Chapter 513: Flo
“Truly a bunch of carefree Newcomers,” Lonely Like Snow muttered, leaning against the rocky ridge overlooking the village, a Root cigarette dangling from his lips. Below, the fresh-faced New Players darted through the fields like children let loose in a meadow, their laughter echoing across the valley.
Back then, he had been just like them—full of dreams, brimming with ambition. Now? He was a proper Tank.
Clad in thick, refined Gold Armor, wielding a Steam Shotgun so massive it looked like it belonged on a war machine, every step he took cracked the earth beneath him. He wasn’t just a man—he was a walking tank.
“Still… this quest’s probably no joke,” he mused, scratching his head. “Taking so many New Players straight to the Frontline? Feels more like sending them to be cannon fodder.”
He glanced down at his Character Sheet.
---
[Main Quest: Kill the Demons!]
Demons have emerged from the Abyss, driven by an ancient hatred for all life. They spread Chaos and Evil without mercy, seeking to plunge the entire cosmos into eternal darkness. These greedy, mad creatures have set their sights on the first true nation to rise in the Anzeta Great Wasteland—the Empire of Ashen.
Enraged by their arrival, “Emperor of the Ashen Flame” Kai Xiusu Thunderbolt has issued a call to arms, pledging to unleash every ounce of strength to eradicate the Demon threat. And now, Stellarfallen—your time has come. You will stand at the Frontline, the first line of defense for the Empire against this invasion.
Brave warriors—kill the Demons!
Mission Objective: Hold the Frontline Position, slay Demons
Quest Reward: Players receive Faction Contribution and gold coins proportional to the Demon’s strength.
> - Squid Demon: 5 Faction Contribution, 25 Silver Ginnar
> - Cassie Demon: 20 Contribution, 1 Golden Nael
> - Bab Demon: 500 Contribution, 20 Golden Nael
> - Frothmaw: 1,500 Contribution Points, 50 Golden Nael
> - One Balor Fire Demon: 1.25 million Contribution, 200,000 Golden Nael
As always, the Imperial Style—clear, direct, and fully priced. No secrets. No hidden fees.
Lonely Like Snow’s eyes lit up instantly.
“Whoa… so much? If I take down a Balor Fire Demon, I’d be WealthFree in an instant!”
He ran a thumb over the rough barrel of his Steam Shotgun, his gaze drifting toward the dense forest ahead.
“Screw being cannon fodder. If I can get Contribution and cash, I’ll take it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Inside Leo Village, players were everywhere—scrambling, digging, rummaging. But they weren’t building fortifications. No, they were scavenging. Or, as some called it, Zero-Cost Grabbing—the true joy of any RPG player.
“Crate! Open it—quick!”
“What? Just a low-quality iron hoe? What use is that?”
“Hey, look—this is the widow’s undergarments from the east end! Who’d want this?”
“Check the cabinet!”
“Organic paste, half a Black Bread… Seriously? You hid this deep?”
“Let’s check the Underground Dungeon. There has to be something good down there!”
“Smash that jar! I feel loot dropping!”
“Is this a Hidden Equipment? No—damn it! Just RootAcid Cucumber!”
In less than ten minutes, the entire village had been turned upside down. Cupboards, cellars, even floorboards were pried open. Players were ready to rip up the ground itself.
But what they found was nothing but mundane household items—nothing of value. Anything even remotely useful had already been taken by the villagers long ago.
The result? Disappointment.
“Man, come on—shouldn’t the villagers’ homes have artifacts from killing Demons? Even a few hundred gold coins would be reasonable!”
“Didn’t you hear? Ailezegai is all about realism. Think—would your old neighbor keep an AK-47 stashed under the bed?”
“Hmph. I still think the devs left a hidden bonus. I’m gonna go through it all again!”
BANG!
The door burst open.
A Newcomer, nickname [Boufeng], clad in ragged clothes, charged in with a grin. “Open up! Room check!”
“Huh?”
He raised a hand in a mock French military salute.
The old man—Old White—sat calmly, a Root cigarette between his lips, his Hunting Rifle resting in his lap. His weathered eyes, sharp as steel, locked onto the intruder. The barrel of the rifle didn’t waver. That gaze could kill.
This was Old White’s home. No force—Stellarfallen, Demon, or otherwise—would take it from him. Anyone who dared enter would meet their end.
Boufeng froze. Sweat beaded on his forehead. The rifle’s barrel stared him down like a death sentence.
