In the rolling hills of the southern border, where farmlands stretched into the horizon and sleepy villages dotted the countryside, a strange ripple surged through the air.
Locals barely had ti to register the shift in the wind before cracks of light appeared in the sky.
One after another, bodies fell from glowing tears—humans clad in strange armor, with glowing eyes and unnaturally perfect bodies.
At first, the villagers simply stared.
The newcors stood tall and confident, their expressions gleaming with wonder and hunger. Their garnts—woven synthetics, utility belts, visors, and armor that glowed faintly—were unlike anything the locals had seen.
So bore massive swords on their backs, others carried tallic rods that sparked with strange energy. A farr from the nearest field whispered.
"Mages?"
Before backing away cautiously.
But the strange ones didn’t speak the local tongue. They talked to one another in a clipped, unfamiliar dialect.
"Is this it? It doesn’t even have HUD elents."
One of them asked, looking around with mild disappointnt.
"Still better graphics than I expected."
Another replied, laughing.
They wandered into the nearest village without fear. Most locals avoided them, muttering prayers to old spirits and turning away.
The strangers, oddly, didn’t seem insulted. If anything, they were amused.
"They’re NPCs. Probably can’t talk to them until we find a quest giver."
One said.
"They’re ignoring us. Should we try initiating combat?"
"No penalties have triggered so far. I say go ahead."
And with that, chaos began.
One of the strangers walked over to a pig pen, drew a blade from his back, and sliced open the fence. The animals squealed and ran. He stabbed one in the neck and grinned.
"Loot dropped."
More followed. Cows were slaughtered, horses stolen, and barns set afla. The villagers scread and ran.
But the strangers laughed, chasing after them like it was all just a ga. One of them even pulled up a screen on his wrist and took a selfie with a burning field behind him.
It started with isolated incidents. A barn set afla here. A family dragged out for interrogation there.
Within hours, word spread. Dozens of the newcors began joining in, sharing tactics and ’exploits’ they found.
"The guards don’t even spawn until after the bell rings. You can loot everything before that."
"Magic system is kind of la, but the sword chanics are sick."
"I wonder if we get achievents for massacres?"
In one border town, a shrine was desecrated by a man who declared himself the "Hero of Fla" and demanded tribute from the priests. When they refused, he turned the entire temple to ash.
By the end of the second day, a dozen villages were wiped out.
The locals couldn’t understand the invaders’ motives. They didn’t seem to want land, gold, or political power. They didn’t plant banners or declare allegiance. They didn’t even try to negotiate.
They killed indiscriminately—sotis for food, other tis for pleasure—and constantly referred to their atrocities as "quests," "leveling up," or "daily grinds."
The terrified survivors began fleeing en masse, spreading rumors of immortal devils summoned from the sky.
It didn’t take long for the reports to reach Kyle.
He sat in the war council room, newly returned from his wedding, a glass of untouched wine at his side. A soldier burst in without knocking, his face pale.
"My lord, there’s news from the southern border."
Kyle glanced up, already feeling the wrongness pressing on his senses.
"A new threat?"
He asked calmly.
The soldier nodded, trembling.
"Strangers... hundreds of them. They’re attacking without cause. The locals say they talk like madn. They keep referring to the world as... as a ga."
The air around Kyle shifted.
"Ga?"
"They think they’ve been summoned. That this world exists for their amusent. They don’t respond to diplomacy. They only grow more violent."
Kyle stood, the room darkening as his mana surged.
"How many villages?"
"At least sixteen have fallen."
Amana, sitting across from him, put down her pen.
"Are they organized?"
"No. It’s chaos. But a few of them have started forming groups. One of them called it a ’guild.’ Another spoke of building a base."
The soldier said.
Silvy and lissa exchanged glances.
"They’ve co through a portal. This is divine interference. The god of war has begun his invasion."
Kyle muttered.
lissa’s hand clenched around her sword.
"What do we do?"
Kyle turned, his voice cold.
"We send a ssage. These aren’t players. This isn’t a ga. It’s ti soone taught them what it ans to bleed."
He stepped forward and drew a simple blade from his side.
"Prepare the hunt."
______
The village was silent, but not in peace—only in dread.
lissa stepped lightly across the burned dirt road, her senses sharp as a blade. Smoke curled from a collapsed barn to her left, and the scent of blood hung heavy in the air.
Wooden fences were broken, and the fields were trampled under heavy boots that didn’t belong to this land. Her hand rested on her sword, though her eyes did most of the cutting.
She didn’t need to see more to know: this place had suffered.
A muffled cry caught her attention.
She turned swiftly, following the desperate sound toward the town square. Behind a half-shattered cart, a poor farr knelt in the dust, his arms wrapped around a small satchel—clothes, maybe trinkets, the last mory of a life now in ruins.
Before him stood one of the invaders. The plunderer wore tallic greaves and a coat that shimred unnaturally, the crest on his chest glowing with so false power.
"I told you, items are dropped loot. Don’t hoard quest items, old man."
The plunderer sneered, yanking at the bag.
The farr clung tighter.
"Please... it belonged to my wife..."
The plunderer kicked him, hard, and the farr crumpled. Blood stained the earth.
lissa stepped into the open.
The man turned, noticing her too late.
"Oh? Another local? You look rare. Might drop sothing good."
He said with an arrogant grin, his eyes raking over her armor.
He raised a jagged blade glowing faintly blue.
He didn’t get the chance to swing.
A pulse of silver mana surged from lissa, quiet and clean. In the next breath, the man’s body fell—lifeless, unmoving. There was no scream, no struggle, only silence.
She sheathed her blade and looked at the farr. The man was trembling, his cheek bruised, clutching the satchel like it was the last piece of his soul.
lissa approached slowly, kneeling beside him. Her eyes, normally sharp and calculating, softened.
"Are you alright?"
She asked, voice low.
The farr looked up, his lips trembling. He managed a weak nod.
lissa placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Get inside. Don’t co out until this is over. More might co."
The farr didn’t speak—he simply clutched the satchel tighter and scurried toward the ruins of his ho.
lissa stood again, gaze sweeping the village. Her voice was quiet, but her heart blazed with resolve.
"These bastards think this world is a ga... I’ll show them reality."
She took one last look at the scorched fields and broken fences, her jaw tight. The wind stirred her cloak as she turned away, footsteps calm but full of purpose.
These invaders weren’t just disrupting peace—they were mocking lives. lissa would make sure they learned that this world bleeds... and it bites back.
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