The year was 2050.Virtual reality had conquered the world. Every month brought another so-called "revolution" in immersive gaming—headsets boasting sharper graphics, louder sound, more haptic buzz. Every trailer promised the impossible: live in the past.
"Feel the grass beneath your feet. Taste the wind on your lips. Suffer the heat, wade through pure streams."
It was all marketing lies. Pretty, hollow illusions wrapped in corporate hype.
Until Pandora Gate Industries.
An obscure startup that, in five short years, rose from a garage office to a multi-billion-dollar empire. No one knew how they did it. Their VR wasn't just convincing—it was real. Too real.
You didn't just play a game.
You were there.
There was no starter villages ,No respawns. No safe zones. Just the raw brutality of the past—wounds that festered without medicine, hunger gnawing at your gut, A time were drinking beer was safer than water.
The rules were simple: You appeared in a random time and place—anywhere from the windswept British Isles to the war-torn fields of feudal Japan. Your "class" was yours to forge, every skill and weapon chosen by you. Infinite combinations. Infinite possibilities.
Infinite ways to suffer and die.
William was a history enthusiast, deeply fascinated by the idea of knights and what they were meant to represent. He knew that, in reality, knights were far from the chivalrous heroes romanticized in movies and books, yet he still cherished the ideal. When Neural Odyssey offered him the chance to live out that dream, he seized it without hesitation—or at least, that was his intention.
But everything changed once people discovered you could make real money inside the game as 1 gold coin equals 10 dollars in the real world. That single revelation marked the end of the peaceful days.
What was once a vast, adventurous world slowly turned into a hive swarming with greedy player guilds and even corporations, all hell-bent on exploiting every loophole and mechanic for profit.
Casual players were shoved aside, faced with a cruel ultimatum: join the guilds, or be eliminated. And in Neural Odyssey, "elimination" was brutal—when you were defeated, your opponent claimed all your gold, most of your hard-earned levels, and even your prized gear.
Rising once more into the endless grey, William exhaled a weary sigh. He shut his eyes, whispering a brief prayer into the silence, before summoning his character sheet and inventory to take stock of what had been stripped from him.
[ Player Status Interface ]
Avatar name : Gwyndolin
Gold : 0
Skills :
Warhammer mastery {Apprentice} --> Warhammer mastery {Untrained}
sword mastery {Untrained} --> skill lost
horse-riding {Journeyman} --> horse-riding {Apprentice}
Shield mastery {Journeyman} -->Shield mastery {Apprentice}
Dagger mastery {Untrained} --> skill lost
Blacksmithing {Untrained} --> skill lost
Seeing his skill proficiencies drop, William didn't really care. In Neural Odyssey, skills and their ranks didn't mean much. Maybe a small edge here and there, but nothing game-breaking. Being a master at something didn't make you untouchable — not here.
In Neural Odyssey, you had to work for every inch you gained. Every skill had to be honed, practiced, beaten into your bones until it was second nature. Even then, it wasn't strange to see a so-called master cut down by an apprentice. Skills didn't guarantee victory — they just tilted the scales a little.
In here, you wouldn't find the usual stats. It was simple and straight to the point — no need for a health bar when a stray arrow could kill you instantly, or when sickness and hunger could grind you down just as surely as a sword.
There were no stats like endurance or attack power—everything came down to raw strength. For many players, this was devastating, crushing their hopes of even starting the game. William had dreamed of wielding a sword, but the cost was far too steep.
Mastering sword stances, learning how to fight armored opponents—it all seemed like needless work when there was a simpler, deadlier option. He chose the Warhammer.
Not the common, short 2-kilogram type most carried, but a custom-made monster weighing five kilos, built to kill opponents instantly—armored or not. One side was blunt for bone-crushing strikes, the other a sharp spike designed to punch through steel.
But a warhammer like that came with its own problems. The sheer strength required to swing it effectively was enormous, and in a prolonged fight, its stamina drain could be brutal—enough to hand your opponent the opening they needed to kill you.
William knew this, which was why he tried to push his body to its limits. Day after day, he trained until his muscles burned and his lungs felt like fire, forcing his strength and endurance to grow.
If he wanted to survive drawn-out battles, he had to make sure the Warhammer would never become his weakness his Achilles heel.
"Knight," he muttered to himself. "All the way."
William closed his eyes, letting the familiar rush of weightlessness pull him under. He needed gear. He needed gold, enough to rise to wealth.
And above all, he needed the strength to protect others in the game at least.
So many goals.
So many battles ahead.
All just a click away.