First Death

I narrowed my gaze at the weapon, its presence almost too surreal to comprehend. I found myself rubbing my eyes, not out of disbelief but in a futile attempt to assure myself that what lay before me was indeed real. To my astonishment, the inscription confirmed it – a God Tier weapon. It was an early-game revelation that should have sent any player into a frenzy of excitement. But not me. I chose to remain composed, my mind awash with bewilderment.

A God Tier weapon at this stage of the game? It felt like a rule-breaking anomaly. Even the most seasoned players would toil tirelessly to acquire such a rarity. They'd dedicate countless hours honing their skills, overcoming formidable challenges, and forging their path to greatness. Yet here I stood, perplexed by my inexplicable fortune.

Yet, as I examined the weapon more closely, its stats failed to live up to the legendary status it boasted. They were, in a word, ordinary. Nothing about them screamed 'God Tier,' leaving me with more questions than answers.

Then, a revelation struck me like a bolt of lightning. Checking the special skills, I realized why it was in God Tier. This weapon was of the Growth type. It held the power to evolve alongside its wielder, obviating the need for a constant cycle of upgrades. No more swapping weapons every time a new level was reached or a stronger adversary emerged. This was the ultimate convenience.

The means by which it qualified as a Growth Type Weapon were equally intriguing. It could advance its level by devouring other weapons. It was as if it hungered for the strength of its peers, absorbing their essence to grow ever stronger.

I couldn't help but recall the hierarchy of rarities that governed the items within the game. From the lowly Scrap, to Normal, Rare, Very Rare, Unique, Legendary, Heroic, and, at the zenith, God Tier. Common weapons, dropped by minor mobs or sold in blacksmith shops, typically fell into the Normal or Rare categories. Very Rare and Unique items were the spoils of regular boss battles or occasionally found at exorbitant prices in stores. Legendary weapons were the stuff of legend, with the slightest chance of dropping from bosses, dungeon chests, or Raid Bosses above level 150. They could also be earned through the completion of high-difficulty quests. And, if you possessed a skilled blacksmith, you could even craft them.

Majestic and storied, heroic weapons are coveted treasures of unparalleled worth, each bearing a heritage woven with the threads of legend. These exceptional artifacts are not mere trinkets to be purchased; they must be earned through trials and quests that entwine themselves with captivating stories and unforgettable NPCs. The journey to obtain a heroic weapon is an odyssey in itself.

But there's a twist that makes each heroic weapon truly one-of-a-kind—no duplicates exist. Any so-called duplicates are mere imitations, pale shadows of the real thing. These coveted items are locked behind the gates of quests, demanding perseverance and valor from those who dare to seek them. And once acquired, they are no ordinary armaments, for heroic weapons are, without exception, of the Growth Type, destined to evolve alongside their wielders. Truly, to embark on a legacy quest for one of these weapons is a rare and profound blessing.

Beyond the realm of heroics lies the enigmatic domain of the God tier. Whispers of god-level NPCs bestowing their divine gifts to those who earn their favor circulate like ephemeral secrets in the wind. Yet, these rumors remain shrouded in mystery, their authenticity unconfirmed. In my own experience in the last timeline, I have seen but one weapon ascend to the divine pantheon of God Tier. Forged by the fabled Blacksmith during a tumultuous time marked by the scourge of demon invasion, this weapon transcended its legendary status.

Infused with the blessings of deities who intervened in the war, this singular weapon emerged as a beacon of hope. It was wielded to ward off the demons who threatened to lay waste to half our world. In that crucible of conflict, it absorbed such a torrent of divine power that it transcended the boundaries of mere legend, ascending to the exalted realm of God Tier.

I redirected my attention towards my newfound trusty weapon once more, an item of truly divine craftsmanship. Yet, paradoxically, it bore no trace of divine enchantment. To the untrained eye, it could easily be mistaken for the most basic of armaments – a rusty sword with a blade so dull that even butter might pose a challenge. It was only through my careful scrutiny that I discerned its true nature, for had I not delved into its intricacies, I might have cast it aside as a mere run-of-the-mill rarity, judging it solely by its outward appearance.

In this ever-evolving world of game mechanics and mysteries, I had stumbled upon a treasure beyond my wildest expectations – a God Tier Growth Type Weapon. The possibilities seemed boundless, and with each passing moment, the true potential of this mysterious weapon beckoned me deeper into the realm of limitless adventure. No wonder it is placed in an enigmatic chest. This weapon is indeed an enigma.

