Armin's blood turned ice.
The words hung there for three seconds before fading, but their meaning seared itself into his brain.
Someone had just killed someone else.
A real person. Someone who was alive moments ago is now dead.
'This is real. Oh God, this is actually real!'
His head snapped around, eyes darting wildly through the trees. He looked everywhere, and every shadow suddenly started looking threatening.
Tall trees surrounded him on all sides. Their massive trunks provide cover but also concealment for anyone who is hunting. The undergrowth was thick enough to hide a crouching figure. The canopy overhead blocked his view of anything beyond thirty meters.
Suddenly, he found the environment very threatening.
He was alone.
At least for now, he was alone and safe.
His heart hammered against his ribs. Adrenaline flooded his system, the fight-or-flight response screaming at him to move, or to hide, or to do something.
But where? Where could he possibly be safe when ninety-nine… ninety-eight other people were scattered across this forest, all probably fighting to kill each other?
That's when he saw it.
At the base of a massive oak tree, barely twenty meters away, sat something that had no business being in a natural forest. A Chest.
Not a modern lockbox or storage container. An actual chest, like something out of a fantasy game, made of dark wood with Iron banding. And it was glowing-soft blue light seeping through the crack where the lid sat slightly ajar, as if inviting him to come closer.
Armin stared at it, his gamer instincts warring with his survival instincts.
He knew what it was…or at least he could guess what it was.
A loot chest. That's a loot chest!
In any game, look meant equipment. Equipment meant better chances of survival. And in a battle royal, equipment was everything.
But a loot chest could also mean traps.
He'd read enough fantasy novels and played enough RPGs to know about mimics. The predatory creatures disguised as treasure chests that devoured anyone foolish enough to open them. Hell, he'd fallen for that trap himself more time that he cared to admit.
Still, he wanted to see what was in that chest.
Armin approached slowly, his eyes scanning the surrounding forest for any sign of movement.
When he reached the chest, he stopped three meters away.
'Should I open it?'
The logical part of his brain screamed that this was insane. The gaming part of his brain insisted this was necessary.
He needed equipment. He needed something if he was going to survive.
His eyes fell on a fallen branch nearby. It was thick enough to be sturdy and long enough to give him distance.
'Perfect,' he thought, picking up the branch.
He then positioned himself as far from the chest as the stick's length would allow.
"Here goes nothing…"
He extended the branch and pushed at the chest's lid.
The wood creaked, and the lid swung open.
Armin tensed, ready to throw the stick and run.
But nothing happened.
No teeth, no tentacles, and no threat.
It was just a normal chest, sitting there innocently, its contents now visible.
'Not a mimic. Thank God'
He edged closer, peering inside. What he saw made him feel dumb.
"You've got to be kidding me.:
A pair of boots lay at the bottom of the chest. Not gleaming magical artifacts or legendary weapons. Just…boots.
They were old, worn leather boots that looked like they'd walked a thousand miles and were ready to fall apart.
"Serioruly? Who puts this in a chest?"
But even as the complaint left his mouth, his hand reached for the boots. The moment his fingers touched the leather, text erupted in his vision.
[You have found - Wornout shoes of Old Mercenary]
Whatever little hope he had that this might be an amazing item evaporated the moment he read the name.
He read the name once again. It had the same kind of hue that the quest name had, so he concentrated on it.
Sure enough, the item information popped up in front of him.
[Wornout shoes of Old Mercenary]
[A pair of boots that served an old mercenary for many years. They carry the persistence of a man who lived his entire life as a wandering vagabond. Though worn and weathered, they have never failed their owner.]
[Rank: Common]
[Effect: +2% movement speed]
[Durability: 45/100]
Armin read the whole thing twice, his mind racing.
'Stats'
The boots had actual stats.
It was one thing to see quest windows and plater counts. It was another thing entirely to hold an item with RPG-style attributes in his hands.
He corrected his assumption once again.
He wasn't just in a battle royale. He was in a battle royale with RPG mechanics.
"I don't know anymore," he whispered, turning the boots over in his hands. They felt real. Scuffed leather, worn soles, the faint smell of old sweat and trail dust. But the interface insisted they had magical properties.
+2% movement speed didn't sound like much. It would barely be even noticeable.
But in a survival game like this, he needed every advantage he could get.
And this was better than nothing.
Armin looked down at his feet- he was still wearing the polished dress shoes he'd on at the office. Completely inappropriate for a forest terrain and completely useless in combat.
He didn't hesitate. He removed the dress shoes and pulled on the worn boots, lacing them tight.
They fit perfectly.
It may be because it was an item from the game, he didn't know.
After donning them, he looked back at the empty chest.
[Wooden chest]
It said, and when he focused, more information popped up.
[A basic container used to store equipment in the ARENA. Once looted, it cannot be used again.
"So the chest itself is worthless."
He though straightning, testing the boots. He couldn't feel any difference in his movement speed. He didn't even know what his normal speed was, so 2% change was far too subtle for human perception.
When he looked up from them, his eyes scanned the forest with new purpose.
"If there is one chest, there have to be more. And more chest means more equipment."
He'd played enough battle royales to understand the early game strategy.
Land, loot, gear up, and survive the initial chaos.
The players who took time to gather equipment before engaging had a massive advantage over those who rushed into combat unprepared.
Armin took a step forward, ready to search for more loot.
[Player Yaksh_ has killed Player EARTH78924]
The notification flashed across his vision, and he noticed one thing.
It was the same name…
Yaksh_
And his eyes flicked to the corner of his vision.
[98/100]
How much time has passed since he appeared in this place?
3 minutes? 5 minutes?
And already two people were dead!
The game had barely started, and the killing had begun.
Armin's hand trembled as reality crashed over him in waves. This wasn't a game he could quit. There was no logout button, no rage quit option, and no way to just click the home button and clear the game screen.
This was life or death!
His life or death.
And at the same moment, he heard it…footsteps!
─── ✦ ✦ ✦ ───