The faint sound of wind rustling through leaves. The scent of earth and damp moss.

Reinhardt slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw wasn’t a glowing monitor or the familiar VR HUD of Astonia Online. Instead, sunlight poured through the branches of a towering tree, scattering gold patterns over the forest floor.

“…Huh?”

He pushed himself up, the dry crunch of grass beneath his gloves startlingly real. His breath left him in a pale mist, and he felt it his chest rising, his heart beating. This wasn’t the sterile pulse-feedback of a console.

This was his body.

Reinhardt clenched his fist, staring at the fingers that had once only been polygons.

No way… this isn’t the dive system. I can actually feel it…

His voice trembled, half in awe, half in disbelief. “This… this is Astonia.”

But there was no system menu. No logout button. No UI flickering at the corner of his vision. Only the endless green of the woods stretching out, alive with the cries of birds and the trickle of a hidden stream.

For the first time, Astonia Online felt less like a game and more like a world that had swallowed him whole.

Reinhardt took a deep breath and stood. The armor on his shoulders clinked against the chestplate. Heavy. Warm from the sun. The weight he had once only seen as numbers on a stat sheet now pressed down on him, grounding him in terrifying reality.

He drew the blade at his hip. A longsword etched with faint, glowing runes his A-rank relic, Crimson Fang. The steel shimmered in the light, and with a single swing, it cut through the air with a sharp whoosh.

The sound was clean, real.

He couldn’t help but smile faintly. “So… I really did bring everything with me.”

---

A branch snapped nearby.

A branch snapped nearby.

Reinhardt froze, instinct sharpening his senses. He ducked low, easing behind a tree, his hand still gripping the Crimson Fang.

From the brush ahead, a ragged voice echoed

“Move it, you brats! Keep walking!”

Reinhardt’s eyes narrowed.

Four men emerged, clothed in mismatched leather armor. Their arms bore the mark of chains, and each held crude spears. But it wasn’t them that drew Reinhardt’s attention.

It was the three children they dragged along. Pointed ears, delicate features, dirt smudged across pale skin. Elves.

Their wrists were bound with rope, their faces streaked with tears.

“Slavers,” Reinhardt muttered under his breath.

The men shoved the children forward, one of them laughing. “Hah! Elves brats’ll fetch a good price in Lestrune. We’ll drink ourselves stupid tonight.”

The children whimpered, but the men only jeered.

Reinhardt’s grip tightened on his sword. His pulse quickened, but not out of fear. It was a strange mix of anger and exhilaration.

So this is the reality of Astonia. No safe zones. No NPC guards to intervene. Just people doing whatever they please.

His lips curved into a dangerous smile.

“…Then I guess this is my tutorial.”

---

He stepped out from behind the tree.

“Hey,” Reinhardt called, his voice sharp, carrying easily through the quiet woods.

The slavers turned, startled. “Who the hell—?”

Reinhardt leveled his blade at them, his crimson cape fluttering behind him. His expression was calm, almost elegant, but his eyes burned like steel drawn to the forge.

“Leave the children. Now. Or I’ll cut you down where you stand.”

For a moment, the woods fell silent. The slavers exchanged glances, then broke into laughter.

“Listen to this idiot! Dressed up like some noble knight, thinks he can order us around?”

“Pretty words won’t save you, boy.”

One of them spat on the ground and leveled his spear. “Kill him.”

Reinhardt exhaled slowly, lowering his stance. The weight of his sword felt perfectly balanced in his hands, like it had always belonged there.

Alright… show me, Astonia. Show me if I can survive here.

The first slaver lunged—

And Reinhardt moved.

To be continued...

The slaver’s spear darted forward with a hiss of steel cutting through the night air.

Reinhardt shifted his weight, instincts sharper than he remembered ever having. His blade rose not clumsy, not desperate, but smooth. The sword intercepted the spear with a clean, ringing clang.

The slaver’s eyes widened. “What—?”

Before the man could react further, Reinhardt twisted, driving the flat of his blade into the man’s gut. The slaver collapsed with a strangled cry.

The others, stunned for half a heartbeat, roared in anger.

“Kill him!”

They charged.

Reinhardt gritted his teeth. His body moved as though guided by something deeper than memory, each strike flowing into the next. He ducked under a swing, countered with a slash across a thigh, spun away from a knife’s arc. Sparks flew as steel clashed in the moonlight.

And then silence.

The slavers lay scattered across the forest floor, groaning or unconscious. Reinhardt’s chest heaved as he lowered his sword. Not a drop of blood stained the blade.

“…I didn’t kill them,” he murmured, surprised at his own restraint. “Guess I still… don’t want to be a murderer.”

The forest around him stirred again, cicadas resuming their calls, as though the world itself had held its breath.

Reinhardt steadied himself and looked upward. Through the canopy, the stars stretched endlessly so clear, so sharp, so alive. This was no game screen, no pixelated night sky. This was a world breathing around him.

He sheathed his blade.

One step. Then another.

The forest awaited.

Deeper into the woods, he noticed something strange. Shadows moved where there was no wind. Leaves rustled, yet no animal appeared.

Reinhardt slowed his pace. “...I know I’m not alone.”

An arrow whistled past his ear, embedding into a tree trunk.

He froze.

From between the trees emerged figures slender, tall, with hair that caught the moonlight like woven silver. Their bows were drawn, emerald eyes glinting sharp and cold.

Elves.

Reinhardt’s breath caught. So the stories… the NPC races… they’re real here too.

One of them, clearly the leader, stepped forward. Her tone was like steel wrapped in silk.

Reinhardt’s breath caught. So the stories… the NPC races… they’re real here too.

One of them, clearly the leader, stepped forward. Her tone was like steel wrapped in silk.

“Human. State your name, and why you stain our forest with the blood of men.”

Reinhardt raised his hands slowly, showing no threat.

“My name is… Reinhardt.” He paused, the name still strange yet natural on his tongue. “Those men were slavers. I stopped them.”

The elves exchanged subtle glances. The leader’s gaze softened only slightly.

“Your sword arm speaks truth. Still… we do not welcome strangers easily.”

Another elf muttered, “Especially not humans.”

Reinhardt swallowed his words. He could feel their suspicion pressing down like a weight.

Finally, the leader lowered her bow.

“You will come with us. Our elder will decide your fate.”

Reinhardt hesitated then nodded. “Lead the way.”

They moved silently through the forest, their steps so light the leaves barely stirred. Reinhardt followed, each step heavier than theirs, marking him as the outsider he was.

Soon, the trees parted into a clearing illuminated by faint, glowing crystals sprouting from the earth. A village revealed itself woven huts high in the branches, rope bridges strung between them, lights glowing warmly like stars fallen to the forest floor.

Reinhardt whispered, awestruck. “An elven village….”

Children peeked at him from behind wooden railings. Warriors kept their hands near weapons. Whispers spread quickly.

The elves escorted him into a central hall, where an elder waited. Her hair was pure white, her face etched with timeless calm. She studied Reinhardt silently, then spoke in a voice like wind through leaves.

“You carry yourself as one who does not belong to this world… yet this world has chosen you.”

Reinhardt’s heart skipped. “You… know?”

The elder’s eyes closed.

“The forest whispers many things. Whether you are blessing or curse, we shall see.”

The hall fell silent.

Reinhardt lowered his head, gripping the sword at his side.

Blessing or curse… huh? Guess that depends on what I do next.

..........To Be Continued...............