A notification flared to life in front of him, its stark white text cutting through the fog in his mind.
[Tutorial Quest Received]
- Zone: [The Great Forest] (Danger Level: Hard) - A sprawling, untamed expanse the size of a country on the planet Earth, The Great Forest is more than its name suggests. While vast stretches of dense woodland dominate the region, it also contains mountains, rivers, and vast lakes, each hosting its own set of dangers. Towering trees form an almost impenetrable canopy in many areas, their thick trunks rising from dense undergrowth that swallows all but the most determined travellers. Natural clearings are rare, and the land teems with Beast-Class creatures, from lurking predators that stalk the shadows to apex-tier monsters that rule their domains with brutal efficiency. The terrain is treacherous, visibility often obscured by mist or tangled foliage, making navigation as much a battle as survival itself. Even the safer zones are only relative—the deeper one ventures, the deadlier the threats become.
- Type: Human-Only Tutorial
- Objective: Survive for one year
- Rewards: Performance-based (determined upon completion)
A year? He had assumed this tutorial would be a short-term survival challenge—days, maybe weeks—but an entire year? That wasn’t a tutorial. That was a trial by fire.
And "performance-based rewards"? What did that even mean? Did it scale based on skill? Luck? Was there a ranking system? If so, was he competing against other humans? The System wasn’t giving him any answers, and that set off alarm bells in his mind. Without a clear metric, failure wasn’t just possible—it was probable.
Beast-Class creatures, deadly terrain, and limited resources, it wasn’t just dangerous. It was designed to be lethal.
The fact that this was a "human-only tutorial" made him wonder—were other humans somewhere else? If so, why separate them?
Why was the System doing this? The official reasoning was "preparation," but for what? If it wanted them to survive, why not give clearer objectives? Why separate humans instead of keeping them unified? Unless… that was the point. Forced adaptation. Selective pressures. The System wasn’t just training them—it was watching them, recording them, testing them. But for whose benefit? Was this a test? An experiment? If the goal was just survival training, why were there multiple tutorials? Why scatter humans across different locations instead of keeping them together? Was the System testing their adaptability? Comparing results? Judging them?
He clenched his jaw. This was too big to figure out now, but one thing was clear: the System had no intention of holding anyone’s hand.
A faint breeze stirred the dirt, the first true shift in the eerie stillness. Then—movement. Somewhere beyond the trees, something shifted, crunching against the undergrowth. Richter tightened his grip on his staff, turning swiftly.
He wasn’t alone in the clearing.
Four figures lay scattered across the ground, their forms flickering with the same residual glow of System interference. They were just beginning to stir, groaning as they struggled to adjust to their new reality. He recognized their expressions—disorientation, panic, and the creeping realization that whatever they had known before was gone.
His eyes flicked from one to the next. A broad-shouldered man, his weathered face set in grim determination. A younger woman, lean and tense, gripping the dirt as if grounding herself. Another figure, around nineteen, blinking rapidly as his hands patted down his own body in disbelief. And lastly, a tall, dark-haired woman who pushed herself upright almost immediately, her sharp gaze already scanning their surroundings.
The broad-shouldered man was the first to react, his movements instinctive as he pulled the younger man and woman toward him. It wasn’t hesitation—it was protection, an automatic response that spoke of familiarity. Richter’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took in their features. Similar jawlines, the same earthy brown hair, shared expressions of disorientation and resolve.
A family.
The realization settled quickly in his mind. The way the man positioned himself, subtly shifting to shield them from the unknown, wasn’t just leadership—it was parental instinct.
"Name's Dave," the man said, his voice deep and steady, matching his broad frame. He pulled the younger two even closer instinctively, his protective stance reinforcing what Richter had already guessed. "These are my kids."
Richter studied him more closely. Early fifties, grey peppering what little hair he had left. His form was clad in dull metal armour, the kind built more for endurance than agility. A short sword hung at his hip, its blade worn but serviceable, while a round wooden shield rested on his back. The way he stood, the way he had instinctively placed himself in front of the others, told Richter everything he needed to know.
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Heavy Warrior.
It made sense. A tank. Someone designed to take hits, to hold the line. But here? In an unknown world with unclear rules? The value of that role would depend entirely on what they were up against. His body spoke of past strength—once muscular but now softened by age and time. Despite that, there was a presence to him, the kind of quiet authority that didn’t need to be forced.
Dave exhaled sharply, eyes scanning their surroundings before settling back on Richter. "So, this is what that countdown was about? You think this is some kind of government experiment?"
Before Richter could comment, the dark-haired woman scoffed. "Does it matter?" Her tone was sharp, dismissive, as if she had already decided this conversation wasn’t worth having. "We’re stuck here, and the only thing that matters now is survival. And looking at you lot, I’m gonna be better off alone."
She didn’t wait for an argument. With an almost lazy movement, she reached over her shoulder, pulling a sleek, unmarked bow from where it rested against her back. There was no hesitation in the way her fingers adjusted the grip, no uncertainty in how she moved toward the treeline. It was clear—she knew exactly what she was doing.
Richter watched her go, noting the way her movements remained fluid, controlled.
"Just like that?" Dave asked, his brow furrowing as he took a step forward. "You don’t even know what’s out there."
