in that time, Dragon Sovereign would dominate the global scene without real competition.
Klaus chose something else.
"Understood," he said simply. "Send the exit contract and NDA. I'll sign today."
Viktor blinked, clearly surprised by the lack of resistance.
"Klaus… are you sure? We could try to—"
"Send it," Klaus repeated, and disconnected.
Three hours later, the document arrived encrypted. Draconian clauses: full waiver of future claims, prohibition on public contact with former members, and most importantly—permanent freezing of the Supremo account.
The account would not be deleted or transferred. It would remain in eternal digital limbo, inaccessible even to him. A tomb for the legend.
Klaus read every line twice, calmly. Then signed with dual biometric authentication: fingerprint and retinal scan.
Now, back in the present, he finally stood. His legs were slightly numb after nearly ten hours in the VR capsule the previous day. He walked to the wide window overlooking Alexanderplatz. The city was covered in a thin layer of snow; Christmas lights still flickered on some buildings, late for the new year.
He felt anger, yes. A brief heat in his chest, like a flame that ignites and dies quickly. But it wasn't resentment. Resentment required emotional attachment, and Klaus had long ago learned not to attach to people.
It was merely a cold observation: trust was a miscalculation
He opened the minifridge, took a bottle of sparkling water, and drank half in one go. The carbonation burned his throat, bringing him fully back to his physical body.
The Supremo account was dead. Three world championships, 312 consecutive official tournament wins, records likely never to be broken. All of it now past.
But the game continued.
And the anonymity he valued so deeply remained intact. No one outside the old team knew who he was. And now, the old team no longer mattered.
Klaus returned to the desk, turned on the secondary monitor, and opened the official AetherTech site. New account creation page. He had already decided the nickname hours earlier, while signing the exit contract.
Ouroboros
The serpent that devours its own tail. The eternal cycle.
He filled the fields with precise movements: username, quantum-generated 256-bit password, reinforced two-factor authentication with the physical token on his keychain. Server selection: Europe-3, the most populated and competitive. Average concurrent population: 2.8 million players.
On the avatar customization screen, he spent less than thirty seconds.
Average height, generic athletic build, short brown hair, gray eyes—just enough to avoid attention without looking like a default bot. He activated "hide facial identity in public events," a setting available to all but rarely used seriously.
For Klaus, it was essential.
He never wanted anyone to connect Ouroboros to Supremo by physical resemblance. Not even by accident.
Class selection. The list scrolled slowly under his gaze.
Combatant. Strategist. Support. Utility. Artisan.
Most new players clicked Combatant without a second thought. Fastest route to PvP, fame, viral streams.
Klaus scrolled to the bottom.
Artisan. Subclass: Blacksmith.
The official description was deliberately discouraging:
"Class focused on equipment creation and enhancement. Requires extreme patience, extensive material gathering, and deep understanding of synthesis mechanics. Not recommended for players interested in high-level direct combat."
Fewer than 0.03% of Top 1000 players had Artisan as main class. Most famous blacksmiths were support: they crafted legendary weapons for PvP stars and earned a fraction of the glory.
Perfect
No one would suspect the greatest tactical genius in Aetherion history would choose such an obscure class.
Klaus confirmed.
Final prompt: "Confirm character creation? This choice is irreversible after level 10."
He clicked Yes without hesitation.
The neural helmet lit automatically, detecting the new linked account. Klaus adjusted the straps with practiced ease, lay back in the ergonomic capsule that took up half the bedroom, and initiated full immersion.
The transition began.
First absolute darkness, swallowing all real senses. Then the familiar controlled free-fall—the brain slowly disconnecting from the physical body. A gentle tingling spread from scalp to toes, like thousands of tiny needles testing each nerve.
The low hum of the capsule vanished. The apartment's chill disappeared. The lingering coffee scent evaporated.
Then light.
Ouroboros opened his eyes in the vast starter field "Aurora Plains." Aetherion's sky was a perfect synthetic blue gradient, with procedurally moving clouds optimized for visual beauty without excess processing.
