Chapter 01 - The Game Begins

With a flash of pale-blue light, my surroundings changed. Darkness morphed into an array of colours, which subsequently transformed into a variety of shapes and silhouettes.

Suddenly, I was no longer in my bed; I was standing in a large plaza, wearing a surprisingly scratchy greyish-white tunic and a pair of brown cloth pants which offered little to no protection to the elements.

My outfit was hardly unique seeing as every other person standing on the plaza wore the same thing—even the girls hadn't escaped the scratchy nuisance.

“Wow, look at those graphics!” A nearby man exclaimed, waving his hand around in front of him.

“Bro, did you feel that? Did you feel that breeze just now?” Another young man said, excitedly caressing his cheek with a stupid smile plastered across his face.

Similar phenomena were occurring all over the plaza as new players popped up—struggled to acclimatise to the most technologically advanced VR game of the century.

Naturally, the city was very noisy.

“It's like another world.” I thought, peering up at the sky—where three birds with four wings flapped away in the distance.

It really felt like I was in a fantasy world.

Deciding to move on before the starting plaza became too crowded, I made my way in the first direction that struck my fancy. No information had been released about the game until now, so there was hardly a point in making any plans.

On my way across the plaza, I disturbingly took note of the fact that the NPCs working in the background had no indicator of any kind differentiating them from players. Consequently, one wouldn't be able to tell if someone was a player or NPC based on their appearance alone.

At this point, only their clothes and behaviour differentiated them from the surrounding players.

A red-eyed teenager with unnaturally crimson hair ran past me in excitement.

“Okay… maybe I was wrong.” I thought, shaking my head mirthlessly.

If all players had designed their characters as flamboyantly as that guy, it would be easy to tell them apart.

Just as I was about to exit the plaza, a random notice board filled with a bunch of fliers stole my attention.

Joining the small crowd that had already begun to amass in front of it, I skimmed through the notices.

“The guards are employing new trainees huh, that’s sure to attract some attention.” Given how real this virtual world seemed, I could imagine role-playing becoming a huge part of the game.

The next piece of parchment on the billboard had a cat drawn on it—seemingly by a child.

“Someone's lost their cat and is looking for it.” I smiled as I recalled a similar notice I'd recently seen in the real world. “This definitely smells like a quest.”

In fact, the majority of the fliers contained information about a variety of different tasks and potential occupations one could apply for.

Yet, the notice that grabbed the most attention was naturally the largest one, a piece of parchment with an ornate crest of a white tiger embellished on it.

“The White Tiger Sect is recruiting new disciples.” I read slowly. “Age requirement: between the ages of thirteen to eighteen.”

Suddenly, I understood why the game's character customisation had insisted on creating a teenage avatar.

It was so we would be eligible to join sects.

"Still," I looked around the plaza, and the townscape lining it. "I doubt everyone's going to want to become a cultivator... it can't help but to feel a bit restrictive."

Shaking my head I memorised the time and place for the recruitment and moved on.

Even without excited players clamouring around, I reckoned that the city would still have been bustling with activity. Now—with the flurry of players running around—the streets were nearly impossible to traverse.

At first, it had been a novel experience, but the longer it took for me to get anywhere, the more annoyed I got.

And clearly, I wasn't the only one.

Three times I had already witnessed angry NPC guards apprehend mischievous players. Some of whom were behaving very childishly—harassing NPC girls or trying to steal display goods.

“At least they're acting their current age.” I smiled to myself.

Based on their behaviour, I reckoned I was a lot older than the majority of these players—heck, I even had children of my own playing somewhere in this virtual world.

Reminded of my children I awkwardly opened my friend tab, which took a couple of tries.

“Hmm... there doesn't seem to be a way to send friend requests without being physically present…” I noted to myself. “I guess I will have to talk to them later and ask where they wound up.”

According to the guide who'd helped me with the character customisation, players spawned relative to their real life location. And since I lived in a different country than my children, it was probably safe to assume that my children were far away at the moment.

Finally, I reached the city’s outer gate. Even here, players were scurrying around, probably looking for lost treasures and hidden quests.

As far as I could tell, Cultivation Online was a hyper realistic VR game. There were no actual quests or classes—instead, one progressed by cultivating a mystical energy called "Qi."

Needless to say, but as someone intimately familiar with the Wuxia/Xianxia genre, I was incredibly excited about the prospect of cultivating, defying heaven, and grasping immortality.

I dare say more so than my children, who to my knowledge were more interested in the adventure that the new online game heralded.

Even if it was all in a VR world.

