Chapter 7: Arrival at Falkenhide

Fireblade sat atop the carriage roof, her long legs casually slung over the edge, boots tapping against the wood in rhythm with the wheels. For over seven grueling hours, she and her team had defended this transport with tooth and blade, spell and scroll. Herd after herd had come at them—wolves, goblins, even a few lesser ogres—and they’d fended them all off. The carriage didn’t stop for anyone, so neither could they.

Only now, cresting the last ridge, did the glittering white towers of Falkenhide rise into view, etched in gold by the setting sun. It loomed like something out of a fairy tale: tall spires, thick fortified walls, banners catching the wind. Smoke curled from chimneys. Bells rang in the distant city square. NPC guards marched across the battlements. The skyline was majestic, and the air smelled of frost, stone, and roasted almonds from a merchant stand just beyond the gates.

Fireblade couldn’t help but grin. Elation surged through her chest. We made it.

She’d seen the forum chatter—guilds in a frenzy, posts flooding every hour, whispers of some no-name team breaking the city wall first. Some claimed it was a glitch. Others cried conspiracy. But she knew better.

She had earned this.

Behind her, the 21-strong Robin Arrow team was buzzing. Gronk and Poison Fang were arguing good-naturedly over who had landed the last hit on the ogre.

“I know it was my taunt that triggered its aggro reset,” Gronk rumbled, still sweaty and caked in dust, but proud. “You just happened to stab it after I softened it up.”

Poison Fang gave him a toothy grin. “You softened it up? Buddy, you distracted it with your face while I gave it a new mouth in its spine.”

Several of the younger fighters laughed. Happy Riddler jogged up beside the wagon, still half chewing a trail ration, bow slung casually across his back. He was beaming like he’d won the lottery.

“Guys,” he said, panting, “do you realize how few people will get a title for reaching this city before day one ends? Like... we’re legends now.”

Fireblade allowed herself a smug smirk at that. But her focus snapped ahead as the carriage finally rolled to a halt. Cobblestones replaced dirt beneath their wheels. The gates of Falkenhide loomed, carved with ancient runes and guarded by men in silver-plated armor.

Then he stepped forward.

An NPC, yes—but unlike most, this one radiated presence. His frame was tall and broad, muscles barely contained beneath a tailored navy-blue coat lined with gold trim. A steel half-cape hung from one shoulder, and at his hip rested a longsword crackling with dormant runes. His steely blue eyes scanned each player with the intensity of a man accustomed to war.

Clyde von Isac. The captain of the Falkenhide Guard.

System notifications blared to life, overlapping one another in Fireblade’s HUD:

✅ Quest Complete: Escort to Falkenhide – Success

🎖️ Title Gained: One of the First – Falkenhide Access Granted

But she dismissed them all with a flick of her hand. Her eyes were locked on his.

The captain’s voice was deep, clipped, and clear. “Welcome to Falkenhide.”

His gaze swept across them. Several of the Robin Arrows shuffled under the weight of it.

“Young travelers,” he continued, “you are among the first ten to enter this city. That alone speaks volumes of your courage and competence. I, Clyde von Isac, Captain of the Falken Guard, offer you this—join our novice drills each morning. Train with my men. Earn more than coin: earn discipline, skill, legacy.”

The Robin Arrows murmured among themselves. Gronk straightened with pride. Poison Fang raised an impressed brow. Happy Riddler tried to act cool and failed miserably.

But then the man’s tone hardened.

“However,” Clyde said, “Falkenhide is not lawless. Should you harm our citizens, rob, murder, or disrupt trade, my men will find you. Strip you of your levels. And lock you in our prison until the debt is paid.”

Another system notice flashed in their faces:

⚠️ New Rules of Conduct Enforced: No PvP, No Theft, No Interruption of Trade or Civil Order.

They all gulped.

Fireblade merely inclined her head. “Understood.”

The group began filing through the gate—declining, as planned, the Hall of Fame listing. Only nine names had been called, only nine offered the glory. That meant someone else was already inside.

Someone faster.

Fireblade stared at the prompt a moment, then hit [DECLINE].

Someone else was already here. One other.

Just one player.

She couldn’t help it—her mind drifted to Jen.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

The woman had called herself a store manager. She’d worn that friendly mom-smile and brought pie to lunch breaks. But now? Fireblade could feel it.

That “soccer mom” was anything but ordinary.

Already in the city. Unbothered. Walking around like it was nothing.

Fireblade clicked her tongue, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Whether Jen liked it or not, Fireblade was set on uncovering every layer until the woman made sense.

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Checking the time on the system clock, she sighed and turned to her team.

“Spend under 200 bronze on whatever you want. Relax. Explore. The first day of the game ends in a few hours—but don’t be reckless. No dying, no getting jailed. We have our mission tomorrow. The client paid a hefty price, and we will deliver. Am I clear?”

Her eyes swept across the group, sharp and unyielding.

Several nods followed. A few muttered affirmatives.

Then the team broke off in pairs and small clusters, buzzing with anticipation. Some headed toward the market, others toward the bulletin boards or taverns, laughter already rising in the air.

They didn’t ask if Fireblade wanted to join. They knew better.

She never let herself ease up. Never slowed down. Never stopped scanning for the next move. It was how she kept them afloat—always one step ahead, always pushing forward.

And when she could, she carved out chances for them to rest. To enjoy the game they were fighting so hard to master.

It was a big part of why they stayed. Through thick and thin.

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Fireblade spent her time walking the city, uncovering shops, checking out guild halls, and stopping by the auction house. She was just about to leave when she spotted someone in a dark hood, their player icon revealing them as a fellow user.