“Uh… uh… sorry, sir! I didn’t know you were here!” he stammered, hand still raised. “I thought no one was home!”
Old White slowly lifted the rifle’s muzzle. “Get out. Tell them—no one enters my house. Or my bullets won’t miss.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure—no problem!” Boufeng stammered, backing away fast. He practically fled.
Click.
The door closed softly.
Old White lowered the rifle. His hand trembled slightly, but he didn’t show it. Not in front of the intruder. He’d prepared for this—knew the risks. But still… this was the legendary “Undead Warrior.” The stories said he’d survived the Abyss’s first wave. Could he really be just… this?
“These so-called Stellarfallen… this is it?” he muttered.
But then, the footsteps outside grew louder. More figures gathered.
Old White frowned. He didn’t understand their chatter. Something felt… off.
“Hear that? There’s an old man with a rifle inside.”
“Could he be a hidden Non-Player Character?”
“Maybe he’s a secret powerhouse—someone who’ll hand out a legendary sword after a quest!”
“Wait—this village only has one person left. And it’s about to be invaded by Demons. There’s something strange here!”
“Could this be the one who’ll single-handedly take down the Demon horde?”
Creak…
The door opened slowly.
Old White gripped his rifle tighter, muscles taut.
Then—out from the crack—appeared a grinning face.
“Old man, need help?”
Old White hesitated, then asked, “Could you… gather some firewood for me?”
“On it!”
The player took the quest without hesitation and dashed off.
“Fix the bridge.”
“Grind the flour.”
“Cook the meal.”
“Go fetch water.”
“Clear the weeds.”
One after another, players left. Old White issued quests with growing ease, his tone casual, almost effortless.
To the players, this was obvious proof of hidden greatness—the confidence of a true veteran, a legendary figure in the making.
When Old White stepped outside and stopped handing out quests, the players who hadn’t received one groaned in disappointment. Meanwhile, those assigned chores strutted around like champions.
“This is Ailezegai! Opportunity knocks once—don’t miss it!”
“Old man, one more quest!”
“I’ve been waiting ages!”
“Please, let me do another one!”
So this was how the Stellarfallen operated? So… helpful?
Old White sneezed, shaking his head. “I’ve lived for decades… and never once saw someone earn their way by doing chores. These people… are weird.”
He shouldered his rifle and headed toward the Southern Mountain Forest.
“Today, I’ll bag a deer. If not, at least a rabbit,” he said.
Every day, he hunted here. He’d returned with prey for decades—this path was as familiar as his own home.
He walked the well-worn trail into the heart of the Thick Forest.
Shh… shh…
A soft rustling.
Old White stiffened. His gaze swept the trees. A frown creased his brow.
“This… isn’t right.”
A hunter’s instinct.
He’d walked this path a thousand times. He knew every tree, every stone. The woods were like his second home.
But today… it felt alien.
The leaves shimmered with a murky light. The grass seemed to glow faintly. Branches twisted like withered arms, reaching out as if to grab. Vines—thick, serpentine—dangled from the canopy, brushing close to his shoulders.
Silence.
Too silent. No birds. No wind. Nothing.
Then—caw… caw… caw…
A flock of enormous Ravens flew overhead, their cries harsh and guttural. They cast jagged shadows across the forest floor.
Old White looked up.
And for the first time, he felt… watched.
Their eyes—deep, glowing in the darkness—burned with an unnatural light. Not just malice. Not just hunger. But greed. A predator’s gaze, fixed on fresh prey.
He squinted.
And saw it.
The beaks—sharp, jagged, fang-like—glistened with dried blood.
“Damn it… these aren’t Ravens.”
“They’re Monsters.”
He tightened his grip on the rifle. His hands trembled—but he didn’t hesitate. He aimed.
BANG!
The gunshot echoed.
The Ravens scattered, cawing in fury, vanishing into the shadows. A few black feathers drifted down.
They landed on the ground… and sank in, corroding the soil, leaving behind jagged craters.
Old White paled. Sweat soaked his back.
“What… in the name of the stars… is this?”
The forest—his forest—felt alive. Wrong. Alive.
Vines writhed like arms in the wind. The air pressed down with a suffocating weight—Malice, Distortion, an oppressive force from every direction.
Shh… shh… shh…
More rustling. Shadows shifted.
“Who’s there?” Old White spun around—only to find empty air. The forest remained unchanged. But now, it was terrifying.