She didn’t turn back. "That’s exactly why I’m leaving now," she said. "Before I have to waste time arguing about it." And with that, she disappeared into the trees without a second glance.
She was gone. No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just like that. Richter exhaled slowly, gripping his staff. One less person meant one less set of eyes, one less fighter. But it also meant fewer mouths to feed. Was she right? Would they slow each other down?
"Stuck-up cow," the young man blurted out, his tone brash and unfiltered. His words barely left his mouth before Dave shot him a sharp glare, the kind that promised consequences. Jason huffed, crossing his arms. "It’s fine. She’ll regret it later." But Richter caught the way his fingers tapped against the metal of his staff—a nervous habit? Or just excess energy waiting to explode? He wasn’t sure yet.
Richter turned his attention to the boy. He was younger, likely around nineteen, with a leaner build than his father but the same strong jawline and earthy brown hair. A patchy beard, still trying to fill in, gave him an almost rebellious look. His robes were similar to Richter’s, though black instead of white, and his staff—long, metal, and far more intimidating than Richter’s wooden one—made it clear. Caster.
It fit. The way he carried himself, the impulsiveness, the way he seemed eager to throw out comments without thinking them through. He was the kind of person who acted first, thought later.
"Jason, do not speak to a lady that way," Dave scolded, his deep voice carrying weight. "I raised you better than that."
Jason rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath, but wisely didn’t argue. Richter noted the slight tension in his posture—the way his grip flexed against his staff, like he had to physically restrain himself from snapping back. Impulsive, quick to speak, and likely just as quick to act. That was something to keep in mind.
"Dad, J isn't wrong. I know the type—thinks she's better than everyone else," the girl spoke up, her tone more measured than Jason’s, but just as certain. Unlike her brother, she wasn’t lashing out—she was making an observation.
Richter studied her more closely. She bore the same family resemblance—similar jawline, the same brown hair—but softer, sharper in different ways. Her hair was pulled back in a practical style, meant for movement rather than looks. She wore a basic brown leather outfit, built for agility rather than defence, and at her belt rested two long Daggers—sleek, sharper than Dave’s short sword. The way they were positioned, perfectly balanced, made it clear they weren’t just for show. Melee combat, but throwable if necessary.
Light Warrior.
"Sophie, don’t encourage him," Dave said, his voice firm but lacking the edge he’d used on Jason. "You know what he’s like—his mouth is gonna get him in trouble one of these days."
Jason huffed but didn’t argue. Sophie just shrugged, her focus already shifting elsewhere. She had made her judgment and had already moved on.
Dave turned to Richter, his posture firm, but his eyes betrayed something else uncertainty. He was holding it together, projecting strength, but Richter could see it for what it was. This was taking a lot out of him.
"I’m sorry about my kids," Dave said, exhaling slowly. "They aren’t normally like this."
Richter caught Jason smirking at the words, not quite denying them but clearly amused by the attempt to smooth things over. It was a small detail but telling.
Dave ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, his shoulders carrying the weight of months of uncertainty. "It’s been hell. That countdown—six months of watching the clock tick down without a clue what it meant. People argued, governments scrambled, but no one had real answers. Just endless speculation. And then, when it hit zero..."
He let the thought hang, shaking his head. "Now we’re here, wherever here is. And we still don’t know why."
He looked back at Richter, his tone shifting from reflective to practical. "I don’t know about you, but I think there’s safety in numbers."
"My name's Richter," he said, extending his hand for a shake. His gaze flicked between them; Richter had already analysed "None of you picked Healer. That can’t be a coincidence. Looks like the System put us together as a team—me as the healer, you as the tank, and three DPS." He hesitated, glancing toward the trees where Laura had disappeared. "Well, two now."
A balanced team. In an RPG, that would be ideal. But this wasn’t a game. These weren’t pre-programmed allies—they were real people, with flaws, emotions, and egos.
Dave seemed steady, but leadership didn’t mean invincibility. Jason had potential but lacked patience. Sophie was sharp, but she hadn’t revealed much of herself yet. And Laura... she was already gone.
"DPS?" Dave repeated, his brow furrowing slightly as he shook Richter's hand with a firm, steady grip.
"Damage per second, Dad," the younger man—Jason—cut in before Richter could respond. "It’s a gaming term. Guess you’ve heard my name by now." Without hesitation, he reached out, prying Richter’s hand from his father’s grip and giving it an overly enthusiastic shake, his grip strong and almost too eager.
Richter resisted the urge to pull away. Jason’s energy was unfiltered, raw—not just confidence, but impatience.
"Oh, you into all those video games too?" Dave asked, giving Richter a curious glance. "Never really been my thing. Hell, I can barely turn a computer on without one of the kids walking me through it." He let out a hearty chuckle, shaking his head. "Guess that kind of stuff might actually come in handy now, huh?"
Before anyone could say more, a distant, low growl rumbled through the trees. It was deep, guttural—too far away to be an immediate threat, but close enough that it wasn’t comforting.
Richter’s fingers tensed around his staff. Dave turned sharply, his expression hardening. Sophie’s hand drifted toward her Daggers. Jason stiffened, his smirk vanishing. None of them spoke.