A figure crested the top of a lonely hill, shielding his eyes with his hand as he gazed below. Gentle rolling plains stretched out as far as one could see. The long grass swayed in the breeze, as if beckoning, and off in the distance the outline of a distant village could be seen.

The person smiled, lowering his hand and closing his eyes. He could feel the heat of the sun upon his skin, and the pungent tang of summer grass filled his nostrils. It hinted at warmth and security, of secret places and untold stories.

It felt so real.

On impulse he pulled the sword from the scabbard on his hip. The blade gleamed in the setting sun. He placed the weapon against his forearm and with a bit of pressure sliced a thin furrow across it, drawing a line of blood that trickled down his arm and off his fingertips.

Drip, drip.

A green bar appeared in the top-left portion of his vision. It shook and a small portion of the bar was replaced with red. It had to be his Hit Points (HP), a measure of his health used by games as a way of keeping track of damage.

If it reached zero, he'd die.

Anyone who had ever played a game knew this, but that wasn't what he was testing.

Despite everything else that he was able to experience, the sharp pain he should have felt didn't exist. There was a slight tingle in his arm, but that was it.

"So, you can't feel pain in this world, huh?" The figure muttered to himself. It made sense. He doubted that people would play a game that was entirely realistic. Swords and sorcery are far less interesting if there is real repercussions to using them.

The man sheathed his sword and reached down, grabbing a handful of grass. He could feel every individual strand between his fingers, threatening to slip out with even the slightest of movement. He suddenly opened his palm, and a strong breeze lifted the grass from his hand, twisting and spinning along the currents to the valley below.

"This world…is quite beautiful."