The fog in the Silent City was not merely weather; it was a living, breathing entity.
It tasted of ash and copper. It clung to Arthur's clothes, dampening the ragged fabric until it felt like a second, freezing skin.
Arthur walked down the center of the cobblestone street, the Old Navigator's Compass gripped tightly in his left hand. The gemstone needle pulsed with a rhythmic, pale light, guiding him deeper into the labyrinth of the city.
North. towards the Cathedral.
Every shadow stretched and twisted in his peripheral vision. Every drip of condensation sounded like a footstep.
Arthur checked his status again.
[Time Remaining: 4 Days, 22 Hours, 15 Minutes.]
He had been walking for nearly an hour since the encounter with the Plague Hounds. The adrenaline had long since faded, replaced by a gnawing emptiness in his stomach.
[System Alert: Hunger Level Rising.] [Current Status: Hungry.] [Effect: Stamina regeneration reduced by 10%.]
Arthur cursed under his breath. The game was relentless. It wasn't enough to fight monsters; he had to fight his own biology.
He paused by a shattered storefront. The sign above the door hung by a single rusty chain, reading "Elias's General Goods" in faded, peeling gold paint.
"Scavenging is a duty too," Arthur muttered.
He pushed the door open. It groaned, the rusty hinges screaming in the silence.
Arthur froze, raising the iron poker. He waited. Ten seconds. Twenty.
Nothing moved inside.
He slipped in, stepping over shards of glass and overturned shelves. The air inside was thick with dust and the smell of old paper.
The shelves had been picked clean. Empty cans, broken bottles, and shredded cardboard littered the floor. It seemed other "Outlanders" or perhaps the city's original inhabitants had looted this place long ago.
Arthur moved to the back counter. He crouched down, rummaging through the drawers.
Papers. Receipts. A broken quill.
He pulled the bottom drawer open. It was stuck.
He jammed the tip of the iron poker into the gap and levered it.
Crack!
The wood splintered. Inside, wrapped in a moth-eaten cloth, sat a small, hard loaf of black bread and a sealed glass jar of water.
[Item Acquired: Stale Ration Bread] [Type: Food] [Quality: Poor] [Effect: Restores 10% Hunger. Hard as a brick.]
[Item Acquired: Sealed Spring Water] [Type: Drink] [Quality: Common] [Effect: Restores 15% Thirst. Clean and safe.]
Arthur didn't hesitate. He tore a chunk off the bread with his teeth. It was dry and tasteless, like chewing on sawdust, but he swallowed it greedily.
[Hunger: Stabilized.]
He took a sip of the water, corking the jar carefully and stowing it in his pocket.
As he turned to leave, his foot kicked something metallic under the counter.
Clink.
He knelt again. Hidden in the shadow of the toppled register was a rectangular stone, grey and smooth on one side.
[Item Acquired: Whetstone] [Type: Tool] [Rarity: Common] [Effect: Can be used to sharpen bladed weapons. Increases weapon damage slightly.]
Arthur's eyes lit up. He pulled the [Rusted Butcher's Cleaver] from his belt. The blade was notched and dull, covered in orange rust.
He couldn't use it effectively yet—his Strength was still stuck at F, and the requirement was F+—but he could prepare it.
He sat on the floor, hidden behind the counter, and began to work.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
The rhythmic sound was soothing. He spat on the stone and ground the edge of the cleaver against it. The orange rust gave way to a glimmer of steel.
[Crafting proficiency increased.] [Item Updated: Sharpened Butcher's Cleaver] [Damage: Medium -> Medium+] [Remark: It's still ugly, but now it cuts.]
It wasn't much, but it was progress.
Arthur stowed the items and stood up. He felt stronger, more focused. The fear that had paralyzed him in the apartment was being replaced by a cold, calculating drive.
He left the shop and stepped back into the fog.
The compass pointed him toward a narrow alleyway between two towering tenement buildings. The path was dark, the luminescent moss here sparse and dim.
Arthur entered the alley.
Halfway down, he stopped.
A figure was sitting against the wall, head bowed, sobbing quietly.
It was a man, wearing the starting gear—ragged shirt and jeans. An Outlander.
"Help... please..." the man whimpered, clutching his leg. "My leg... it's broken."
