Noah rose from the swirling portal like a mischievous magician stepping off a stage.
The area stretched wide, dotted with loose clusters of slender trees that stood like gossiping strangers unsure where to settle.
Patches of tall grass swayed in the breeze, whispering secrets to one another. Above, the sun blazed with the confidence of someone who knew they were the center of the universe.
Players moved like ants in a sandbox—some darting after monsters with weapons swinging, others sprinting away from creatures clearly not in the mood for friendly chats.
Spells lit the air in soft bursts. Roars and yells created a strange harmony of chaos and excitement. It was a symphony of low-level survival.
Noah took a slow breath through his nose, arms casually stretched as if greeting an old friend.
"Aah, nature. Smells like dirt, sweat, and something that'll probably bite me in five minutes."
Noah entered into the underbrush with practiced ease, his steps light, his eyes already locking onto the distant shape of the spawn zone.
The clearing lay ahead, just beyond a cluster of trees and thorny shrubs, and in that open stretch, the wolves prowled.
He ducked low behind a twisted branch, crouching between thick leaves. His gaze stayed fixed. They were already there—pacing, sniffing the air, unaware of his presence.
The sight didn't quite line up with the mental image he'd painted. These wolves were small—almost lean.
Their gray manes ruffled slightly in the wind, but what caught his attention were the fangs. Not normal. They stretched a little too far, like nature had overcompensated.
"So these are the wolves? Budget beasts with bonus teeth. Cool. What's the gimmick? Rabies? Hidden superpowers? Surprise dance battle?"
[They're not regular wolves. Blink, and they're gone. Zoom-zoom level fast.]
Noah narrowed his eyes, watching one of them dart across the clearing in a blur.
"Ah. Great. So they're cheat-coded. Love that for me."
Noah crept through the dense thickets, the whisper of leaves brushing against him as he inched closer to the wolves' spawn zone.
His steps were careful, precise. Every movement aimed to avoid the dry twigs scattered across the floor. His breath stayed shallow, ears tuned to the faint rustling ahead.
But then, like a glitch in the scenery, something massive blocked his path.
A tall silhouette stood unnaturally still among the trees. Towering. Broad shoulders, a frame that looked like it had been sculpted out of gym memberships and bad life choices.
[Player— Level 1.]
Noah squinted.
"What—did the tutorial feed you protein shakes or what?"
The figure turned, just a little at first. Pale skin, expression like it was carved out of boredom and judgment, and a haircut that screamed 'military fantasy starter pack.' The moment he fully turned around, the rest of him clicked into view.
A dull blade rested at his side, too plain to be threatening, and clutched in his hand—possibly with misplaced pride—was a shield shaped like a heart. Made of wood. Yes, wood. Like a Valentine's gift crafted during arts and crafts hour.
The place stirred as a voice thundered through the air, smoother than gravel yet louder than common sense. It belonged to a man built like a folk song—deep, warm, and impossible to forget.
"Ah, greetings, comrade! Name's Dimitri. You hunting fluffy death jackets too? I mean, wolf pelts?"
Noah's head snapped up like someone just hit play on a very weird podcast. He blinked at Dimitri, then leaned back slightly, as if trying to protect his eardrums from verbal bass drops.
"Bro. Why does your voice sound like a subwoofer married a bear? Is that even legal?"
Dimitri burst into laughter that shook the leaves overhead. It was the kind of sound that could convince a bear to dance or a tree to uproot itself and applaud.
"Ah! You make laugh come from soul, my friend. I respect a man who uses his mouth for joy instead of drama."
"I am Noah. And yes. I'm out here playing medieval Duck Hunt—only with furrier targets and better loot."
Beside him, Dimitri beamed like a man who'd just seen puppies dancing on pancakes.
"Dein is good man for giving everyone chance to feel important. Big heart, big quest, big opportunity."
Noah shot him a sideways glance, one brow cocked as if waiting for reality to catch up.
"You do know Dein's not real person, right? I mean, the guy's one dialogue loop away from asking me to collect fifty mushrooms just for fun."
Dimitri stood at the edge of the bushes, gazing at the clearing beyond where wolf spawns prowled in loose packs.
The soft crunch of leaves beneath their padded feet was barely audible.
The wolves didn't just wander—they moved with purpose, their movements sharp, practiced, almost military.
"I've been watching them for a while. They're quick, smarter than they look. Stick together when they attack. Not the type you want to solo unless you've got a death wish. What do you say we team up and take them down together? We'll clear those quests without breaking a sweat."
[Oh no. He talks like a motivational poster came to life. That's how it starts—first it's teamwork, then you're sharing feelings and singing campfire songs. We should flee. Now. Before his relentless optimism starts rubbing off.]
"Yeah, I'm down. I've had enough of pretending I can solo everything. Got my ass almost beaten to a pulp by an overpowered slime. I'm not making that mistake again."
"Ah, I knew it. You've got the heart of a champion, my friend. Let's get you in the party—quest glory, here we come!"
[Dimitri has invited you to a party.]
Noah stretched his fingers, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
"I accept the party invitation."
A shimmer of light rippled across his vision. A translucent interface hovered just above eye level, listing their names in crisp text: Noah and Dimitri. Two avatars pulsed gently, showing green HP bars beneath.
Beside them, glowing with a muted bronze hue, were their class tags—Dimitri's marked: Warden.
[Alright, pay attention. The Warden isn't like those other classes that just dip their toes into tanky waters with a subclass. No, this one's the real deal. Full-body dive into tank life. They don't split focus—they are the focus. Built from the ground up for raw durability, battlefield control, and nature-based skills. Think of them as the immovable object that hugs aggro like it's their favorite pillow.]
Dimitri strode forward, his steps carrying weight like a man who'd walked battlefields and come back smiling. Ahead, the forest stretched thin where the wolves spawned, their growls already echoing faintly like a drumbeat before war.
"You take the spotlight, my friend. Smash them good, while I soak the punches and hug the aggro. You keep that damage raining, and I'll make sure nothing interrupts your groove. We got this, da?"
Noah trailed behind Dimitri, weaving through the underbrush with as much silence as his boots could manage.
The leaves brushed against his legs and snapped in protest, but Dimitri didn't seem to care. The man was already ahead, striding like a tank that didn't understand the word "subtle."
Noah peered through the tangled green ahead.
"I'm good to go when you are. What's the genius strategy here?"
"Charge!"
Dimitri launched forward like someone had pressed fast-forward on a barbarian documentary. He stormed toward the pack of wolves with nothing but a wooden shield in front of him and the kind of confidence usually reserved for toddlers in superhero capes.
Noah blinked twice.
"Dimitri?"
[Well, that's fantastic. We've officially teamed up with a human wall who clearly dumped all his points into Constitution like it was a buffet and left Intelligence starving in the corner.]