Welcome To The New World

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...

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