Arthur's grip on the poker tightened.
Secondary Duty: Rescue as many natives as you can.
But this wasn't a native. The clothes gave it away. This was a player.
Arthur took a cautious step forward. "Hey. You okay?"
The man looked up. His face was smeared with dirt, his eyes red.
"I spawned here... fell off a fire escape," the man gasped. "I can't move. The pain... the system says I'm bleeding out."
Arthur hesitated. He had saved Elara, and that had rewarded him. Helping a player might yield even better rewards. Maybe a party member? Cooperation increased survival odds.
"Let me see," Arthur said, lowering the poker slightly. He walked closer.
He was three steps away when he saw it.
The man's hand, hidden behind his "broken" leg, was gripping a jagged piece of glass. And his eyes... the tears were gone, replaced by a predatory sneer.
[Skill: Perception (F+) Triggered.] [Warning: Hostile Intent Detected.]
"Die, noob!" the man roared, launching himself off the ground with surprising agility.
There was no broken leg. It was a trap.
The man lunged, slashing the glass shard towards Arthur's throat.
Arthur reacted on instinct. He didn't try to block; he threw himself backward, falling onto the wet cobblestones.
The glass hissed through the air where his neck had been a millisecond before.
"Give me your loot!" the man screamed, scrambling on top of Arthur.
He was fast. Desperate. Just like Arthur.
Arthur kneed the man in the stomach, hard.
Oof!
The attacker wheezed but didn't let go. He stabbed down with the glass.
Arthur caught the man's wrist with his left hand. His strength, boosted to F, held the blow back, but the shard inching closer to his eye.
"You have money!" the man spat, saliva hitting Arthur's face. "I know you do! Everyone starts with a token! Give it to me!"
This was PvP. Player vs Player.
There were no laws here. No police. Just the desperate and the dead.
Arthur roared, twisting his hips and rolling to the side. He threw the man off.
They both scrambled to their feet.
The attacker was panting, circling Arthur. "Come on. Don't make this hard. Just drop your inventory and I'll let you respawn."
"Respawn?" Arthur laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "You didn't read the warning, did you? There is no respawn."
The man blinked. "What? Of course there is. It's a game."
"Is it?" Arthur raised the poker. "You willing to bet your brain on that?"
For a second, doubt flickered in the attacker's eyes.
Then, a sharp thwip sound cut through the air.
An arrow, black-fletched and silent, sprouted from the attacker's chest.
The man froze. He looked down at the shaft protruding from his heart, his mouth opening in silent shock.
"Wh—"
He collapsed forward, face-planting into the mud.
[System Notice: Player Killed.] [You did not strike the killing blow. No Experience Gained.]
Arthur spun around, scanning the rooftops.
"Who's there?" he shouted, his voice echoing in the alley.
A shadow detached itself from a fire escape three stories up. The figure dropped, landing in a crouch on top of a dumpster with cat-like grace, then hopped down to the street level.
It was the archer.
He was tall, wearing a hood made of dark grey wolf fur. His armor was leather, dyed black to blend with the shadows. A longbow, crafted from pale bone, was strapped to his back.
[Player Identified: Silas] [Level: 5] [Class: Ranger] [Threat Level: High]
Level 5.
Arthur took a step back. He was Level 2. This guy was leagues ahead of him.
Silas pulled back his hood, revealing a sharp, angular face with pale eyes and a scar running through his left eyebrow. He looked at the dead body, then at Arthur.
"You talk too much," Silas said. His voice was calm, almost bored. "He was going to gut you while you lectured him on game mechanics."
"I had it under control," Arthur lied, gripping his poker.
Silas smirked. "Sure. That's why you were on your back in the mud."
He walked past Arthur, crouching over the dead player. He rifled through the man's pockets with practiced efficiency.
"Scavenging his kill?" Arthur asked, tension coiling in his muscles.
"My kill," Silas corrected. "You were just the bait."
Silas stood up, tossing a small, glowing crystal into the air and catching it. A Soul Shard.
"This world eats the naive, kid," Silas said, turning to face Arthur. "You stopped to help. That's mistake number one. You hesitated to kill. That's mistake number two."