The air smelled of freshly cut grass mixed with a faint metallic tang—a deliberate designer choice to remind new players this world was advanced technology.
Klaus breathed deeply. The neural system translated smell with frightening accuracy; he felt the coolness enter simulated lungs, the slight humidity.
Around him, dozens of new players ran excitedly. Some tested double jumps, others shouted in global chat in multiple languages, forming random groups for starter quests. A group of Brazilian teens laughed loudly while trying to hit virtual rabbits with wooden swords. A Korean duo already discussed efficient leveling strategies.
Klaus observed them for a few seconds, registering amateur movement patterns: unnecessary jumps, full-animation attacks without cancels, poor positioning.
Then he turned and began walking toward the starter forest marked on the minimap as "Copper Vein Grove."
He wore the standard Artisan tunic: plain brown fabric, no meaningful defensive stats. In hand: a basic level 1 forging hammer—simulated weight 2.1 kg—and a copper mining pickaxe.
The weight was perfect. Klaus swung the hammer once, feeling inertia, balance. Haptic feedback translated every gram precisely.
His plan had been set hours ago.
The Blacksmith class allowed unique equipment creation with custom properties, but there was an obscure mechanic buried in three-year-old patch notes almost no one explored: conditional form transmutation.
It was theoretically possible to program a crafted weapon to change shape in combat via specific neural commands. No one had succeeded in practice because it required:
• A secret recipe of legendary materials.
• Thousands of failed forging attempts.
• Deep understanding of the game's animation code.
Klaus knew it was possible because, as Supremo, he had exploited similar mechanics in hybrid builds. Now, with unlimited time and total anonymity, he would build something never seen before.
The weapon's name was already decided: Proteus.
Base form: forging hammer, harmless-looking—perfect camouflage.
Hidden forms: staff, sword, glaive… and, at the right moment, lance.
Exactly like Aeternum.
But no one would know until he chose to reveal it.
Klaus reached the forest entrance. Synthetic trees with European oak texture, leaves rustling in simulated wind. He opened the detailed map and located the first level 1 copper node.
The pickaxe rose.
The first strike echoed in the empty forest.
Metal on stone. Clean, satisfying sound.
Ouroboros began mining.
One node, two, ten.
Each swing precise, optimized for maximum efficiency angle. Simulated sweat began beading on the avatar's forehead—light neural fatigue, nothing an experienced player couldn't manage.
Klaus smiled internally, for the first time that day.
From zero.
Without a name.
Without a team.
Without possibility of betrayal.
Just him, the game, and a plan that would take years to complete.
The artificial sun began setting, painting Aurora Plains in warm orange tones. Klaus had already spent nearly four real hours in-game—enough for light neural fatigue to settle in shoulders and neck. Not real pain, but subtle pressure, the brain's reminder it was operating at immersion limit.
He ignored it.
Inventory: twenty-seven raw copper fragments, eleven common iron. The starter bag, twenty slots only, was nearly full. Each ore weighed exactly as it should: copper softer, iron denser. Haptic feedback translated weight perfectly; transferring items shifted the avatar's balance slightly.
Klaus opened the map again. Nearest starter village, "Forgehaven," eight minutes' walk along the north trail. Only place in the level 1–10 zone where new blacksmiths could access a basic forge without building their own.
He followed the trail at steady pace. Ground was packed dirt with pebbles crunching under simple boots. Synthetic birds flew between trees, singing procedurally generated melodies. Occasionally a newbie player ran past in the opposite direction, wooden sword in hand, shouting about a "goblin quest."
Klaus ignored all group invites flashing in the corner.
Forgehaven was small: a dozen wooden houses with thatched roofs, general store, stable with level 5 mounts, and at the center—the community forge. An anvil dwarf NPC with red beard and glowing mechanical eyes hammered rhythmically, producing orange sparks that lit the twilight.
Six players gathered around, all level 3 or 4, attempting basic weapon crafts. One American teen by accent cursed loudly each time a recipe failed and materials turned to "useless slag."
Klaus approached the farthest free station. Placed the basic hammer on the anvil and opened the crafting interface.