Curious, she moved through the crowd of NPCs. Luckily, the stranger was shorter than her, and her long strides closed the distance fast. She reached out and clasped a hand on their shoulder—

Reflexes faster than she expected brought the tip of a glowing stave right up to her face. She nearly went cross-eyed staring down the shaft of it as she hit the ground with a thud.

“Whoa, there! It’s me!” Fireblade yelled, raising her hands.

The stave was lowered. The hood pulled back. A friendly smile spread across a familiar face.

Fireblade blinked, taking in the woman’s chestnut-brown hair and her strange, ethereal gray eyes flecked with blue. It clicked a second later. She muttered, “Jen?” still confused.

The woman’s smile widened. “Don’t ever use my real name in-game. It’s Blue.” She held out a hand and helped Fireblade back to her feet.

“Right. Blue. Do you know who I am, then?” Fireblade asked, folding her arms.

Blue laughed, eyes roaming over the tall woman’s avatar. “Hmm, where have I ever met a towering brunette with a resting-warrior face?” She tapped her lip, grinning. Then she leaned in, mock-serious. “Wait. Did you mess with your height slider?”

Fireblade huffed, offended. “No. I’m six-two in both worlds.”

Blue hummed, unconvinced, then leaned in even closer. “But you definitely tampered with these.” She gave Fireblade’s bicep a playful squeeze and laughed when the taller woman looked away without confirming or denying anything.

Fireblade groaned. It had been years since anyone had teased her like this—and certainly not in front of her people. She changed the subject fast.

“So. Where were you headed in such a hurry?”

Luckily, Blue answered. “Looking for an appraiser with advanced skill. The one at the guild hall is too pricey, and I ran out of coin. So, I’m trying my luck in the slums. Maybe find someone decent before the black market vendors scam me blind.”

Fireblade gaped. “Wait. NPCs can rob us? In the city?”

Blue chuckled. “Don’t trust merchants in the black market. They’ve got loopholes and ‘quirks’—you won’t notice till you're lighter by five silver and holding a fake scroll.”

Fireblade paled. She made a mental note to warn her team. But that could wait.

“I’ll lend you the money,” she said. “We’re partners now. Besides, I’d be a jerk to let you wander down strange alleys this late.”

She glanced around as she spoke—the city at night was alive. Lanterns floated midair, glowing softly. NPCs bustled down cobbled streets in shawls and thick coats, and the sky had the faint shimmer of magic overhead.

Thirian at night… took her breath away.

“Oh,” Blue murmured suddenly, grabbing Fireblade’s arm. “Let’s go back to the guild. You’re paying.”

Fireblade narrowed her eyes but didn’t resist. “This feels like a scam. And I said lend.”

Blue just grinned and pulled her along.

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Fireblade followed, curious. Turns out, when you weren’t in the same party, any conversation another player had with an NPC was effectively muted. She could see Blue speaking, but not hear a word of it. Still, she watched as Blue handed over a sword and a stave to the guild's appraiser behind the booth.

On Blue’s end, the NPC hummed, eyes gleaming behind thick spectacles. “Splendid items. Let’s see…”

He held up the sword first. “Ah, this is the Ice Cleaver. A growth-type, iron-ranked blade. Its current usable level is 6, but it has the potential to grow to 15 with its wielder.”

Blue leaned in slightly, listening as he continued.

“As a magical weapon, it passively increases ice damage by 15%. Against enemies weak to ice? That goes up to 20%,” the NPC said with a grin. “And there’s more—it has a chance to trigger Ice Domain, a cone attack that launches a barrage of ice blades across a 20-meter spread. Devastating against clustered enemies.”

Blue nodded to herself. What a great starter weapon, she thought. Definitely something she could trade to a close-combat player in her future guild.

Then the appraiser turned his attention to the stave—and his expression shifted.

He frowned. “Hmm. I’m sorry, but it’s not telling me much.”

Blue blinked. “What?”

“This staff… it’s sealed. Beyond advanced appraisal. You’ll need a rune master to break the seal first. Then you may return for our services.” He offered a friendly smile to soften the blow. “It’s layered with binding enchantments I haven’t seen in a long time.”

Blue’s frown deepened. A sealed staff at the very start of the game? That shouldn’t be possible. Rune masters—true ones—didn’t exactly grow on trees. She’d already been lucky enough to befriend Mr. Hubert so early. What were the odds of running into another master-tier NPC this soon?

She sighed. So much for easy loot.

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Come morning, Jen woke up from her first day in Thirian. It was 7 a.m.

She got up, brushed her teeth, took a quick shower, and chewed through a stale bagel with a cup of bitter coffee. Her shift at the store would start soon, and she was already behind.

Just as she grabbed her coat, her phone rang.

She sighed. Peter’s name flashed across the screen.

She hesitated, then answered. “Hey…”

There was a long pause on the other end—then his voice came, quieter than usual.

“Thank you.”

She blinked, surprised. Yep, it was Peter’s name on the screen.

He continued, voice thick with emotion. “Josh woke up so happy and bright today.”

She could hear it—he was holding back tears.

“He said he ran. That he had fun. I…” he sniffled. “Thank you. Josh hasn’t spoken to me that upbeat in a long time. I sent you the money. I just… I just wanted to say thank you.”

The line went dead.

Jen stared at the phone a moment longer, then wiped at her wet cheeks. Her breath hitched—just once—and then she grabbed her coat, shrugging it over her shirt.

Outside, she slid into her Saab, the cold seat biting through the fabric.

But her smile?

Radiant.