Naturally, the first thing on my priority list was to learn how to cultivate. The urge to sit down in the lotus position and blindly grasp in the dark was strong, but I reckoned that even if I somehow managed to create my own cultivation method—which I strongly doubted—the quality likely wouldn't compare to a cultivation method taught by an established sect.

And so far, I'd only heard of the White Tiger Sect—an incredibly prestigious name, at least from a Xianxia perspective.

The sect recruitment would supposedly take place in a remote village called Durnatel, located two days away from the starting city of Easton.

“But the question is... which way do I go?" Rummaging through my pockets, all I found was a stale piece of bread and ten copper coins. The value of which I didn't know, but I reckoned it was low.

Approaching one of the more angry-looking guards standing by the gate, I performed the traditional warrior’s salute—right fist cupped within the left palm and held at chest level, as I had seen other NPCs do to figures of authority.

"Excuse me, sir. Would you mind telling me how to get to Durnatel?" I asked, keeping my voice courteous—no reason to provoke a man with a spear.

The guard scoffed in response.

"Another lad chasing glory?" The guard scoffed, clearly unimpressed. "Spare us both the trouble, will ya'? Cultivation isn't for every urchin that crawls out of the alleys."

With a casual flick I'd practiced on my way here, I withdrew two copper coins from my pocket and made them catch the light—just enough to tempt. Greed was a language even the dimmest of guards understood.

Or at least, I hoped so.

The guard scoffed again, but his hand closed around the coins all the same.

“Tch. It's your life.” He shook his head in disapproval before continuing. “Head to the eastern gate. There, you'll find a caravan bound for Durnatel. Ask for a merchant named Quan Zan. Tell 'em Guard Yang sent ya'. Now get moving.”

I didn't forget to clasp my fist in silent thanks, then turned away—poorer but one step closer to Durnatel.

Interestingly, I barely got five paces before two more players lunged at the same irritated guard, clearly hoping for some quest or shortcut.

…

Finding the eastern gate took some effort, but thankfully I found a nice old grandma who didn't mind giving me directions for free. When she heard I was heading to Durnatel, all she asked for in return was for me to keep an eye out for a young lad called Ye Feng.

Apparently, her grandson was also aspiring to become a cultivator.

Offering her my heartfelt gratitude, I didn't see a reason for me to not do so.

To my surprise, the eastern gate was a lot more bustling than the southern one. Not only were there more players here, but several caravans were either entering or leaving the city, carrying people and goods with them.

After asking around for a bit, I quickly located the caravan led by a merchant named Quan Zan.

“Greetings Master Zan, Guard Yang told me to approach you for passage to Durnatel.” I said, offering the now-familiar martial salute. It had served me well thus far, and until it didn't , I saw no reason to stop.

“That crusty old gatepost did?” Quan Zan looked me over, bushy eyebrows arched in surprise. “Well, that's a surprise, you must have made quite the impression on the old geezer if he sent you to me."

I recalled the guard, his irritated scowl, and the two copper coins I'd slipped him for the tip.

"Yeah... I definitely didn't leave any kind of impression."

Even so, correcting the merchant's misconception would've been a mistake. Especially when it played so neatly into my current goal.

“I heard your caravan is bound for Durnatel. I'd like to join you—as a guard, if you'll have me."

Quan Zan gave my feeble arms a long, unimpressed look, lifting one bushy eyebrow.

“You know how to use a sword?” He asked.

I gave a nod, remembering the years I'd spent in kendo gear, sweating in dojo halls, and participating in competitions.

“I'm decent,” I replied.

The merchant smiled like it was the funniest thing he'd heard all day.

“Well, since you come recommended by old Yang, it would be foolish of me not to humour your request. Very well, you may join our caravan as a guard. But listen well: there'll be no compensation unless you prove yourself useful first. Is that clear, boy?"

"So basically free labour then?" I hid my thoughts to myself.

Nodding my head I clasped my hands in gratitude.

“Good." Quan Zan glanced toward the bustling caravan behind him. "We depart in two hours. If you're not here by then, we leave without you."

“I'll be here.” I promised easily. It wasn't like I had anything else to do.

Quan Zan dismissed me with a nod.

After looking around for a bit, I eventually found a nice, secluded shade from which I could observe the proceedings of the gate.

I still couldn't get over how life-like the game was. The NPCs acted incredibly realistic and behaved indistinguishably compared to actual human beings.

Treating them like mindless NPCs would definitely be a blunder.

Suddenly, a group of players rushed past me, heading for the gate.

“A guild?” I wondered, smiling as memories of my old gaming crew resurfaced. As I'd gotten older, real-life responsibilities had slowly chipped away at my free time.

Somewhere along the line, games became a luxury, not a routine.

