Early the next morning, the air in Pinewood Village was biting cold, turning every breath into a cloud of white mist.
Instead of curling up in the hay, the eighteen "refugees" were up and ready before dawn. Their ingrained gamer instincts—accustomed to waking up early to grind for loot—made them surprisingly energetic despite their ragged clothes.
The plan for the morning was to repay their hosts and secure a ride by helping the villagers load their supply carts.
"Heave... ho! Come on everyone, let's help Sir Kaleb load these logs!" Thom called out enthusiastically.
Kaleb, the middle-aged foreman with a long scar near his eyebrow, stood blinking in bewilderment beside his pony-drawn cart. He had just raised his arms to lift a medium-sized log onto his shoulder, but before he could even exert any force, Doran and Nolan —dressed as tattered farmers—flanked him. They effortlessly hoisted the massive log and placed it gently onto the cart as if it were made of paper.
"Wait... didn't you folks just narrowly escape death and starvation? How do you have the strength to—" Kaleb's jaw dropped.
"Oh! It must be the village's wonderful bread and porridge from last night!" Thom quickly covered up with a wide smile, patting Kaleb on the shoulder. "We are so overwhelmed by your generosity that our strength just came rushing back! Leave the heavy lifting to us, Sir Kaleb. Go sit down and enjoy a warm cup of tea!"
Before Kaleb could argue, Lars waddled past him, casually carrying three heavy sacks of wheat stacked on top of each other. Dane and Pelyovin quickly followed, tossing bundles of hay and supply crates onto the carts. Even the women, like Sera and Elise, were effortlessly carrying heavy water buckets and organizing baskets.
In short, for the entire morning, Kaleb—who was supposed to be the most exhausted worker—ended up sitting with his arms crossed, sipping tea while watching a group of "frail refugees" completely load three cargo carts in under an hour.
"What a peculiar bunch of people."
A raspy voice spoke from behind. Thom turned to see Gorman, the hunchbacked Village Chief, leaning on his cane as he came to inspect the work.
Thom immediately bowed respectfully. "Chief Gorman, thank you again for giving us shelter last night. Without your mercy, we would have frozen to death in the woods."
Gorman stroked his gray beard, eyeing the perfectly loaded carts. "I should be the one thanking you. Kaleb has been complaining about his back for weeks. You've taken a massive load off his shoulders... The journey to Soltaris takes some time, and there might be bandits on the road. I wish you a safe journey, and I hope the high walls of the city can offer you a new life."
"Your kindness will always remain in our hearts," Talia added humbly, stepping up beside Thom.
By mid-morning, the three wooden carts began rolling out of Pinewood Village. Kaleb drove the lead pony, with Thom and Sera sitting up front with him, while the rest of the guild scattered themselves among the hay and logs in the back.
The journey was slow, matching the pace of the ponies on the uneven dirt road. Along the way, Thom used his elite salesman charisma to strike up a natural conversation with the foreman. He continuously offered Kaleb water and wild fruits that Elin had foraged, successfully relaxing the man enough to spill everything he knew about this world.
"Is Soltaris very strict right now, Sir Kaleb? We're a bit worried the guards might chase us away," Thom asked with feigned anxiety.
Kaleb took a swig of water before answering. "It's gotten a bit tenser since the rumors of chaos on the borders started spreading. But Soltaris is a trade hub. The ruling Lord cares more about taxes and coin than a person's origins. As long as you don't look dangerous and don't pick fights with the Adventurer's Guild or the city guard, they usually let anyone in."
"Is the Adventurer's Guild there very large?" Sera chimed in, her crimson eyes wide with innocent curiosity.
"Massive, little lady. It's a gathering hub for mercenaries and elites. If you folks want to make quick coin and know how to defend yourselves, try hanging around there."
As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, transitioning from bright azure to a breathtaking blend of purple and orange, the temperature dropped. The wooden wheels transitioned from churning dirt to rolling smoothly over cobblestone—a clear sign that they were approaching civilization.
"Wake up, folks... We're here," Kaleb announced, pulling the reins to slow the ponies.
As the carts emerged from the dense forest and crested a low hill, the sight before the eighteen former gamers left them absolutely breathless.
The Trade City of Soltaris. It was no longer a polygon model on a monitor or a flat 2D background. It was a sprawling, living metropolis stretching as far as the eye could see. Towering gray stone walls embraced the city, and a massive river cut right through its center, reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun.
Dozens of giant windmills turned lazily in the evening breeze on the upper hills. White smoke billowed from thousands of chimneys packed tightly within the walls. And as the darkness settled in, light blue and amber 'magic lanterns' began to ignite along the streets and gates, sparkling like fallen stars on the earth.
"Wow..." Nina murmured, gripping the edge of the cart, her eyes reflecting the city lights.
"So this is it... a real fantasy world," Dane whispered, instinctively brushing the hilt of his concealed katana. Adrenaline surged through his veins.
The wooden convoy rolled to a halt in front of the massive main gate. Two fully armored guards stepped forward, crossing their iron-tipped spears.
"Halt. State your business and submit to an inspection," the guard demanded sternly.
Kaleb hopped down and handed over a wooden token bearing Pinewood's seal. "We're from Pinewood. Delivering logs and rations to Lord Reginald's lumberyard on schedule. These folks are refugees who hitched a ride. They are unarmed and pose no threat. I vouch for them."
The guard inspected the token, his eyes sweeping over Talia's group, who had seamlessly resumed their depressed, impoverished refugee act. He nodded and handed the token back.
