Chapter 5

Aamon sank into the plush embrace of the bed, a sigh escaping his lips. This "bed" thing – a squishy invention that humans seemed particularly fond of – felt like a betrayal of gravity. Sleep, in his previous world – a pixelated creation of his father's design – was a non-existent luxury. Here, it was a sanctuary, a haven of softness that defied logic.

Memories, gleaned from the frail shell of Adrian Walker, swirled in his mind. A paradox – Adrian was heir to a vast fortune, yet sickly and ostracized at school. But within the game, Adrian transformed. Here, he wasn't a weak boy, but a revered figure known to players – perhaps "Otaku" was the term that this weak people called them?

More importantly, Adrian held a secret – knowledge of a hidden society lurking beneath the surface of this seemingly boring world. A real-life guild, not the kind that involved questionable hygiene and spending all your allowance on monster plushies. This, Aamon realized with a mental fist pump (because apparently, humans liked to imagine things too), was the key.

World domination, it seemed, wouldn't involve giant fire-breathing lizards or laser swords (though those would be undeniably nostalgic during my time where I bashed that pisky god on the floor left and right). Here, power was a subtler beast, a tangled web of money, influence, and information. Think of it as a really fancy board game, except the pieces were people and the stakes were, well, world domination (of course!).

The first step, Aamon decided, was to become obscenely wealthy. Money, in this human world, was the universal translator, the key that unlocked all the good doors (and maybe a few secret ones too). With Adrian's hidden connections – a kind of real-life cheat code – and Aamon's strategic mind honed over centuries of monster-bashing, building a financial empire sounded like a walk in the beginners village.

Aamon hefted the VR headset in his hand, a sardonic chuckle escaping his lips. There it was – his old world, trapped within this sleek, plastic shell.

Slipping on the headset, Aamon felt a familiar tingle course through his non-existent nerves. The login screen materialized before him – the swirling vortex that led back to Eternity's Gate. This time, however, he wouldn't be entering as the almighty Devourer of Gods, the terror of countless noob players but as Swiftwind the famed nimble archer.

The world materialized around him, a pixelated landscape bathed in a familiar golden glow. Aamon, or rather Adrian for now, scanned the bustling marketplace, a digital recreation of a real-world financial district. This was where he intended to find Bibo, the fatty goblin which is a spy of the secret guild in the real worl.

He navigated the crowd, a strange mix of fantastical creatures and oddly dressed humans, with the practiced ease of a seasoned player. Here, amidst the digital hustle and bustle, he could begin his real game – the one that would translate his virtual power into tangible influence in the real world.

Elves in shimmering robes brushed past him, dwarves with pickaxes grumbled under their breath, and a particularly flamboyant unicorn snorted disdainfully at his attire (unimpressive leather armor, according to the latest in-game fashion). Finally, he spotted his target – a rotund goblin perched atop a pile of overflowing sacks. Bibo, despite his unassuming appearance, was a legend – a master strategist with a reputation for playing both sides and always landing on top.

Aamon sidled up to the goblin, who was currently stuffing what appeared to be a pixelated roast turkey leg into his mouth. Before Aamon could even utter a greeting, Bibo let out a theatrical belch that could have cleared a dungeon.

"Well met, fellow adventurer!" Aamon boomed, trying to project an air of camaraderie over the lingering stench of virtual turkey.

Bibo blinked, crumbs scattering across his greasy green chest. "Hmm? You want somethin'?" His voice was surprisingly high-pitched, not at all the gruff baritone Aamon expected.

"Indeed," Aamon said, adopting a conspiratorial tone. "I have intel. Top-secret intel that could change the entire market dynamic."

Bibo's beady eyes narrowed. "Oh yeah? Spill it then, elf-ears."

Aamon resisted the urge to roll his non-existent eyes. "Not here. Too many… uh… eavesdroppers." He scanned the marketplace pointedly.

Bibo scratched a nonexistent itch on his ear, his face a mask of suspicion. "What's in it for me?"

Aamon leaned closer, enjoying the faint whiff of virtual garlic emanating from the goblin. "Think bigger than pixels, my corpulent friend. Real-world riches beyond your wildest dreams. The kind that translates into mountains of actual, edible food."

Bibo's eyes widened considerably. The mere mention of real food seemed to hold more sway than any in-game treasure.

"Intriguing," he finally conceded, wiping his greasy fingers on his already stained tunic. "But how do I know you're not some noob trying to pull a fast one?"

Aamon smirked. "Because, my friend, I have a proposition that benefits both of us. A chance to leverage your… unique talents in the real world for a guaranteed return on investment." Briefly, Aamon outlined his plan: utilizing Bibo's reputation and connections in the game's black market to manipulate the real-world stock market based on virtual trends. It was audacious, even for Aamon, but with Bibo's cunning and his own strategic mind, it could be pulled off.

Bibo listened intently, his expression unreadable. Finally, a slow, greedy grin spread across his face. "You know, elf-ears," he chuckled, his voice still surprisingly high-pitched, "you might just be onto something… profitable."