“I wonder if they are also playing Cultivation Online.” I thought to myself. "Maybe I should try reconnecting with them?"

Nibbling on a piece of stale bread, I suddenly realised I actually did have a couple of tasks to tend to before I departed for Durnatel.

And so, with a grand total of eight copper to my name, I set off in search of a place to buy provisions.

…

A lot of haggling later, I was down to two pathetic copper coins. Still, I'd walked away with three loaves of hard-as-stone bread and a battered waterskin filled with water that, against all odds, tasted clean.

I glanced through my supplies and nodded. It wasn't much, but if I rationed it properly, it would be enough to get me to Durnatel.

I hoped.

With just under an hour left until the caravan's departure, I decided to log out and catch up on some real-life chores.

A quick trip to the bathroom, a cheese-and-ham sandwich, and a few messages to my kids later, I was ready to dive back in.

The quiet of my one-bedroom apartment faded, replaced by the lively bustle of Easton's streets as I logged back in.

When he spotted me, Quan Zan acknowledged me with a curt nod, beforeb resuming his discussion with two other men, who looked every bit the traveling merchant type.

"Probably not players..."

When the horse-led carriages began rattling and moving, I couldn't help but to feel a childish sense of wonder course through me.

"Amazing." I muttered with a grin, pacing beside one of the wagons—the scenery was a sight for sore eyes.

Outside the gates, vast fields of grain stretched toward the horizon, their golden stalks rippling like waves under the breeze. The sky above was a flawless blue, blanketing the city and its farmlands in a warm light.

For a moment, listening to the hooves against the gravel, it truly felt as though I'd stepped back in time.

As we passed beyond the city gates, it quickly became obvious that I hadn't been the only clever player who'd talked their way onto the caravan. Clearly, I wasn't the only one with the intention of getting to Durnatel.

I did a quick headcount—maybe a dozen teens who looked like players. But it was hard to tell without any markers or indicators. In this world, guesswork seemed to be part of the game.

The caravan consisted of roughly twenty carriages and about twice as many horses. Riding in the carriages were merchants and more affluent folk who could afford the comfort. Most travelled by foot, like I did.

Setting the players aside, I counted no fewer than twenty swordsmen—hired blades tasked with guarding the caravan and everything it carried.

The real guards.

After roughly an hour of sightseeing, a bright prompt flashed before my eyes—snapping me to attention:

[Global Announcement! Player "Fishbones" has become the first to create a unique cultivation method. Congratulations!]

“What the fuck?!” A player exclaimed loudly behind me.

Truth be told, I couldn't hide my envy either.

“Damn, should I have tried cultivating by myself after all?” An original cultivation method, who didn't want to create one for themselves?

Ultimately, though, when considering the thousands upon thousands of players playing the game right now, someone was statistically bound to do the impossible.

“No,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I'm doing the right thing.”

Even if I somehow managed to beat the odds and successfully create a cultivation method, I still wouldn't have the resources—or more importantly, the backing of a sect—to progress any further.

"Maybe if I had a guild to rely on..." I sighed. Even then, it was too much of a risk at this stage of the game

In the long run, joining a sect was definitely the best option I had available.

Six hours of peaceful travel passed, the road lined with breathtaking views that belonged in movies or wallpapers. When one of the caravan leaders called for a break to rest the horses, I joined the workers in setting up a makeshift camp.

To my surprise, one of the NPCs handed me a copper coin for my trouble.

"I guess that's another way to prove myself useful," I thought with a smile, the copper coin joining its two new companions in my pocket.

“Oi boy!” A young man called in my direction.

I glanced around—only to suddenly realise the "boy" in question was me.

“Oh right, my character is fifteen.” I thought, amused at my own forgetfulness.

Noticing the smile on my face, the young NPC smirked back—his expression full of challenge.

“I heard from Master Quan that you're supposedly handy with a sword.” He let his hand drop to the hilt of his weapon, eyes sizing me up with amusement.

“Personally, I’d be surprised if a scrawny little rat like you can even lift a sword—let alone swing one."

A few NPCs chuckled in the background—the young man's acquaintances, most likely.

“Fortunately,” I answered slowly, realising there was a small group of swordsmen watching our interaction. “My proficiency with the sword isn't contingent on your approval.”

Stunned silence gave way for laughter as the group watching registered what I said.

But the swordsman before me wasn't smiling. His earlier smirk had been wiped clean, replaced by a tight-lipped scowl.

"You've only yourself to blame, young man." I mused inwardly. "You're the one who picked this fight."

“Oh?” The young swordsman forced a smile. “Since you're so confident, then you would not mind making a little wager, would you?”