He looked Arthur up and down. "Ragged gear. Bent poker. But you took down a Butcher solo. I saw the body back at the manor."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You were watching me?"
"I watch everyone. Most die within the first hour. You... you're interesting."
Silas gestured with his head toward the end of the alley.
"The Cathedral is that way. But you won't make it."
"Why not?"
"Because the fog gets thicker ahead. And inside the fog, the Hollow Men wait. They don't bleed, and they don't feel pain. Your little iron stick won't do much against them."
Silas turned and started walking away, deeper into the alley.
"Wait," Arthur called out.
Silas stopped.
"You're going to the Cathedral too," Arthur said. It was a guess, but a calculated one. "It's the only Safe Zone nearby."
"Maybe."
"We can help each other."
Silas laughed. "Help me? You're Level 2. You're dead weight."
"I have a compass," Arthur said. "An Old Navigator's Compass. It points to the consecrated ground."
Silas turned around slowly. His eyes narrowed.
"The fog distorts direction," Arthur pressed. "You can kill things, sure. But can you find the way before the sun goes down? Or... before the moon vanishes?"
Silas was silent. He looked at the sky. The pale fractured moon was dimming. Night in this game was dangerous, but True Night—when the moon vanished—was rumored to be a death sentence.
"Show me," Silas demanded.
Arthur held up the compass. The light was strong and steady.
Silas weighed his options. He was strong, but the labyrinthine streets of the Silent City were notorious for shifting.
"Fine," Silas said. "We party up. Until we reach the Cathedral gates. Then we're done. And if you slow me down, I leave you to the Hollows."
[System: Party Invite Received from Silas.] [Do you accept?]
Arthur mentally clicked Yes.
[Party Formed.] [Leader: Silas (Lvl 5)] [Member: Arthur (Lvl 2)]
"Lead the way, Navigator," Silas said, readying his bow.
Arthur stepped over the body of the player who had tried to kill him. He didn't look down.
He checked his map. The Cathedral was close. Maybe a mile.
They moved together, a strange pair. Arthur took the front, watching the compass and the ground. Silas took the rear, his eyes scanning the rooftops and windows.
For ten minutes, they walked in silence. The fog grew denser, swirling in unnatural patterns.
"So," Arthur whispered. "Why do they call it Into the Endgame?"
"They don't," Silas replied softly. "That's just the localized translation for your region. Most veterans call it The Underground."
"Veterans? The game just launched."
"For you, maybe," Silas said cryptically. "For some of us... we've been waiting for a long time."
Hiss.
The sound came from everywhere at once.
Arthur stopped. "Did you hear that?"
Silas drew an arrow, his relaxed demeanor vanishing instantly. "Hollow Men. Contact front."
From the fog ahead, shapes materialized. They were translucent, like shadows caught in glass. They wore the armor of ancient knights, rusted and broken. Their faces were empty voids of swirling mist.
Three of them.
[Monster Identified: Hollow ManGuard] [Level: 3] [Type: Spirit/Undead] [Immunity: Normal Physical Damage (50% Reduction)]
"Physical resistance," Arthur hissed. "My poker will do half damage."
"Then hit them twice as hard," Silas said. "Or get out of the way."
The first Hollow Man charged, raising a spectral broadsword. It moved silently, gliding over the stones.
Silas loosed an arrow.
Thwip!
The arrow, tipped with a glowing silver head, struck the Hollow Man in the chest. It burst into blue flames.
SCREECH!
The spirit wailed, its form flickering.
"Silver arrows," Silas muttered. "Expensive, but effective."
The other two bypassed Silas and went straight for Arthur. They sensed the weaker prey.
Arthur held his ground. He couldn't tank them. He had to dodge.
The first spirit swung its sword. Arthur ducked, the cold blade passing inches over his head. The air around the sword was so cold it burned his skin.
He lunged forward with the poker, aiming for the spirit's legs.
Thud.
It felt like hitting a bag of sand.
[Strike: Inflicts 4 Damage (Resisted).]
"Useless!" Arthur shouted.
"Aim for the joints!" Silas yelled, firing another arrow into the burning spirit. "Disrupt their form!"
Arthur dodged another swing. He rolled to the side, coming up near a pile of rubble.
He needed an edge.
