Day Three… sort of. Not literally the third sunrise we've survived, but the third entry I've committed to these pages. After the utter chaos of that nightmarish evening, Yuli and I collapsed into a deep, uninterrupted slumber that carried us well into the afternoon. When we finally stirred, bleary-eyed, we looked at each other and grinned—"Wow, we've totally had our asses handed to us on a silver platter," we thought in unison. Determined to reclaim some pride, we dove headlong into a relentless grinding spree.
Our tasks varied wildly. One moment we were hacking down unruly weeds choking the village's old fence; the next, we were soothing terrified kittens stranded high in oak branches. Before long, we found ourselves storming human bandit camps under a blazing sun, fists and hammers swinging with gleeful ferocity. By dusk, we'd nudged our levels up to five.
Here's how we stand now:
Velt (me): Dexterity 70, Speed 70, Stamina 55, Strength 30 — Total 225
Yuli: Strength 199, Stamina 40, Speed 15, Dexterity 15, HP 60, Defense –50 — Total 279
On paper, those numbers sound stellar to any rookie—speedy beside me, Yuli's raw power off the charts—but in this world, we're tiny minnows at the bottom of an endless ocean. Dozens of players outrun me. Countless warriors eclipse even Yuli's gargantuan strength. We've still got a mountain to climb if we hope to keep pace.
Our hunt for a third companion has proven frustrating. Nearly every adventurer we meet is already part of a party, and few solo players dare to remain unattached. Still, we push forward.
Oddly enough, our relentless efforts have netted us a cool one million gold pieces. Go figure. I don't require food or rest to function—my build renders me practically immortal. Yuli, on the other hand, survives on only two meals a day, usually whatever wild game he bludgeons and roasts over a campfire. He's a terrible cook—his "grilled boar stew" tasted like pickled poor poo—but it sustains him. We have no need for weapons beyond Yuli's trusty warhammer or armor of any kind; my fists and his regenerative chi make potions superfluous. Fights end before healing even becomes an option.
Rich and restless, we now scramble to find a worthy expenditure for this mountain of gold.
That's enough for today's entry. Until next time, journal—Velt, out.
The sun hung brilliantly overhead as two figures sat side by side at the tavern bar nestled in the heart of a sprawling meadow. Merl's Tavern—its whitewashed walls and fluttering pennants a siren call to every roving party in the region—buzzed with laughter and clinking mugs. Groups of adventurers clustered in animated circles, swapping tales of triumph, divvying up loot, and mapping their next forays.
At the end of the bar, Yuli cradled a frothing mug of amber ale, his broad shoulders relaxed for perhaps the first time all week. Beside him, Velt sat in pensive silence, fingertips tapping the polished wood as his mind replayed their recent endeavors.
Velt perched on a worn wooden stool, watching Yuli lift his hefty mug. With a satisfied grunt, Yuli tilted the tankard back and drained the frothy ale in one powerful gulp.
"This ale is incredible, Velt," Yuli rumbled, setting the mug down with a thud that rattled the counter. "You should grab a mug yourself."
Velt shook his head, voice flat. "Drinking isn't for me, man."
Yuli cocked his head, eyebrows raised. "Whaaat? Why not?"
Velt's face went impassive. In the blink of an eye, his body rippled into a transparent, featureless form—like glass melting in sunlight—then snapped solid again. He fixed Yuli with an unreadable stare.
"Sometimes I forget you're not human," Yuli admitted, leaning forward. "You act so goddamn human all the time."
Velt narrowed his eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"All races follow stereotypes," Yuli replied, waving a hand. "Goblins are greedy little brutes, orcs are meatheads, and elves… well, elves are pretentious assholes."
"That's… kind of racist, dude," Velt said, arching an eyebrow. "And what exactly are humans?"
"Normal," Yuli said without hesitation.
Velt shrugged. "That's one of the things you could have said."
Yuli swept his gaze around the crowded tavern. "Look at everyone here—unique personalities, sure, but they all fit the same clichés."
Velt frowned. "So you'd call yourself normal?"
Yuli grinned. "Pretty much. Your race doesn't have a reputation. You're basically just human."
Velt leaned back, tapping his fingers on the counter. "Tokens are usually mindless training dummies. They stand there taking hits—sometimes blocking, sometimes parrying, sometimes just punching air—waiting for someone to test out their counters. I'm the only conscious Token in the world; all the others are bots."