Raising an eyebrow, the young man pressed on.

“A spar. If you can last twenty—no, ten—bouts against me, I'll give you a silver. How does that sound?”

Intrigued, I glanced between him and his companions, who nodded eagerly, urging me to accept the wager.

“And if I lose?” I asked plainly.

The young swordsman smirked, confidence radiating from every inch of him.

“Then you'll serve as my errand boy for remainder of the journey. Don't worry—I promise to be a merciful master."

I was just about to nod when he raised a finger, grinning.

"One more thing—when you lose, you'll address me as your grandfather. No exceptions."

At his words, the surrounding crowd erupted with laughter, the sound echoing through the camp.

Personally, it took me a few seconds to realise it was meant as an insult.

“I don't mind sparring with you," I said, "but don't you think the terms of your wager are a bit too lopsided?”

“Oh?” The young man arched an eyebrow, intrigued.

"A silver coin? My grandfather's memory is worth more than that," I said with an exaggerated shake of my head.

"If I win, I want your sword instead."

The moment the words left my mouth, the onlookers doubled over with laughter, loudly urging the young man to not be a pussy.

This time, though, even the young swordsman chuckled in response.

“Fine, if you can last ten bouts, little rat, I'll give you my sword. Though I doubt you can carry it.”

Realising I forgot something I quickly added.

“Oh, and I'm also gonna have to borrow a sword.”

…

Feeling the heavy metal sword in my hand, I looked around at the crowd that had quickly gathered. Apparently, word of our little wager had spread like wildfire in the caravan.

“I guess everyone is starved for a bit of entertainment.” I remarked inwardly. It wasn't like there was a lot going on in a caravan.

On the opposite side of the clearing stood the young swordsman who clearly relished in all the attention he was getting. Like most NPCs, the man was tanned and well-built.

Physically, he had me beat. That much was obvious.

“I can do this.”

It had been ages since I'd last held a sword—and I'd never fought with one that could actually draw blood before.

But how different could it be?

An older swordsman stepped forth, his gaze shifting between me and my opponent.

“This spar will continue until first surrender or until ten bouts have elapsed. No permanent injuries are permitted. Is that clear?"

For some reason, he only looked at my opponent when he uttered that warning.

“Yes, sir!" My opponent replied immediately, not feigning his respect.

I just nodded.

“Last chance to back out.” The veteran swordsman warned, eyes fixed on me.

When I held my ground under his gaze, he exhaled quietly and shook his head, clearly not impressed by my resolve.

“Begin.”

Immediately, a couple of spectating players began howling at me from the crowd, but my focus was fixed on my opponent.

Approaching with a smirk, he attacked with an overconfident overhead swing.

Holding my one-handed sword with both hands, I parried the sword aside before stepping into his guard.

Shocked by my boldness, the swordsman didn't have enough time to react before I swiftly bashed the pommel into his sternum—a satisfying crack was heard as a result.

Retreating two steps, the young swordsman clutched his chest in agony. And I didn't doubt for a second that his chest hurt excruciatingly.

However, I wasn't one to give my opponents time to recollect themselves mid battle.

Swinging the heavy sword with both hands, I took advantage of his bad composure and tried to end the fight immediately.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, the young swordsman wasn't completely useless.

My hands vibrated as metal clashed against metal. Realising that my opponent—who had only used one hand to deflect my swing—wasn't faring much better, I swiftly repositioned before kicking him in the knee.

Ignoring the painful scream that erupted from my opponent, I swung my sword again.

Fortunately, this time, the young man failed to react in time.

And thus, holding the shaking sword with two hands against his neck, I waited for someone to announce my victory.

Only to remember that it was a fight until either surrender or ten bouts had elapsed, and if my math was correct, the fight had ended in four.

“Surrender," I said to my opponent, unwilling to shed blood if I didn't have to.

When the young swordsman gritted his teeth, I realised what he was planning to do immediately.

Stepping aside, I dodged the messy lunge and kicked him in the other leg.

This time, my opponent keeled over, unable to maintain his balance.

Resting the heavy sword against his chest, I looked the young man dead in the eye.

“Surrender.” I repeated.

A glint of unwillingness and hatred flashed deep in his eyes, but when he felt the weight of the sword against his still aching chest, the young man reluctantly closed his eyes.

“Fine... I surrender.”

...

Author's note: This is another story I started writing some time ago. It got pretty popular (chapter 1-21 available on RoyalRoad) but I dropped it when I realised I wasn't satisfied with it. Recently, I've been thinking it's time to rewrite it. For now, I'm just going to post it here on Patreon. Read on your own peril.