William hadn't anticipated that things would go so smoothly. He had prepared himself for endless obstacles, but this time, it seemed almost too easy. As he pondered the situation, a thought crossed his mind.
Perhaps the old priest assumes that the spiritual oil and lanterns are merely tools to fend off dark creatures...
If the priest had a fascination with the darkness, surely he would not rely on the lantern's light. William's thoughts were interrupted when the old priest, his face etched with years of wisdom and sorrow, broke the silence.
"Do you have anything more to ask?" The old priest's voice was quiet but steady, his gaze resting on William with a calm intensity.
William hesitated, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "That mineral vein... what happened to it?"
The old priest's expression darkened, sadness clouding his eyes as he responded. "Humanity will always find its downfall in greed and unchecked desire." His voice carried a weight of sorrow, as if recalling long-buried memories.
William felt the gravity of the old man's words and decided not to press further. He knew the story, how many had perished in the depths of the mine. The tragedy wasn't just a typical landslide; something far more sinister had been unearthed there; a demon, slumbering beneath the earth, awakened by their greed.
The thought chilled him. For the villagers, this was an unimaginable disaster. No one had expected such horror to lie beneath their feet. And yet, the priest had tried to warn them. Perhaps he had missed something, or perhaps the signs were unclear. Either way, the catastrophe had struck at the worst possible time; when the spiritual oil ran dry, and the lanterns failed. That's when the terror began.
Now, many years had passed, and the village had aged along with the priest. The horrors of the mine were spoken of only in whispers. The tragedy had been reduced to folklore, with parents warning their children never to venture near the abandoned site, a place haunted by the echoes of the past.
Until now. Until William.
Breaking the tension with a casual smile, William decided to lighten the mood. "How about offering me a blessing from God?" he asked, his tone playful. "I'm from Moonlight Village, and the priest there gave me a blessing once. It's served me pretty well."
The old priest shook his head, his face softening with a hint of amusement. "You already carry the devil's blessing."
William sighed, raising his hands in mock defeat. "I wouldn't exactly call that a blessing," he said, feigning helplessness. Yet, the old priest remained firm, explaining that to mix blessings would only cause them to cancel each other out. Reluctantly, William let the matter drop.
There was one last question lingering in his mind, though. Something that had gnawed at him since he first set foot in the village. "One more thing," he asked, his voice growing serious. "Who is the Knight of the Blizzard?"
The old priest fell silent at the mention of the name. His face took on an expression of deep reverence, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and filled with awe. "The Knight of the Blizzard..." he murmured. "They are warriors from Snowwind City, a place farther than even Border Town. The city is a bastion of human strength, guarded by the mightiest forces our kind can muster. Among them, the Knight of the Blizzard stands unmatched."
William's mind raced with the new information. Snowstorm Fortress... He had heard whispers of it before, an imposing stronghold on the kingdom's edge, where snow fell eternally. It was said that a great man had died there, and ever since, the snowstorms never ceased. The fortress was a place where legends were born, and where the snowstorm raged, the knights would always be found, standing against the onslaught.
The priest continued, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "The mine you speak of, it wasn't always so... quiet. The devil stirred beneath the ground, waiting. On a full moon night, it rose, spreading its dark influence. But in the hour of need, the Knight of the Blizzard descended into that black abyss. They faced the demon head-on, striking it down and scattering its power to the winds. Now, the devil's strength is broken, a mere shadow of its former self, unable to gather again, like a pile of loose sand."
The old priest's words hung in the air, filled with reverence for the knight who had saved them all.
"Wow! So powerful?!" William couldn't help but exclaim, his eyes widening in awe. He was genuinely impressed, and in his mind, he conjured up a vivid image: a dashing knight clad in silver-white armor, galloping under the moonlight. The knight charged fearlessly into the cave, straight into the heart of the dark underground, where he faced the demon head-on. With one decisive strike, he felled the creature, then turned his steed around and rode off into the night without so much as a backward glance.
So heroic, William thought, a grin spreading across his face. This must be what it feels like to witness a legendary moment.
But as the old priest had said, slaying the demon wasn't the end of the story. The demon's body may have been destroyed, its will shattered into oblivion, but its dark power still lingered. That malevolent force continued to stir beneath the earth, mindless but potent, like a storm waiting to gather again.
Yet this wasn't just any demon that had perished in those mines. It was something far more sinister, and even now, there was a chance; however slim, that another demon or even a son of the devil could be born from that cursed vein of rock.
William rubbed his nose, deep in thought. The old priest's words felt... personal, as if they were a veiled reference to him. Was he talking about me? William couldn't help but wonder. After all, he didn't ask to be the son of the devil. That fate had been thrust upon him.
He sighed internally. He knew how the church viewed him: with cautious tolerance. As long as he continued to fight the creatures of the dark world, the church would offer him support. But should he ever stray into the clutches of evil, he knew they would turn on him without hesitation.
Without saying another word, William turned and left the church, the weight of his unspoken questions hanging in the air.