I double-checked my skills one more time, just to ensure I had everything right.

[Devour] was the kind of ability that allowed a weapon to "consume" other weapons and make them a part of itself. It was like amalgamation but without the looming risk of failure. The remarkable thing about it was that this unique weapon could keep accumulating new skills by devouring a multitude of other weapons and artifacts. With each weapon consumed, it gained a partial boost in stats. What's more, it had a flair for mimicry, adopting the appearance of the weapons it had consumed. It was akin to having an array of cosmetic skins at your disposal, letting you customize your weapon's appearance while retaining the power of a rare, high-stat weapon. In a nutshell, you could make your weapon look as rustic as the "Rusty Sword" or as mundane as the "Dull Blade," yet it would possess the stats of a top-tier weapon.

The other weapon I stumbled upon was a true novelty though it only exists in fiction, especially for the Versatile Class. It bore some resemblance to Ye Qiu's legendary weapon, which I had read about in the novel "The King's Avatar." In that story, the protagonist's weapon could change forms, but it had limited transformations. This weapon, on the other hand, was a shape-shifter extraordinaire, capable of adopting any form wielded by all the various classes.

Versatile Class players, often dubbed copycats, had the unique ability to mimic the battle styles of other classes, without the equipment restrictions that burdened most others. They'd start with a simple sword, and from there, it was up to the player to decide their combat style based on the weapons they acquired. Yet, it had always been a cumbersome task for Versatile players to juggle multiple weapons, especially in the heat of battle. Constantly switching styles was a recipe for failure, especially for those who weren't particularly swift with their hands. But this weapon was the perfect solution to that age-old problem.

Still, the mystery lingered: how had Nobuhiko known I'd choose the Versatile Class? Among all the classes, the Versatile players stood to gain the most from this weapon, and it just so happened that I had picked the Versatile Class on a whim.

This weapon, it's not just any ordinary item in my inventory; it's a true game-changer. A bond exists between it and me that goes beyond the virtual world. I can't simply drop, trade, or sell it like any other loot, but it's a blessing in disguise. You see, this unique connection renders it impervious to theft, making it my ultimate guardian in the ever-dangerous gaming realm.

But what truly sets this weapon apart is its durability—or rather, the complete absence of it. Yes, you heard me right, null durability. In simpler terms, this weapon is like the holy grail of gear, the Excalibur of virtual weaponry. No matter how recklessly I wield it, it remains in pristine condition, untarnished by the battles it endures. For any gamer worth their salt, this is a godsend. Weapon maintenance is a tedious chore, and for those not skilled in the blacksmith's arts, it can drain your virtual coffers faster than a dragon's breath.

As I examine this extraordinary artifact, questions nag at the edges of my mind. Did it truly originate from Nobuhiko and that mysterious injection? What secrets lie hidden within the syringe's contents? It's a tantalizing mystery, one that beckons me deeper into this enigmatic world.

For now, though, I resist the urge to equip the weapon and armor. Instead, I've hatched a plan—a plan to conquer the EXP woes that have plagued the Versatile Class for far too long.

You see, for five long years, I languished at level 10, a virtual purgatory I couldn't escape. Each time I teetered on the brink of level 11, fate dealt me a cruel hand, resetting me back to square one. It wasn't a clever strategy to amass more AP; no, it was a futile effort. Leveling up from a previously achieved level yielded no rewards, rendering it a fruitless endeavor. Yet, in this unforgiving world, players resorted to a sinister practice known as "PKing," or Player Killing. It was a predatory act, a merciless cycle where the victor devoured the spoils of the fallen.

The Nexus Company, the architects of this digital domain, turned a blind eye to this injustice. Many suffered, many walked away from the game, but some of us endured, me included. Some guilds, however, took this ruthless game to another level, using lower-level players as "EXP fodder." They'd farm levels by slaughtering these hapless souls, all from the comfort of safer zones. I found myself caught in this twisted web, a pawn in the grand scheme of a guild I once called home.

It was the so-called "price" I paid for acquiring Reality Verse and entering the Alternate World, all in pursuit of companionship. Little did I know that these supposed friends would become my tormentors. It stands as one of the gravest mistakes of my life, a choice that led me to this moment, holding a weapon that may hold the key to my redemption.