Yuli frowned. "And you have no background, right? Is that because you're a Token?"
Velt's shoulders slumped. "I… don't know."
Yuli drained the rest of his ale and slammed the mug down in one final bang. "Well, we'll figure it out soon. What's next, boss? Back to grinding?"
Velt shook out of his reverie. "We've got a ton of gold on us. I'm suddenly itching to spend it all."
Yuli laughed. "Maybe we could gamble it away—"
"We're thousands of miles from a casino," Velt interrupted.
He pushed himself up from the stool. Yuli followed suit, and together they waved to Merl behind the counter. The old barkeep waved back, and Velt and Yuli slipped out the tavern door.
Outside, a massive red wooden caravan loomed against the cobblestones. It had no windows, no visible door. The two men barely spared it a glance as they walked past.
"I don't even know how I'd spend a million gold," Velt muttered, shrugging.
A sudden buzz—like a fly drawn to honey—halted them. A figure stepped into their path: a man clad head‑to‑toe in polished silver armor. A velvet hood draped over his helm, shadowing his face completely. A small leather sack dangled at his waist. Despite the armor, his frame looked average, not hulking.
"A million gold? And you don't know where to spend it?" The armored stranger's voice was smooth and confident. "Well, don't I have the best deal for you two!"
Velt frowned. "What… who are you—"
"Two travelers like yourselves will never fear for their lives again!" The stranger strode to the caravan's flank.
Yuli folded his arms. "Who said we ever feared for our lives—"
With a sharp rap on the wood, the caravan's side shimmered. The panel liquefied before their eyes, folding away to reveal an item stand stocked with potions, weapons, armors—every kind of gear imaginable, each tagged with extraordinarily "unique" prices.
"I am the Shopkeeper," the man announced, bowing slightly. "And this is my shop."
Yuli exchanged a glance with Velt. "The Shopkeeper? Velt, is this like one of Merl's universal businesses?"
The Shopkeeper stammered, "Y‑—"
Velt held up a hand. "No."
The Shopkeeper froze, lips trembling. "Well, you see… I'm a traveling shopkeeper."
"That's hard to believe," Velt said coolly. "Those types go by a different name: wandering traders. They wouldn't introduce themselves as anything else."
The Shopkeeper's helm shook as if in panic. He knows too much already!
"Then what would I be, player?" the Shopkeeper asked in a shaky tone.
"By the way you talk and move," Velt said, "you're certainly not an A.I."
A second shudder rippled through the Shopkeeper. "Both wandering traders and shopkeepers never leave their stands."
Shopkeeper trembled again. You've got to be kidding me!
Velt pointed to a wooden sign. "You even misspelled 'potion'—'posion.'"
The Shopkeeper convulsed, visor tilting. I was caught that fast?!
"Fine," he whispered. "What's so wrong with being a player shopkeeper?"
Velt folded his arms. "It's sketchy. You could be a scammer."
The Shopkeeper's thoughts spun. A reasonable thinker… before I even started scamming.
"I'm not a scammer!" he insisted.
Yuli frowned. "It's suspicious you lied. What's your real name?"
"I can't tell you," the Shopkeeper said stoutly. "It's business rules."
"Since when do shopkeepers have rules?" Yuli demanded.
"Since now," the Shopkeeper snapped. "Respect my boundaries, and I'll respect yours. I just want to help fellow players with good gear. I saw an opportunity to help you two!" With a sudden tug, he grabbed Velt and Yuli, dragging them to the stand.
"See anything you like?" he asked, spreading out the wares.
Velt and Yuli scanned the items: exotic potions in iridescent vials, blades with curved edges, shields emblazoned with strange heraldry. Velt lifted a curved blade, turning it over in his hand before setting it down. Yuli picked up a stout shield.
"I could use another shield," Yuli murmured.
The Shopkeeper sidled up. "That one's two thousand gold." Yuli shot Velt a look. Velt sighed, withdrawing a hefty leather pouch and tossing it on the counter. Then he crossed his arms.
The Shopkeeper examined the pouch with disdain. "Let me see if this is real." He swept the gold from Yuli's grasp and pocketed both the coins and the shield.
Before Yuli could react, the stand collapsed back into the caravan's side, panels sealing with a flash. The Shopkeeper melted into the wood too, and the caravan lurched forward, gaining speed as if on wings.