Holographic screen projected before the avatar's eyes: available recipes with current materials.
• Copper Dagger (level 1) – 78% success rate
• Copper Pickaxe Upgrade – 65%
• Iron Ingot (requires smelting first) – 92%
He started with basics: smelting raw copper into ingots.
Placed five fragments in the virtual furnace. Interface required manual temperature control—a simple slider minigame most players hated. Klaus adjusted airflow, charcoal amount, heating time. Three minutes later: five perfect ingots, no quality loss.
Others didn't notice.
He repeated with iron. Then combined copper and iron into an experimental alloy—not suggested by standard recipes, but he knew it slightly increased durability.
First attempt: failure. Metal cracked with a sharp sound.
Second attempt: adjusted carbon ratio by 0.3%. Success. One primitive bronze ingot, "Fine" quality.
Klaus felt cold satisfaction in his chest. Small, almost imperceptible, but real.
This was how everything began.
He opened in-game internal forums in a secondary window—allowed even in full immersion—and quickly searched old references on form transmutation. Only three archived threads from 2031, all claiming it was impossible. Last post: "Dev confirmed: shape-shifting weapons are myth. Stop wasting mats."
Klaus closed the window.
He knew it wasn't myth.
As Supremo, he had exploited similar mechanics in old patches: cancelable animations, conditional triggers via high-precision neural commands. The difference now was scale. To make Proteus work, he needed legendary materials from level 80+ world bosses, hidden recipes from seasonal ruins, and thousands of controlled attempts.
It would take months, perhaps a full year of solo grinding.
But he had time.
And absolute anonymity.
While others celebrated a common +0 dagger, Klaus mentally sketched Proteus's base recipe.
Form 1 (public): two-handed hammer, heavy weight, slow animation—perfect to appear as ordinary blacksmith in casual PvP.
Form 2 (initial hidden): light staff for mobility.
Form 3: medium sword for burst.
Form 4: glaive for reach.
Form 5 (final reveal): two-handed lance, exact proportions of Aeternum.
Transition triggered by a specific neural sequence he would train for weeks: deliberate thought pattern, almost a mental code. Nothing that could be copied accidentally.
He crafted his first real weapon: reinforced bronze hammer. "Superior" quality. Minimal bonuses, but enough for faster mining.
Equipped.
Weight shifted instantly. Avatar adjusted center of gravity. Klaus swung once, testing balance.
Perfect.
He left the village as the virtual sky went fully dark. Synthetic moon rose, large and silver, lighting the return path.
He found a new level 8 ore node, guarded by stronger gray wolves.
Two wolves detected him and charged.
Any newbie would have run or died.
Klaus did not.
He positioned between two trees to limit flanking. When the first wolf leaped, he sidestepped minimally—exactly 42 centimeters—and countered with the hammer at the exact recovery frame.
Critical.
Second wolf came from left. Klaus canceled hammer recovery with shoulder micro-movement and landed a descending blow.
Two hits. Two kills.
Loot: wolf pelt, raw meat, 12 XP.
He collected everything without delay.
Neural fatigue was stronger now—mild headache behind the eyes. Sign he had passed six consecutive hours.
Klaus opened menu and selected "Safe Logout."
Reverse transition began: white light, tingling up limbs, gradual return of real senses.
When he opened his eyes in the Berlin capsule, the room was completely dark. Wall clock read 02:17 a.m.
He rose slowly, stretched his neck, drank the remaining sparkling water left on the desk.
Body stiff, but mind clear.
For the first time since the betrayal, Klaus felt something close to total control.
No team to betray.
No name to tarnish.
Just an anonymous blacksmith starting from zero.
And a plan no one in the world could predict.
Berlin, 02:34 a.m.
Klaus stepped out of the capsule with slow, deliberate movements. The apartment air was cold—he had left the window cracked for oxygen circulation during long sessions. The contrast with Aurora Plains' temperate climate was immediate: real skin goosebumped, nose caught the faint heated-metal scent of the capsule and lingering morning coffee.
