The tension in Greythorn Village was thick enough to cut with a blade. What had once been a hub of independent adventurers and fledgling guilds was shifting under the weight of Monolith's influence. Gold-trimmed tabards now stood out among the crowd, their presence a silent warning. Monolith wasn't just recruiting—they were claiming the village.
Mars watched from the shadows of the blacksmith's forge, his crimson eyes narrowing as a group of players stood cornered near the market stalls. Monolith enforcers loomed over them, their voices low but edged with quiet menace. He edged closer, catching fragments of the conversation.
"Think it through," one of the Monolith officers murmured, arms crossed. "You join us, you get access to dungeons, protection, resources. Stick to The Chosen, and you're cut off. No healing potions, no safe spots to train, no teams to run quests with."
One of the cornered players—a young swordsman barely Level 8—shifted uneasily, gripping the hilt of his blade. "That's not how this game is supposed to work," he muttered. "People should be able to choose their own path."
The Monolith officer's smirk widened. "Of course," he said smoothly. "You can choose whatever you like. Just be ready to deal with the consequences."
Mars clenched his fists, his grip tightening around the pommel of his Icebound Blade. He had seen this before. The same tactics, the same threats. In his past life, he had been on the receiving end of them. He wouldn't let history repeat itself.
Before the confrontation could escalate, he stepped forward, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade. The Monolith enforcers turned, eyes flickering with recognition as he approached.
"Mars," the officer greeted, his tone wary. "This doesn't concern you."
Mars tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "It does now."
The officer scoffed. "The Chosen can't protect everyone. You think you can take on Monolith?"
Mars met his gaze without hesitation. "Try me."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken challenge. Then, with a scoff, the officer stepped back, motioning for his men to follow. "Have it your way," he said. "Just don't say we didn't warn you."
Mars watched them go, the tension in his shoulders coiling tighter. This wasn't over. It was only beginning.
A Gathering Storm
The tavern was unusually quiet that evening, its usual rowdy atmosphere dimmed by the weight of growing conflict. Members of The Chosen sat around a long wooden table, their faces grim. Alycia leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her emerald gaze sharp.
"So," she said, breaking the silence. "Monolith's making their move."
Mars sat at the head of the table, fingers drumming against the worn wood. "They're doing what they always do," he muttered. "Pressuring, controlling, cutting off options until players have no choice but to join them."
One of the newer recruits, a rogue named Elias, shook his head. "They threatened to blacklist me from dungeon runs. Said no one would party with me if I stayed with The Chosen." His jaw clenched. "This is supposed to be a game, not a damn gang war."
Alycia exhaled, her tone dry. "It's always been like this. Big guilds monopolize the best spots, control resources, and decide who succeeds and who doesn't." She looked at Mars. "What's the play here? If we push back, it turns into open conflict."
Mars considered for a long moment before speaking. "We don't back down," he said simply. "But we also don't act like them." He leaned forward, his gaze sweeping over his gathered guildmates. "Monolith wants us to lash out, to fight on their terms. We fight on ours."
A fighter named Roland—a towering, broad-shouldered man with a two-handed axe—grunted. "Meaning?"
Mars's lips curved into a smirk. "We make ourselves too valuable to ignore. We lock down our own resources, establish our own teams, and ensure that players who don't want to join Monolith have an alternative." He glanced at Alycia. "How fast can you spread word that The Chosen is offering safe-zone dungeon runs and fair trade deals?"
Alycia's smirk mirrored his. "By tomorrow."
"Good," Mars said, standing. "But that's only part of it." He turned to the rest of his guildmates, his expression serious. "We need to do more than just offer trade and safe zones. We need to start forming alliances."
Alycia raised an eyebrow. "Alliances?"
Mars nodded. "We need to start linking up with medium-sized guilds—ones that don't have the numbers to go toe-to-toe with Monolith, but still have enough strength to be valuable allies. We offer them the same kind of support Emerald Dawn has given us—a mutual alliance based on fair trade and protection. Strength in numbers."
Elias perked up at the suggestion. "So we don't just stand against Monolith alone—we create a network."
"Exactly," Mars confirmed. "And for the smaller guilds—those under twenty members—we offer them something even better." He met Alycia's gaze. "An invitation to merge into The Chosen."
The room went silent for a beat. Alycia tilted her head. "You want to absorb them?"
Mars shook his head. "Only if they share our values. No toxic players, no power-hungry opportunists. Just people who actually want to play the game fairly, without being strong-armed into submission. If they fit the mindset, they can join us. If they want to stay independent, we ally with them instead."
Roland chuckled, his axe resting against his shoulder. "Smart. We build a community before Monolith can tighten its grip."
Alycia nodded slowly, understanding the larger picture. "You're creating a safety net," she murmured. "So that even if Monolith tries to crush us, we'll have enough strength in numbers to push back."
Mars crossed his arms. "It's not just about us. It's about making sure the players who don't want to be under Monolith's thumb have a place where they belong."
A slow grin spread across Alycia's lips. "Alright. I'll spread the word—not just about the trade deals, but about the alliances, too."
Mars exhaled, nodding in approval. "Then let's get to work."
Lines in the Sand
The next day, Greythorn Village felt different. Word had spread. The Chosen had drawn their line. Players who had hesitated now had a choice. Some were still too afraid to openly defy Monolith, but others had started to gravitate toward Mars's growing faction.
Monolith wasn't blind to the shift.
Mars felt the tension the moment he stepped into the main square. Monolith enforcers loitered near the merchant stalls, their presence a silent warning. As he walked through the crowd, a familiar figure stepped into his path.
Marcus Vale.
The leader of Monolith stood with his arms crossed, his golden eyes cool as they met Mars's. Unlike the others, he wasn't armored—he didn't need to be. Power radiated from him in the way he held himself, in the way the Monolith members at his back waited for his command.
"Mars," Marcus said, his voice calm. "You've been busy."
Mars stopped a few paces away, his own stance relaxed but ready. "So have you."
Marcus nodded, glancing around the square. "You're playing a dangerous game."
Mars smirked. "Funny. I thought that's what we were all here to do."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The air between them crackled with unspoken challenge.
Then Marcus chuckled. "I see why Alycia backs you. You've got nerve." His smirk faded, replaced by something colder. "But nerve only gets you so far. This world doesn't reward idealists."
Mars held his gaze. "Good thing I'm not an idealist."
Marcus tilted his head, considering him. Then he stepped back, offering a slow nod. "Then let's see how long you last."
With that, he turned, his guildmates falling in step behind him as they disappeared into the crowd.
Mars exhaled, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.
This wasn't just tension anymore.
This was war.