"HEY!!!" Velt shouted, sprinting after it, but the caravan was gone in an instant.
Yuli dropped to his knees. "Damn it—we got scammed out of… a million."
Velt kicked a loose stone. "So easily, like a couple of fools. I shouldn't have trusted him."
"You should've given me the exact amount, straight from the bag," Yuli grumbled.
"You're the one who just let him take the bag!" Velt retorted.
Yuli sighed. "It'll be fine. We'll grind it back."
"If I ever find that asshole, I'll punch the shit out of his face!" Velt growled.
Suddenly, the tavern door burst open behind them.
A clear voice rang out: "You seem to be in need of some help, my good gentlemen!"
Velt whirled, still furious. "Who's this now?" Before him stood a young man—orange‑gold hair cropped short yet flowing, eyes like smoldering blue embers. He wore a simple iron chestplate, a red and gold cape, olive-green leggings, and sturdy boots. A sword lay sheathed at his hip.
The newcomer dropped to one knee. "My name is Arthur Slayer. I wield the legendary sword Excalibur."
Velt rolled his eyes. "It's too early for this shit."
Yuli spoke up. "I thought it was Arthur Pendragon who had Excalibur."
Arthur straightened, voice firm. "That's a lie. There was never an Arthur Pendragon."
Yuli shrugged. "The story says otherwise."
Arthur shook his head. "The story is a faulty prophecy." He rose. "I sensed your anguish and stepped forward as the hero of the people—"
Yuli leaned to Velt and whispered, "Who are 'the people'?"
Velt shrugged back. "No clue."
Arthur continued, eyes blazing with conviction: "I have accepted your quest!"
Velt frowned. "I never gave you a quest."
Arthur beamed. "A true hero never waits for someone else to bestow a quest—they forge it themselves!"
Velt sighed. "I can handle my own quest. But if you want to tag along, fine."
"Brilliant idea, inquisitive peasant," Arthur declared.
"I'm not a peasant," Velt retorted.
Arthur bowed his head. "Forgive me—I never caught your name."
"Velt Armack," Velt replied, "and this is Yuli."
"Pleased to meet you both! Arthur Slayer at your service."
"We already know," Velt muttered.
Arthur laughed. "Onward!" And without another word, he strode off.
Velt stared after him. "What—where are you going?"
"My adventure senses tell me our quest begins this way."
"Adventure senses?" Velt echoed as he and Yuli exchanged glances, then fell in step behind the strange young hero.
Hours passed in silence, broken only by the crunch of their boots on gravel. Eventually, the trio reached the edge of a vast canyon, its depths veiled in mist. Before them arched a rickety suspension bridge, swaying gently in the wind—their next step into the unknown.
Yuli and Velt fell back several paces, huddling close as Arthur marched ahead, oblivious to their whispered exchange.
"So… is this guy sketchy or what?" Yuli murmured, glancing at Velt.
Velt's brow furrowed. "Oddly enough, I checked his profile. He really is who he says he is—except there's something off."
"What's strange about it?" Yuli pressed.
"He's labeled 'Hero' class," Velt replied. He shook his head. "That's not a player‑selectable class."
Yuli's eyes widened. "Well, I don't even know what to say about that…"
"He's level five, just like us," Velt continued.
"Maybe he's leading us to our doom," Yuli whispered darkly.
"He isn't in a guild or party," Velt added.
"Seriously? He's a solo adventurer?" Yuli's tone brimmed with surprise.
"Unlike us, he actually has proper stats," Velt noted.
Yuli nudged him. "You think we could recruit him?"
Before Velt could answer, Arthur halted with a sudden gesture—his hand slicing through the air, freezing Yuli and Velt in place. He tilted his head, listening intently to a distant whisper on the wind.
"W‑what… do you hear?" Yuli stuttered. Somewhere ahead, a faint, squelchy sound slid across the ground.
Arthur's voice cut through the hush: "It's a beast!" He pivoted, eyes narrowing at the approaching form.
Yuli leaned forward. "Huh…" A small, emerald-green slime oozed toward them, bouncing lazily.
"It's a slime!" Arthur declared.
Velt sighed. "It's really not that serious—"
In one fluid motion, Arthur drew Excalibur from its golden scabbard. A blinding flare erupted, forcing Yuli to shield his eyes. Velt wasn't so lucky; shards of light fragmented his form as the brilliance assaulted his vision. When the glow subsided, the trio blinked at the sword's majesty: a stainless blade etched with draconic scale‑guards, its pommel carved with arcane runes, the metal humming with raw power. A spectral crown of light hovered above Arthur's head, and a white aura rippled around him.