He walked barefoot to the open kitchen. Polished concrete floor icy underfoot. Opened the LED-lit fridge: organic eggs, natural yogurt, pre-cooked chicken breast, vegetables in glass containers. Pro-player routine, even without a team.
Prepared a simple, functional meal: three scrambled eggs with sautéed spinach, one slice of whole-grain toast, a dose of whey protein mixed with water. No refined carbs this late—he knew the impact on sleep and neural recovery.
Ate standing, leaning against the counter, looking out the window at the distant blinking red lights atop the Fernsehturm. The city slept, or pretended to. Berlin never truly slept.
While chewing, his mind was already back in-game.
Twenty-seven copper, eleven iron, one superior hammer. Level 6 reached. Minimal progress by normal competitive standards. For an ordinary player, it would be frustrating: six hours for less than 1% toward max level.
For Klaus, it was exactly what he wanted.
Slow. Controlled. Invisible.
He finished eating, washed the plate under hot water—steam briefly fogging the window—then returned to the bedroom.
Secondary monitor still on, showing Aetherion login screen. New account stats flashed: Ouroboros, 6 hours 12 minutes played, level 6, Blacksmith rank F.
He opened an encrypted personal document: detailed plan begun hours after signing the exit contract.
Initial timeline:
• Weeks 1–4: Solo grind basic materials to level 30. Focus on mining/smelt proficiency.
• Weeks 5–8: First intermediate recipe attempts. Search for "Echo Crystal" in low-competition world events.
• Months 3–6: Farm level 80+ world bosses in off-peak hours (03:00–06:00 server). Accumulate legendary materials for Proteus base.
•Months 7–12: Transmutation testing. Minimum 1,000 attempts to stabilize first form change (hammer → staff).
Below timeline, risk list:
1: Early detection via movement patterns similar to Supremo.
Solution: Train deliberate timing micro-adjustments. Use full animations in casual PvP.
2:Lack of starting capital for rare material auctions.
Solution: Sell high-quality crafted items on in-game black market (untraceable).
3:Neural burnout from prolonged sessions.
Solution: Strict 16-hour daily limit. Prescribed nootropics. Daily real-world walks.
Klaus read the list twice. Everything under control.
He closed the document, turned off the monitor, returned to the capsule.
Before lying down, he paused at the bathroom mirror. Looked at his reflection for the first time in hours.
Pale face from lack of sun, gray eyes with mild dark circles, expression neutral as always. No one on the street would recognize that man as the triple world champion. No one ever had.
And so it would remain.
He drank water from the sink-side glass, brushed teeth with mechanical movements, set capsule temperature to 22.5 °C—ideal for night sessions.
Lay back. Straps auto-adjusted. Visor descended.
Darkness. Fall. Tingling.
Light.
Ouroboros opened eyes in Copper Vein Grove forest. Night in-server too—silver moon, variable-intensity synthetic stars. The small campfire and basic bedroll from before logout remained.
He stood. Superior hammer still equipped.
Without delay, opened map and marked next level 8 ore node, fifteen minutes away. Stronger wolves patrolled, but nothing he couldn't handle with positioning and timing.
Klaus began walking the dark trail, steps silent on damp earth.
Mind clear, focused.
The betrayal was processed past, archived, turned into lesson.
No room for prolonged anger. Only calculation.
On global forums, the official news had been circulating since evening:
"Supremo, Eisenfaust triple world champion, announces retirement due to severe neurological issues. The legend leaves the scene at 28. We wish full recovery."
Comments ranged from shock and sadness to conspiracy theories.
Klaus had skimmed some before first immersion. Felt nothing beyond mild clinical curiosity.
Let them believe what they wanted.
He was now Ouroboros. Level 6. Blacksmith. Nobody.
And for now, that was exactly how he wanted it.
The forest grew denser. Distant wolf howls echoed in the night air.
Klaus tightened grip on the hammer.
The hunt resumed.
Not for fame.
Not for a team.
Not for anyone but himself.
The eternal cycle had begun again.
And this time, no one would interrupt it.
End of Chapter 1
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