He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with trembling fingers.
“Huff…”
Stay calm. Don’t panic.
Then—he froze.
His breath caught.
In front of him, on the ground—a massive shadow.
Wings. Spread wide.
Old White knew this form. He’d seen it in nightmares.
It wasn’t a vulture. Not an eagle. Not any creature from Anzeta’s history.
Only one possibility remained.
Demons.
His blood ran cold.
Slowly, he turned.
His eyes widened.
His mouth fell open.
The cigarette dropped from his lips.
A skeletal humanoid stood before him—skin exposed in patches, black fur matted across its limbs. Claws like obsidian daggers. A pair of massive, bat-like wings stretched behind it, casting a shadow that swallowed him whole.
But its head…
It was a rotting Raven’s skull—sunken, hollow, eyes glowing with a distorted, sadistic grin.
This… was a Frothmaw.
Old White’s mind reeled. The creature’s form was twisted, irregular—emitting a palpable aura of Chaos. Just looking at it filled him with endless malice.
“N-no… Demons!”
In sheer terror, he fired.
BANG!
The bullet flew—but the Frothmaw dodged with ease, wings flaring. It landed in front of him, its fanged beak parting in a slow, mocking smile.
“Human,” it rasped, voice like gravel dragged over stone.
“Clever. So fragile. Your rebellion is but the wail of lambs before slaughter.”
Old White collapsed, scrambling backward on his hands and feet, desperate to flee.
“N-no… monster!”
Survival instinct screamed.
Run.
He forced himself up, sprinting down the path—his old, familiar path—through the forest, toward the village.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
From the trees, a horde of corrupted Ravens poured out, their caws a chorus of madness. They swarmed behind him like a black tide.
Vines and branches twisted, blocking his way. They slashed at his flesh, tearing open wounds.
“Keh… keh… keh…”
The Frothmaw’s voice echoed from above.
“Run. Run as fast as you can. Let fear consume you. Then—I’ll end you.”
It relished this game. The chase. The terror. The way prey begged to die.
And this human’s flight would lead it straight to the village.
A massacre.
One that would shake the Empire to its core.
“Let them feel fear,” it whispered.
“They’ll be like sheep. Scared. Helpless.”
It knew humans.
When the Abyss came, they always trembled.
It could already hear their screams—how they’d be devoured, one by one.
Soon, Old White was bleeding, his body torn and mangled. Flesh rotting under the Chaos’s touch.
But then—light.
The edge of the forest.
Leo Village.
His home.
He staggered forward—then a Raven lunged, tearing a chunk from his leg. It chewed it like a snack.
Thud.
He collapsed to his knees.
He was broken. Half-dead. Only willpower kept him standing.
Kill the Demon.
Kill the monster that defiled this land.
Kill the thing that stole his home.
He raised his head, summoning his last breath.
“M—mon—ster!”
The Frothmaw laughed—high, cruel, echoing through the trees.
“Useless. They’re already gone. Your family… your friends… they’ll be consumed by the Abyss. Your wife—clawed apart. Your child—crushed by fangs. Your friends—eyes pecked out. And you… you’ll watch.”
But then—silence.
No screams. No panic.
No fleeing.
Instead—a roar.
Hundreds of players burst from every direction—armed with outdated firearms, dressed in rough clothes. Their faces weren’t afraid.
They were frenzied. Excited.
Like hunters spotting a deer.
“Whoa—big monster!”
“It’s a Frothmaw!”
“1,500 Contribution Points and 50 Golden Nael! Who kills it gets rich!”
“Brothers—let’s go! Get rich today!”
“For the Empire!”
The Frothmaw’s smile froze. Then vanished.
This wasn’t right.
These humans… dared?
They should be trembling. Begging. Running.
It opened its fanged beak—“You fools—do you even know what you’re facing—”
BANG!
A player muttered, “Ugh, this thing’s voice is disgusting. Just kill it already. It’s giving me chills.”
“Yeah. Sounds like nails on a chalkboard.”
“Shut up! Just shoot it! I want the Contribution and the gold!”
The Frothmaw’s rage boiled over.
“You—”
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
A storm of gunfire erupted. Bullets rained down from every direction—hundreds of players firing at once.
The Frothmaw shrieked—but it was too late.
Old White let out a bitter, sarcastic chuckle.
Then he fell.
Silent.
Dead.
But the battle between players and Demon—had only just begun.
(End of Chapter)
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