Oliver's footsteps echoed as he strode deeper into the Ironclad District. The devastation only worsened. What had once been a thriving industrial hub, alive with the rhythmic clatter of machinery, was now an apocalyptic wasteland. Smoke poured from ruptured pipelines, and the once-pristine steel roads were now twisted wrecks littered with debris. But Oliver couldn't afford to linger. Not here.
The cries of battle still echoed in the distance. Somewhere within the chaos, there had to be answers—answers to why this world, once merely pixels and code, had turned into a brutal reality.
He adjusted the strap of his sword, his gaze scanning the labyrinth of ruined buildings. Familiarity tugged at the edges of his memory. In Eldrin's Legacy, this section of the district had been a bustling market area, teeming with NPCs hawking wares and offering quests. But now, the stalls were nothing but charred remnants, their goods scattered and forgotten.
As he passed one particularly wrecked shop, a flicker of movement caught his eye. Instinctively, his hand went to his sword. A figure emerged from the shadows, their steps hesitant. It was a boy—no older than ten—dressed in soot-stained rags, clutching a rusted pipe like a weapon. His eyes were wide with fear but also determination.
"Stay back!" the boy shouted, his voice cracking. "I'll fight you if I have to!"
Oliver raised his hands slowly, showing he meant no harm. "Easy," he said, keeping his voice calm. "I'm not here to hurt you."
The boy hesitated, his grip on the pipe tightening. His gaze flicked to Oliver's sword, then back to his face. "Are you with them?"
"Them?" Oliver asked, lowering his hands slightly. "The ones attacking the district?"
The boy nodded. "They took my sister. Said she'd be useful in the mines." His voice wavered, but he held his ground. "If you're not with them, prove it."
Oliver frowned, his jaw tightening. "Which way did they go?"
The boy's eyes narrowed, studying Oliver for any sign of deception. After a long moment, he pointed down a narrow alley choked with rubble. "That way. They've got a camp near the old steel mill."
Oliver nodded, his resolve hardening. He couldn't ignore this. Not after what he'd seen. "Stay here," he said. "I'll get your sister back."
The boy's eyes widened. "You're going to fight them? Alone?"
Oliver managed a small, reassuring smile. "I've got a bit of experience with this kind of thing."
Before the boy could respond, Oliver turned and headed down the alley. The shadows closed in around him, the air growing colder. Every step felt heavier, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. This wasn't just about survival anymore. It was about doing what was right.
The steel mill loomed ahead, its towering smokestacks silhouetted against the fiery sky. As he approached, Oliver could make out the faint hum of generators and the low murmur of voices. He crouched behind a crumbling wall, peering into the camp.
The gang was larger than he'd expected. At least two dozen men and women milled about, most armed with a mix of firearms and melee weapons. Makeshift tents and supply crates were scattered around the yard, illuminated by flickering floodlights. Near the center, a group of captives—mostly women and children—were huddled together, guarded by two burly thugs.
Oliver's grip on his sword tightened. The odds weren't in his favor, but he couldn't back down. Not now. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. This wasn't a game anymore. Every decision, every swing of his blade, carried real consequences.
He waited until one of the guards wandered away, leaving only a single sentry near the captives. Moving swiftly and silently, Oliver crept closer, keeping to the shadows. When he was within striking distance, he drew his sword.
The guard barely had time to react. Oliver's blade flashed, and the man crumpled to the ground without a sound. The captives gasped, their eyes wide with fear and hope. Oliver raised a finger to his lips, signaling for silence, before cutting their bonds.
"Stay low and head for the alley," he whispered. "There's a boy waiting there. He'll help you."
They nodded, their movements cautious but quick as they slipped into the shadows. Oliver watched them go, relief washing over him. But his mission wasn't over. The gang was still here, and they wouldn't take kindly to losing their prisoners.
The sound of raised voices drew his attention. One of the gang members had discovered the fallen guard. Shouts of alarm spread through the camp as they scrambled to arm themselves. Oliver stepped into the open, his sword gleaming in the flickering light.
"Looking for me?" he called, his voice cutting through the chaos.
The gang turned to face him, their expressions a mix of anger and confusion. The leader—a wiry man with a patch over one eye—stepped forward, sneering.
"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" the man spat.
"Just someone who doesn't appreciate bullies," Oliver replied, raising his sword. "Walk away now, and you might live to regret your choices."
The leader laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But you're outnumbered, kid. This ain't a fairytale."
Oliver's expression hardened. "No, it's not."
The leader's sneer faltered as Oliver surged forward, his blade a blur of motion. The first strike disarmed one thug, the second sent another sprawling. The gang swarmed him, their attacks uncoordinated but relentless. Oliver moved with precision, each swing of his sword calculated and efficient. His training—both in the game and now, in this world—had prepared him for this.
Oliver ducked under a wild swing, his sword cleaving through the haft of an oncoming axe. He pivoted on his heel, delivering a sharp elbow to a man charging from his flank. The thug crumpled with a groan. Another assailant came at him with a knife, but Oliver sidestepped and countered with a precise thrust to the shoulder, disarming the attacker in one fluid motion.A shout rang out as two more gang members lunged at him simultaneously. Oliver parried one strike, the metallic clang reverberating through the yard, and spun low to avoid the second. His sword flashed upward, catching one assailant across the thigh. The man screamed, collapsing to the ground. Oliver's next swing smashed the hilt of his sword into the second attacker's temple, dropping him instantly.
Breathing hard, Oliver found himself facing the leader, who brandished a pair of short swords with practiced ease. The man smirked, his confidence unshaken by the defeat of his subordinates.
"Not bad," the leader said, circling Oliver. "But let's see how you handle someone who knows what they're doing."
The two clashed in a flurry of steel. The leader's strikes were quick and deliberate, forcing Oliver to stay on the defensive. Sparks flew as their blades met again and again, the clang of metal on metal echoing through the camp.
Oliver gritted his teeth, his muscles burning as he deflected another series of strikes. He feinted left, drawing the leader off-balance, then surged forward with a powerful diagonal slash. The leader barely managed to block, but the force of the blow sent him stumbling back.
Seizing the opening, Oliver stepped in close, his free hand grabbing the leader's wrist. With a sharp twist, he disarmed the man's left hand and followed up with a brutal pommel strike to the ribs. The leader doubled over, coughing in pain, but still managed to swing his remaining blade in a desperate arc.
Oliver ducked, driving his shoulder into the leader's chest and forcing him to the ground. The man's remaining sword skittered away, leaving him defenseless. Oliver planted a boot on the leader's chest, his sword poised inches from the man's throat.
The fight was brutal and swift. By the time the dust settled, the gang lay defeated, their weapons scattered across the ground. Oliver stood in the center of the chaos, his chest heaving as he surveyed the scene. The leader groaned, clutching a wound on his arm as he glared up at Oliver.
"You… you're not normal," the man muttered.
Oliver sheathed his sword, his expression unreadable. "You're right. I'm not."
He turned and walked away, leaving the man to his fate. The captives had escaped, and the district was a little safer—for now. But Oliver knew this was only the beginning. The world of Eldrin's Legacy was far darker and more dangerous than he'd ever imagined.
And he was determined to face it head-on.