Death in this game is an excruciating experience, like reliving the torment of mortality repeatedly. It's a visceral ordeal, one that can even leave real-life scars if your mental and physical resilience aren't up to par. Some players, masochists by choice, undergo a grueling transformation into "Fodders," intentionally desensitizing themselves to pain to achieve a disturbingly realistic level of agony. Sadly, many of my comrades fell down this rabbit hole, spiraling into madness. Thankfully, this dark chapter in the game's history has been scrutinized and halted. Personally, I managed to avoid that descent into madness, thanks to my ironclad mental fortitude and rigorous training regimen. While I've tasted death countless times in this virtual realm, I've grown calloused to its touch, unlike my former comrades who gave up the game after a mere fifty deaths or less. The relentless brutality of the pain sensitivity made quitting a far more sensible option than enduring endless torment.

But amidst this harrowing journey, I uncovered a secret about death, a well-concealed title that no one else could attain, making me its sole rightful bearer, given the sheer number of times I've faced oblivion. It's not a source of pride, but the potential it holds is invaluable. This secret is the key to my success, the linchpin of my journey.

Leaving Mining Town behind, I hastened towards the clearings where level 1 monsters roamed. The place was teeming with players, all vying to be the first to slay these creatures. Chaos reigned when a monster was spotted, with players adorned in shabby armor and wielding equally humble weapons, a testament to their dedication. My attire was even less impressive; I had yet to don any armor or wield a weapon, rendering me utterly defenseless.

But these clearings weren't my destination. The monsters here were weak, and dispatching them barehanded was child's play. Dying in this beginner area was a rarity, reserved for the foolhardy or the truly clueless. No one ventured here before completing the tutorial.

My true goal lay within the Silent Forest, and my intention was not to slaughter enemies but to meet my own demise. In the Alternate World, death meant swift transportation to the Cathedral for resurrection. The last city you visited before death became your checkpoint, but it came at a cost: decreased equipment durability, dwindling levels and experience, and a drain on your finances. In extreme cases, careless players might even lose items from their inventory, down to their undergarments.

However, there was a peculiar bug discovered by the player killers who had dispatched me multiple times. It was a place where the player's body persisted, defying the game's rules, and was transported to the Cathedral. This anomaly only occurred when players died in dungeons with a party, making it impossible in neutral areas like this. Stranger still, after some time, the player would respawn with a mere 100 HP, which shouldn't be possible outside of a Cathedral. It was undoubtedly a bug, yet no one had reported it. Few players lingered in this desolate spot, primarily beginners, making it inconspicuous to the game developers.

As the system announced my entry into the Silent Forest, I tread cautiously. Most of the monsters here were level 5, and the highest-level player around was merely at level 2. Venturing here without weapons or armor was suicidal, and that's exactly what I intended to do. My goal was to embrace death in this forsaken place.

In the heart of the Silent Forest lies a sanctuary, a haven from the menacing monsters that haunt its depths. It's a path only known to those who have traversed it time and again, etching its twists and turns into their very soul. For a year now, I've been an intrepid explorer of this realm, its secrets and dangers woven into the fabric of my being. So ingrained is this place in my memory that even with my eyes shut tight, I could navigate its treacherous terrain blindfolded.

My journey was not a leisurely stroll, for I knew the treacherous path that lay ahead. After finding the spot, I stood on it, remaining calm and composed. The cursed ground was infamous for its buggy anomalies, where the line between reality and the digital realm blurred. I braced myself, surveying the surroundings as my presence alone triggered a nefarious response. Six monstrous forms materialized before me, their crimson eyes glowing with an ominous hunger.

Among them, a formidable adversary stood out:

[Red Wolf]

Level 5

HP: 1000/1000

Attribute: Beast

The Red Wolf wasted no time, lunging at me with ruthless intent. Its massive paw struck me with crushing force.

-521

The world blurred as searing pain engulfed my senses, a cruel reminder that this wasn't just a game. If this were the real world, I'd be coughing up blood, but in this virtual realm, my vision drained of color, and the game's log updated my status with brutal efficiency.

[You died! Respawning in 10 seconds]

As I awaited my revival, my physical form refused to fade away like it normally did. Instead, an imposing countdown loomed above my lifeless body:

3

2

1

Just as the ominous digits vanished, another, even more alarming set appeared above my head:

-600 critical!

With no time to react, I plummeted once more, the respawn countdown taunting me, a stark reminder of the relentless challenges that awaited my return. It was a test of endurance, and I was determined to conquer it.