Outside, the world felt a little brighter. As he made his way through the village, spear slung over his shoulder, his leather armor worn and smeared with a mix of black and red blood, he ran into someone familiar.
"Hey! Long time no see, big brother!" A voice called out enthusiastically, and William turned to see the player known as Captain waving at him, a broad grin on his face. Behind him was a teammate, a shy-looking boy who seemed reluctant to be pulled into the spotlight.
William, covered in grime and dust from his recent battles, nodded in recognition. He had been about to leave the village, eager to continue his journey, but it seemed fate had other plans. The Captain approached, still as energetic as ever.
The Captain blinked, almost not recognizing him. William's appearance was rough; his leather armor didn't fit quite right, and he looked a little underfed. But there weren't many players in the Iron Mine Village, and the Captain had seen nearly all of them. He quickly realized who William was.
"Not many players around here who can handle a big spear like that!" the Captain said, gesturing to William's weapon. "So, how's leveling up going? Smooth?"
"Not bad," William replied coolly. He didn't offer much more, though in truth, he had just reached level 7. He was already planning his next move, finding the elusive Magic Grocery Store.
The Captain, unfazed by William's short response, beamed and pulled his teammate closer. "This is my brother, James," he introduced, practically shoving the boy forward.
James was around William's age, with a quiet, handsome face. He seemed uncomfortable under the attention, his gaze downcast. When he finally spoke, it was in a soft, almost whispering voice. "Hello," he murmured, clearly embarrassed but trying his best to be polite.
William sized him up quickly. Mild social anxiety, he guessed. James's discomfort was palpable, but he was obviously unable to resist the Captain's infectious enthusiasm. Despite his reluctance, he had been dragged along into this adventure.
William chatted with the Captain for a few moments, his eyes observing the players who were gradually learning the ropes of combat. It seemed that more and more of them were finding their rhythm, figuring out the timing of their attacks and learning how to navigate the monsters they faced.
Even players who had been killed off in unfortunate accidents were starting to reappear, respawned and ready for another shot at the challenges ahead. The world was starting to feel alive with their presence, and William couldn't help but feel that something exciting was on the horizon.
"The death penalty in sequential games is no joke," the Captain said grimly, his voice taking on a serious tone. "When you die, a huge chunk of your stats take a hit; especially your three-dimensional properties."
William listened intently. He had heard about this, but now that it was being spelled out, the reality felt even harsher.
"The worst part," the Captain continued, "is the spirit value. One death can tear away over a third of it, just like that. It's not just a hit to your numbers either, it feels like your soul is being ripped apart. The mental trauma is real."
William nodded, imagining the pain. He had heard players who died describe the sensation; the searing, splitting agony in their heads, like their very essence was being shredded.
"If your mental value is set at 1 point as a baseline," the Captain explained, "then after death, it drops to around 0.6. And that 0.4 difference? It's sealed. You can't just heal it or recover it through normal methods. It's like a permanent scar."
William winced at the thought. Losing that much spirit value wasn't something you could shrug off. And it wasn't just the mental toll that hurt; it had practical consequences too.
"Low mental value puts you in a dangerous state," the Captain went on. "If it drops too low, the game flags it as 'mental damage.' You can't even log back into the sequence game."
"And even if you power through that initial brain-splitting pain," he added, "you've still got to deal with the aftermath. Your physical and energy values get hit too. Not as bad as the spirit value, but still… it's rough."
For players like them, who relied heavily on their physical stats to survive, that was a big deal. A blow to their physical value was like crippling their core. It left them weak, sickly even; like being knocked down by a severe illness that took time to recover from.
"Most level 1 players who die have to sit out for three days just to stabilize their condition before they can jump back into the game," the Captain said with a shake of his head. "It's brutal."
William had seen it firsthand. Many players who had been knocked out were now back in the game, but they were far more cautious. Some cursed their bad luck, while others moved more carefully, mindful of how fragile life could be in the sequence game.
"And here's the kicker," the Captain said, leaning in slightly. "The death penalty doesn't get easier as you level up. Nope. It's percentage-based, so the higher your level, the worse the cut. At level 2, your spirit value still drops by a third when you die. So if you've got 2 points in spirit, it'll go down to around 1.3 or 1.4."
William frowned, calculating the toll in his head. "So, a level 3 player who dies drops to the same spirit level as a level 2 player?" he asked.
"Exactly," the Captain replied. "The higher you go, the steeper the fall."
William let out a breath. "Lucky I haven't died yet."
His stats were impressive, partly thanks to his talent. Though he was only level 7, his attributes were far superior to most players at his level. His physical value stood strong at 9 points, while his mental value was over 8.
But even so, the idea of losing more than 2; maybe even 3 points of spirit value in an instant? It was a blow no one could take lightly.
"It's harsh," William muttered. He could only imagine the struggle it would be to recover from such a devastating hit to his spirit. Losing that much would feel like losing a part of himself, something that might never fully heal.