The sterile white void didn't just vanish; it reorganized.
Before the final transition to the First Realm, a row of metallic pedestals rose from the floor. Each held an assortment of gear that looked both archaic and technologically advanced.
{INITIALIZING STARTING KIT...}
{AS A NEW SUMMON, YOU ARE GRANTED BASIC E-RANK SURVIVAL GEAR.}
Zeke looked at the options. There were leather tunics reinforced with iron plates, sturdy boots, and a variety of weapons ranging from broadswords to short-bows. A small satchel appeared on the edge of the pedestal containing three hard, tasteless nutrient bars and a waterskin.
{NOTICE: PROVISIONS ARE LIMITED TO 24 HOURS. PLAYERS MUST SECURE SUSTENANCE WITHIN THE REALM OR FACE EXHAUSTION.}
Zeke didn't hesitate. He bypassed the heavy, clumsy broadswords and grabbed a pair of balanced steel daggers and a reinforced black leather harness. He pulled the boots on, tightening the laces with practiced ease. The gear was light, favoring his agility while providing just enough protection for his vitals. To most, these were simple tools; to Zeke, they were the first variables in a much larger equation.
"Zeke! What are you doing? Help us!"
The voices of his classmates drifted from the other white cubicles that were now dissolving around him. Marcus, the varsity rower, was trying to lift a heavy Warhammer, his face red with effort. Chloe was clutching a wooden staff as if it were a lifebuoy in a stormy sea.
Zeke didn't answer. He was watching the horizon of the white void bleed into a dark, suffocating green.
{SECTOR 7: THE WEEDING GROUNDS}
{MISSION: SURVIVE THE FIRST 72 HOURS.}
{REWARD: ACCESS TO THE FRONTIER CITIES.}
{PENALTY: DEATH.}
The floor beneath them turned into soft, rotting mulch. The sky above was a permanent twilight, blocked by the canopy of trees that looked more like obsidian pillars than living plants. The air was thick and humid, tasting of copper and ancient mold.
{THE WEEDING HAS BEGUN.}
A scream tore through the silence of the forest. It wasn't a human scream—it was a guttural, wet sound.
From the shadows of a massive, gnarled root, a creature emerged. It stood three feet tall, with green, scabrous skin and eyes that burned with a mindless, hungry yellow light. It clutched a rusted shard of metal, its mouth hanging open to reveal rows of needle-like teeth.
A Goblin. But this wasn't the cute, cartoonish version from Earth's fiction. It was a concentrated ball of malice and hunger.
Behind it, ten more pairs of yellow eyes blinked open in the dark.
"Form a circle!" Marcus yelled, finally finding his voice. "We stay together, we survive!"
It was the "correct" answer according to Earth's logic. In a group of fifty, you huddle for safety. But Zeke looked at the yellow eyes and the way they were spreading out, flanking the panicked students. He saw the way the trees themselves seemed to lean in, the vines twitching like snakes.
"They aren't just here to kill us," Zeke whispered, his daggers resting easily in his hands. "They're here to see who's worth keeping."
The first goblin lunged, its rusted blade aimed at Chloe's throat. She stood frozen, her staff trembling.
Zeke moved.
He didn't scream a battle cry. He didn't hesitate. He stepped into the goblin's path, his 19 Agility making the creature look like it was moving through honey. With a flick of his wrist, the first dagger traced a silver arc through the air.
Squelch.
The blade buried itself in the goblin's eye socket. The creature didn't even have time to shriek before it hit the ground, a limp pile of green filth.
{YOU HAVE SLAIN A GOBLIN (RANK E-0).}
{EXPERIENCE GAINED: +10 XP}
{PROGRESS: 10 / 100 XP (TO RANK E-1)}
Zeke felt a spark of heat in his Mana Heart—the engine of his physical and spiritual energy. It pulsed once, a small thrum of power circulating through his veins as the XP integrated into his being. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. He noticed a small footnote on his status screen: Experience requirements increase by 50% for each Minor Tier, and triple upon Rank Breakthrough. If E-1 needed 100, E-2 would need 150, and the jump to Rank D would be a gargantuan leap. The system was designed to keep the "fodder" exactly where they were.
"The circle won't save you," Zeke said, his voice flat as he pulled his dagger from the corpse. The green blood hissed against the steel. "If you want to live, start killing. Because more are coming, and they're much bigger than this one."
As if on cue, a deeper growl echoed from the canopy. The weeding had only just started.