"…My man, you finally made it! Welcome to Aden. I've got a ton of cool stuff to show you!"
Shylock rushed forward, enveloping the burly man in a hug. Though their in-game appearances were unfamiliar, the bond from the real world couldn't be hidden in this virtual realm.
"I should probably give you a tour of this village to get you familiar. It's not a big place, but it's enough to start building some influence. You and me, Corner and Smith, we'll rise as lords of Aden. No one will stop us. We'll rule the world, haha!"
Shylock laughed boisterously, treating Smith's arrival like the return of a messiah. He grabbed the burly man and led him out of the wooden church into Drechuis Village.
The community is set near a pine forest, with a stream fed by a waterfall from the northern ridge, a few miles from the village. Positioned as a waypoint between the Caupasian Mountains and Kiebrav City, they are occasional travelers stopping to restock supplies.
Drechuis was a medium-sized settlement with 90 households. Its growth from expanded trade routes to the northern Serera part. Originally a woodworking community, the village transformed after Shylock's arrival. The savvy businessman capitalized on the game's formless freedom, introducing silkworm farming.
Silk, a rare fabric in Serera, was coveted by the wealthy.
Women in the village turned from farming to producing raw silk, which Shylock sold, funneling profits into community development. Production costs and wages benefited the village, while Shylock pocketed the surplus.
"That's how I made my mark, Smith. So, why'd you dive into Project Aden?"
Shylock asked after sharing his story.
The buffed man listened, impressed by how Aden crafted a world beyond a mere game.
Even the beer he sipped had flavor.
Player's actions could shape the world—Notch's speech wasn't empty. But Shylock's final question, "Why am I playing Aden?"—Smith hadn't think yet.
"Corner, before I answer, let me ask you the same thing," Smith replied.
Shylock's question sparked a fire in his hearth. Smith was beginning to form a goal, but it lacked shape. He turned the question back. To tie his ambitions to his close cousin.
"Imagine this place as another world. The game had hundreds of millions of players globally from day one. There's no pay-to-win, no items for sale. Some players are filthy rich in real life, but their money's useless here. If I can manage the resources they need, I can make real-world cash. I want to prove myself, see how far my skills can go in a world where civilization hasn't fully taken hold. In Serera, laws aren't enforced everywhere, capitalism isn't intense—it's a medieval fantasy. Your turn."
"I want to test Aden's limits. The Node Simulation Engine mimics particles at an atomic level. I want to push the boundaries of that freedom. Even though there's no leveling system, no visible stats, no clickable skills—just perks like buffs and dynamic systems—I've got six times more time in-game than in real life. I might create something epic in Aden, so I picked the Craftsman perk. Also…"
"Lately, my streaming income's been drying up. And with my disability, I'm not sure where I can even apply for work."
"Nice, Smith! We're gonna make a f*cking killer team. You and me, Shylock and Smith, we will build an entire kingdom, we will conquer the wor—"
"Shut up, Shylock! You'll scare off my customers!"
the tavern owner cut in, silencing Shylock's enthusiastic shouting.
The atmosphere settled, and the two men were no longer glued to their seats.
.
.
"Alright… from now on, I'll call you Shylock."
"You got it, Smith."
"Shylock, I just started this game with only 25 pence, stuck in a remote village with merely less players. What can I even do next?"
Despite setting grand goals, Smith lacked the starting resources. Guides suggested that new players take on small tasks in towns to gain experience. In Aden, experience fueled skill growth, and perks evolved with skills.
"I've got a quick way to do some loot—100 to 500 pence. You don't need to buy anything, just borrow a shovel from the village, and you're all set."
"What? You mean treasure hunting? How do you even know where treasure's buried?" Shylock offered a shortcut, but Smith remained skeptical.
"Follow me."
Shylock paused, shifting into a wooden barn with an open door. Inside, there is a young woman milking a cow, humming a tune as the cow lowed in rhythm.
"Hey, Enea."
Hmm… hmmm… hummm.
"Enea!"
The woman continued humming, her face filled with contentment, a slight smile, while she lifted a milk bucket.
"Oh, Uncle Shylock! What brings you here?"
A young girl turned, spotting Shylock—a familiar neighborhood. He still wore fancy fine clothes.
His head was covered by a beret furnished with feathers, dressed like a wealthy merchant. But this time, a stranger stood beside him—a towering, burly man in plain villager's outfit, with a fierce face like a ruthless warrior. Enea shivered slightly under his gaze.
"Don't worry, he's not a bad guy. This is Smith, my cousin."
"I just need to borrow two shovels for a bit."
Shylock grabbed two shovels from a pile of tools, tied them to his horse, and asked Smith to watch his trusty horse while he headed to his nearby cabin.
"I've packed supplies for camping. Hop on."
Shylock rode out of the stable. Instead of leaving the village, he turned the horse back toward it.
"Why'd you stop?"
Smith asked as Shylock suddenly dismounted, halting abruptly.
"Chickie, chickie!" Shylock whispered, crouching and pulling dried meat from his bundle, waving it to attract attention. Moments later, a German Shepherd bounded out from behind a bush, snatching the meat and devouring it eagerly.
"Good boy." Shylock patted the dog gently, then lifted it onto the horse, tugged the reins, and headed out of the village.
