As Faust's sight returned, he found himself transported to what seemed to be a village.
Around him, about thirty survivors were gathered, and most of their faces were smeared with dirt. Everyone bring a backpack that looks bulged with stuff.
Their clothes are padded with scavenged material reinforced with duct tape.
Some huddled in trios, whispering strategies or sharing silent nods. Others stood in pairs, leaning in close, their murmurs blending into the background.
Only a few, like Faust, were alone.
A young man leaned against a dilapidated wall. His hands, calloused, fiddled with a lighter — a flame flickering to life and dying in beats.
One man had a bandana pulled tight across his forehead, with a dark spot upon it. His eyes flicked from face to face, missing nothing. His stance was wide and balanced.
The muscular woman next to him carried a backpack patched with pieces of other bags. Her eyes were sharp, darting to the slightest movement, her mouth set in a firm line.
A few paces away, an older man sat on a crate, his gray beard unkempt and dirty. The remnants of a suit hung from his frame, the tie long discarded, the shirt open and sleeveless.
He cleaned a gun carefully.
Faust observed as the groups eyed each other cautiously. A young man with scarred arms and a makeshift spear scanned the crowd, his eyes pausing just a moment longer on those who stood alone.
A young woman beside him sits on the ground with tattered clothes, gripping a weathered book to her chest, her eyes glinting with a mix of fear and determination.
In one corner, a trio of survivors was hunched over a, their fingers tracing on a paper that looked like a map, their brows furrowed in concentration.
Another duo was checking their equipment, ensuring that every knife was sharp and every firearm was loaded.
Suddenly, in a puff of smoky air that smelled faintly of sulfur, a creature materialized before them.
It was a chibi goblin, no taller than a common garden gnome, with skin the color of a ripe cherry.
Delicate wings, veined like those of a dragonfly, fluttered on its back, and two small horns curled from its forehead.
"Hello, everyone," it greeted them with a deep voice.
"My name is Impish, and I will be your guide for the duration of this quest."
"The rules are straightforward: you must defend this village for three days. Each morning until noon, you have the opportunity to fortify your defenses."
"When the sun sets, be prepared for a relentless invasion that will not stop until dawn."
"After each day, you will get two types of rewards."
"The group reward can be used to purchase items to bolster the village's defenses. This will be decided by a majority vote."
"As for individual rewards, the more enemies you slay, the more points you'll earn. These points can then be used to buy items from your personal shop."
"Each day, there will be a selection of 10 different items available, unique to each of you, which will reset the following day. Do you have any questions?"
The old man raised his hand. His eyes narrowed. "What is the reward for those who survive through to the end?"
Impish's response, Its eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief.
"Every survivor will be granted the opportunity to select a profession card from three options. The greater your contribution points, the rarer the profession card you'll get."
A rugged man from one of the trios raised a hand, his brow furrowed. "How about Food and water?"
Impish scoffed, its voice taking on a mocking tone. "Are you children?" it taunted, gesturing broadly at the forest around the village. "Hunt for yourselves."
Then, a stern voice cut through from a pair standing off to the side.
"What if conflicts arise among us, and someone is killed?"
Impish chuckled. "A good question. The one who does the killing will receive the points and items belonging to the victim."
"They will also receive a special token—a 'refresh chance.'"
A murmur rippled through the group as they exchanged wary glances, the atmosphere growing tense.
Impish, seemingly delighted by the unease, explained further, "A 'refresh chance' allows you to refresh your profession card options."
The man with the bandana interjected. "You mention cards? Does that mean we don't receive the profession directly?"
Impish replied. "Of course not, you'll need to collect certain materials."
"These will be infused into the card, which then activates and combines all the ingredients, transforming them into a potion. Drink that, and you will awaken to your profession."
A ripple of concern passed through the group. "Wait," someone called out, a note of alarm in their voice. "Doesn't that mean the card can be stolen?"
"Of course..." Impish smiled. "Do you think you deserve an SSS-class job if you can't even protect it? So, any other questions?"
While the others bombarded the imp with more questions, Faust was busy with his thoughts, his brow creasing with contemplation.
'What a deadly game.'
'For survival, cooperation is necessary, but with so many benefits laid out for killing each other, trust will be a rare commodity.'
'Instead of banding together, we will be eyeing each other with suspicion.'
He cast a sidelong glance at the imp, noting the sly twist of its mouth. 'Whoever designed this game has a good grasp of human nature.'
'Their goal should be to make this game enjoyable for them to watch – pitting hope against fear, unity against division, survival against betrayal.'
The young man with a spear stepped forward. "What happens if everyone dies?"
The imp threw its head back and chuckled. "Then it's game over, hahaha," it jeered mockingly. "It simply means you weren't worthy."
Undeterred by the imp's laughter, the young man pressed on. "This village has a dozen buildings, and I can see other facilities too. How exactly is our performance calculated?"
The imp rolled its eyes. "You don't even understand that? How stupid."
"Think of the whole village as having 100 points. Whenever a building gets chipped, destroyed, or damaged in any way, you lose points. The more severe the damage, the more points you lose."