He looked at his inventory. Small Beast Core.
The description said: Can be consumed to regain Stamina.
Wait. The core was from a Plague Hound. It was condensed essence.
What if he didn't consume it?
Arthur grabbed the dark marble from his pocket. He held it in his left hand, gripping the poker in his right.
He waited for the spirit to lunge.
As the Hollow Man came close, Arthur smashed the Small Beast Core against the tip of his iron poker.
Crack.
The core shattered. A dark, chaotic energy leaked out, coating the iron tip in a black miasma.
[System: Weapon Imbued (Temporary).] [Effect: Dark Damage added.]
"Let's try this," Arthur growled.
He activated Vital Strike.
[Stamina: -10]
He thrust the black-coated poker into the center of the spirit's chest.
SHOOOM!
The reaction was violent. The dark energy collided with the spirit's form, causing a miniature explosion of shadow.
[Critical Hit!] [Damage: 45 (Darkness Effectiveness)]
The Hollow Man shrieked and dissipated into nothingness.
"What did you do?" Silas called out, dropping the second spirit with a final arrow.
"Improvised!" Arthur panted.
One left. It was charging Silas while he reloaded.
"Duck!" Arthur yelled.
Silas didn't question it. He dropped to a knee.
Arthur threw the iron poker like a javelin.
It wasn't a skill. It was just desperate strength.
The poker, still smoking with dark energy, sailed over Silas's head and slammed into the last Hollow Man. It didn't kill it, but the impact staggered it, knocking it back into the fog.
Silas stood up, drew a short sword from his belt, and finished the job with a clean thrust to the neck.
The silence returned.
Arthur walked over and retrieved his poker. The dark energy had faded, leaving the metal cold and brittle.
[Weapon Durability: Low.]
"You wasted a Beast Core," Silas said, eyeing the weapon. "That's worth 500 credits."
"I'm alive," Arthur said. "That's worth more."
Silas stared at him for a moment, then let out a short, impressed huff. "Fair point."
[Experience Gained.] [Level: 2 (EXP: 180/200)]
Arthur was close to Level 3.
"We're close," Silas said, pointing ahead.
The fog was thinning. Through the mist, a massive iron gate loomed. Behind it, the dark spires of the Cathedral rose into the night sky, lit by torches that burned with a holy, white fire.
Sanctuary.
But between them and the gate was a crowd.
Not monsters. People.
Dozens of players were gathered at the gate, shouting, banging on the bars.
"Let us in!" "The fog is coming!" "Open the damn gate!"
The gate remained shut.
"What's going on?" Arthur asked.
Silas frowned. "The Cathedral is full. Or... they're charging an entry fee."
They approached the crowd. The desperation was palpable. Players were injured, bleeding, terrified.
At the front of the gate, a man in heavy plate armor stood on the other side of the bars. He wore a tabard with a red cross.
"Sanctuary is for the faithful!" the armored man boomed. "And the faithful tithe! 500 Credits or 5 Silver Staters to enter!"
"Extortion," Arthur muttered.
"Capitalism," Silas corrected.
"I don't have 500 credits," a girl near the front cried. "Please!"
"Then perish with the heathens," the guard said coldly.
Arthur felt the weight of the three Silver Staters in his pocket. He had enough for himself. But not for... well, he was alone. He should just pay.
He looked at Silas. "You have money?"
"I have enough," Silas said. "But I don't like being robbed."
Arthur looked at the guard, then at the desperate crowd, and finally at the wall. It was high, slick with moss. Unclimbable.
He looked at the [Old Navigator's Compass]. It was vibrating.
He turned the bezel. The light shifted.
"Silas," Arthur whispered. "The compass. It's not pointing at the main gate."
Silas looked. The needle was pointing slightly to the east, toward the graveyard attached to the side of the Cathedral.
"There's a side entrance," Arthur said.
Silas smiled. It was a sharp, dangerous smile.
"Lead on, Navigator. Let's save some money."
Arthur turned away from the shouting crowd and the greedy guard. He slipped into the shadows of the eastern wall, Silas close on his heels.
The fog swirled around them, hiding their passage.
Arthur checked the time.
[4 Days, 21 Hours.]
He was surviving. He was learning.