Deep in a deciduous forest at the base of the pine-covered mountains, birds chirped, and a stream gurgled against rocks. The ground was carpeted with orange leaves, crunching under the two men's steps. The air was cool under the shade of trees. They paused by the stream, washing their hands and faces, and sat on a pile of leaves.
"Shylock, I've got a question," Smith began.
"Why'd you choose to spawn in such a remote place? How do you make money? No black market, no guilds to help."
"Great question, Smith. It's all about building influence."
"Influence?"
"Exactly. Ever heard why some bank executives move to remote areas for more decision-making power? I'm taking the same gamble."
"Playing this game is like gambling. If I lose, I stick to safe zones. If I win, I keep pushing the risks."
"What I'm showing you today is how I started. Some players use this as a shortcut."
"Treasure hunting?"
"You know how some players with one life left hide their loot in safe spots? Some deposit it in guilds, others bury it in secret places. It's a popular method."
As Shylock explained, he pulled a stamped coin from his leather pouch, letting the dog sniff it.
"This forest belongs to Kiebrav City. Nobles hunt here occasionally, but it's mostly undisturbed. Players bury their treasure here."
The dog led the way, and the men ventured deeper. The deciduous forest transitioned into a swampy marsh. They trudged through tall grass, stopping where the dog sniffed intensely.
"Right here!"
The men dug, their shovels piercing half a meter into the ground, discovered an old wooden chest.
"Holy—!" Smith exclaimed. Shylock pried it open, revealing jewelry, coins, a fine axe, chainmail armor, an iron helmet, and the last one an unopened potion.
"There's gotta be more chests." Shylock wasn't done, determined to find additional treasure.
They spent hours for searching, but the dog found nothing. Eventually, they circled back to the marsh.
"Damn it, just one chest?" Shylock cursed. Hours of wandering the same area yielded no more treasure, only grass and swamp.
"Tch!"
Shylock paced, kicking a rock in frustration, accidentally slaying a sticky jelly creature.
"What the hell was that…?" Smith, setting down the chest, stared at the strange being pierced by the rock. It lay still, its translucent body shattered, organs visible inside.
"We just killed a slime."
"Damn… how should I feel about this?"
Slimes—large, single-celled creatures with translucent, jelly-like bodies—revealed their organs clearly. Shaped like living cells, they ranged from palm-sized to dog-sized, fragile, and dwelt in wet or humid areas. Harmless to humans, slime bodies had various uses.
"I'm getting hungry," Smith said.
Hunger?. In Project Aden, alongside touch, taste, and smell, it felt real. The burly man was now both hungry and thirsty. The burly man approached the marsh, about to scoop water with his hands.
"Whoa, what are you doing?!" Shylock noticed and stopped him.
"Drinking water."
"You'll catch a disease and die if you do that."
'What a realism!'
Smith was stunned again. The game's intricate details transcended sandbox, bordering on a fantasy survival simulator. Players had to care for themselves. Aden might even simulate bacteria or viruses—or perhaps it was just a game script.
Shylock grabbed the iron helmet from the chest, cleaned it thoroughly in the marsh, and scooped water into it.
"Hold this." A man handed the water-filled helmet to Smith, then gathered yellow amber from nearby rocks. It glowed and smelled sharply of ammonia. Shylock piled dry grass and broken branches, then smashed the amber hard.
Whoosh!
The amber sparked, igniting a small flame that spread to the pile. Shylock blew rhythmically, coaxing the fire to grow.
"Bring the helmet to heat." Smith sat across from Shylock, holding the leather-strapped helmet, its metal portion over the fire.
"This is the way of Aden."
They shared the boiled water, quenching their thirst. Hunger remained. Smith eyed the slime's remains and asked, "Can we eat that?"
"Sure, slimes are edible, but heat them, turn them into glue—too sticky to eat." Shylock moved to collect the slime's remains, but within 100 meters, Smith noticed that he wasn't gathering the slime. Shylock crouched, peering at something with a look of fear. He crept back to Smith, who stood waiting.
"Shylock, what's up?"
"Trouble, Smith. Raptors—there are f*cking Raptors out here. I think they saw me."
"Raptors? Like dinosaurs?"
"That is! A dozen of them. We gotta move."
No time to waste! Smith hoisted the chest, trekking back to the deciduous forest where the horse was. Shylock, not hesitating, scooped up the German Shepherd and cautiously moved through the bushes.
"Where's the horse?"
The horse… was gone! Something must have happened. Normally, Shylock's horse stayed near where its master dismounted, but it likely fled in fear or due to some disturbance.
"We're really walking back? Shylock, why didn't you tie the damn horse, you idiot!"
Smith recalled Shylock hadn't secured the animal. Without a horse, carrying the chest back to the village would take a day. Though only four hours in the real world, it was too long, especially with the threat of wild animals.
"Tie the horse? If I tied it in this forest and patrols spotted it, we'd be in deep trouble."
"Trouble? What do you mean?"
"This forest is the private hunting ground of Kiebrav's lord. No one's allowed to hunt here. If soldiers saw a tied horse, they'd hunt us down."
"Damn it, you should've told me from the start! What the hell are we doing? We're screwed if we were revealed. And even without tying that damned horse, wouldn't soldiers notice a saddled horse?"
As the two men bickered, a rustling of leaves came from an unknown source. Neither had moved a step.
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