"Alright, proceed... But don't cause any trouble. The Lord has ordered us to be on high alert," the guard sighed, leaning in to give Kaleb a friendly warning. "And Kaleb... when you head back, if you take any transport jobs, absolutely do not head north toward Ironclad."
Kaleb frowned. "Why not? They pay top coin for quality wood."
"The coin isn't worth your head," the guard shook his head, lowering his voice to a whisper that was still loud enough for the guild members to hear. "Express riders brought news. A rebellion broke out there. A mysterious faction calling themselves the Crimson Order stormed the city and usurped the ruling Lord. They wiped out the old nobles. It's a danger zone now. Anyone who doesn't submit gets beheaded. Don't go anywhere near it."
The guard's words made the blood of all eighteen gamers run cold.
Sera, Thom, and Talia exchanged silent, intense glances. The Crimson Order. A tyrannical military guild. Their levels and power were likely equal to theirs, but they had chosen the most violent, explosive method to conquer this world.
"Alright, everyone..." Talia's voice was flat but laced with absolute resolve as the cart rolled past the gates. "Remember your covers. Lie as smoothly as you breathe. From this point on... the real game begins."
Kaleb's convoy finally stopped in a wide clearing near the southern trade district. After thanking the foreman and slipping him some rare herbs as a parting gift, the group slipped into an empty alleyway.
"We can't walk around as a pack of eighteen. It draws too much attention," Talia ordered in a low voice, distributing the silver coins Kaleb had tipped them. "Disperse into your assigned occupational groups. Scout the city and look for job openings, but do not sign any contracts until we assess the risks. Sera, your group is in charge of finding a cheap inn that can fit all of us. Midnight sharp, we reconvene there to report."
Sera, Mila, and Elise stuck together, venturing deeper into the lively entertainment district. After passing several high-end establishments, Sera stopped in front of a weathered two-story building. The creaking signboard depicted a cracked beer mug with the words: 'The Broken Oak Tavern'.
The interior was thick with smoke and the pungent smell of cheap ale, packed with off-duty guards and mercenaries. Sera walked straight to the bar. Using her sharp wit, she noticed the tavern was severely understaffed. After renting the cramped attic for a single silver coin, she smoothly persuaded the exhausted, plump owner to give the three of them a trial run as waitresses the next morning.
Two Weeks Later...
The infiltration into the city's ecosystem was flawless. Without using any flashy, high-tier skills, the guild members established themselves as highly competent, reliable workers.
During the busy evening rush at the Broken Oak Tavern, Sera weaved through the crowded tables with a wooden tray of foaming mugs. As she wiped down a table near the window, she spotted Dane in standard city guard armor patrolling outside.
He didn't glance in her direction, but as his hand brushed the window frame, his fingers tapped out a subtle sequence. Tap... tap-tap... tap.
Sera's eyes narrowed slightly, acknowledging the signal: 'Guard shift changing. Blind spot opening at the East Gate.'
Without a system UI or a Guild Chat, their entire intelligence network had gone completely analog.
Squeak... Squeak...
A faint noise came from the rafters above. Sera glanced up. A fat sewer rat was scurrying along the beam. Clamped in its jaws was a tiny, vibrant red thread. The rat dropped the thread directly into the pocket of Sera's apron and vanished.
"Finn sent a message," Sera whispered, leaning over the bar to Elise and Mila. "Code Red. Emergency guild meeting tonight at midnight. Abandoned Warehouse Number Four."
12:15 AM. Abandoned Warehouse Number Four.
The moonlight bleeding through the cracks in the roof illuminated eighteen figures standing in the shadows.
"Everyone is here," Talia's chilling voice spoke. The Guild Leader adjusted her cosmetic glasses. "You've all done exceptionally well. Our covers are rock solid. Now... updates."
The intelligence flowed in. Thom reported on guard patrol routes. Lars noted a spike in iron prices, hinting at someone stockpiling for war. Sera shared drunken secrets spilled by corrupt nobles.
"The situation remains stable," Talia summarized. "But we cannot get complacent. What about your assignment, Silas? Do you have anything?"
Silas sighed heavily behind his wooden mask. "Give me a break, Boss. The city laws are insanely strict. I haven't been able to find a single corpse to summon as an undead worker! If I go dig up a grave, I'll get hanged."
Bryn, the trapper, crossed her arms with a judging side-eye. "So, you failed? You've just been kicking rocks?"
"Who said I was slacking off?!" Silas shot back. "Three days ago, I was surveying the western slums. I stepped on some wet moss, slipped, and fell straight down a drainage chute."
Half the guild facepalmed. Lars snorted, Dane shook with silent laughter, and Bryn rolled her eyes.
"Oh, brilliant work from our 'Shadow Architect'," Bryn mocked. "You fell into a sewer, and now you're acting like you found a location?"
"Let me finish!" Silas slammed a crude charcoal map onto a crate. "Falling down that chute was a jackpot! When I hit the bottom, the brick wall caved in, revealing a massive crack that leads into an abandoned, ancient underground temple!"
The guild crowded around the map.
"It's incredibly deep. The thick stone foundation is dense enough to block all mana signatures," Silas explained excitedly. "The main hall is massive, and there's an underground aqueduct connecting directly to the outer forest!"
"Enough bickering," Talia raised a hand, stopping Bryn's next insult. A gleam of immense satisfaction shone in her eyes. "Regardless of whether it was sheer luck or a complete accident, this is exactly what we need... a secure sanctuary in the dark."
Talia looked up, her gaze hardening into steel.
"Start transporting our emergency rations, weapons, and crafting tools into that temple starting tomorrow night. The foundation is set. Now, we sit back, watch the major powers make their moves, and pull the strings from the shadows."