Velt's form snapped back into place. "God damn! What the hell?!"
Yuli rubbed his stinging eyes. "Jeez, that light—my eyes are killing me."
"That's… that's actually Excalibur," Velt breathed.
"What, a super‑rare legendary weapon?" Yuli guessed.
Velt shook his head. "No. It's better—a lot better. It's termed 'unobtainable.'"
Yuli frowned. "Now you're making me dumber. If it's unobtainable… how did he get it?"
Velt shrugged. "It's only called unobtainable because you can't get it through normal means."
"To hell if I know," Yuli muttered. "But Excalibur is one of three unobtainable weapons—and the strongest, which by default makes it the strongest in the world."
"What does it even do?" Yuli asked.
Velt smirked. "Too much. It was forged by a being trillions of dimensions above ours—out of sheer laziness to solve world problems. It's literally a blatant plot device."
"Plot device?" Yuli echoed.
Velt nodded. "It makes hackers look like noobs, mythical items like trinkets, and admins like frogs. Anyone who wields it becomes a walking Mary Sue."
Arthur extended a finger at the slime. "You dare challenge me and my unlikely allies, you pathetic ooze?!"
"Unlikely allies?" Velt repeated, eyebrows raised.
Arthur gripped his sword. "Prepare yourself for oblivion, fiend." A giant red crosshair shimmered around the slime.
"What is he doing now?" Yuli whispered.
Velt shrugged. "This… isn't an Excalibur ability."
Arthur's eyes gleamed with triumph. "You have made your last, fatal mistake, slime! I know your weaknesses—and I have the ultimate attack!" He lunged in a single, devastating arc.
"Slime Slayer!" The blade cleaved the creature in two. Both halves disintegrated into motes of light. Arthur sheathed Excalibur; his crown and aura vanished.
Velt exhaled. "That was… very unnecessary."
Arthur straightened, voice solemn. "Anything is necessary to protect the weak."
"There's no way you just called me weak!" Yuli protested.
Velt stepped closer. "Arthur, what was that crosshair thing?"
"That's my super‑class: Slayer," Arthur announced.
Velt chuckled. "That's actually hilarious."
Arthur tilted his head. "What is?"
"Nothing. What does Slayer do?" Velt pressed.
"It gives me all the information I need about a target—and grants me a finishing move that will surely slay it."
Velt rolled his eyes. That's such a bullshit ability…
Arthur's gaze grew distant. "The Slayer super‑class runs in my bloodline. Each of us must slay a beast to etch our name into the Book of Slayers. My father slew a Goliath."
"Let me guess—his name was David?" Velt quipped.
Arthur smiled. "How did you know?"
"A hitch. And you're destined to slay a dragon, right?"
"The prophecy reaches even common ears," Arthur said.
Velt glanced at Yuli. This guy must have main‑character syndrome.
They crossed the ancient bridge, Arthur striding ahead once more. Behind him, Velt and Yuli resumed their conversation.
"So, Velt," Yuli asked, "I'm not planning to fight him, but… how would you beat him?"
Velt considered. "Easy—take the sword. His power comes from Excalibur."
Yuli nodded. "Ah, right."
"But how did he get it?" Velt wondered aloud.
"No clue, man," Yuli replied.
After more trudging steps, they spied a sprawling campsite: rows of tents ringed a roaring bonfire, all encircled by a crude wooden palisade.
"What is that over yonder?" Arthur asked, halting.
Yuli peered. "A goblin camp—but different from the ones we've been grinding."
Velt shook his head. "This is an advanced camp. Goblins form ranked encampments: beginner camps have two tents and a small fire. Advanced camps include a mini‑boss."
Arthur's eyes gleamed. "I knew my adventure senses led me well."
"Any decent loot here?" Yuli asked.
Velt shrugged. "Nah, not really…"
They looked to see Arthur's reaction—but the young hero was already sprinting toward the barricade.
Velt called after him, unconcerned. "Normally, I'd worry about running into a camp of hundreds of armed goblins—but he has Excalibur. He'll be fine."
Yuli laughed. "And where's the fun in just standing here?" He too took off at a run.
"Dammit…" Velt sighed, falling into step behind his friend.