A gaggle of players huddled outside the tavern, its sign proudly proclaiming it The Beer Mug. The name alone promised cheap ale and cheaper thrills.

  “I’m bored,” whined a young woman dressed in what could only loosely be called a ranger’s outfit.

  Loosely, because no sane human, elf, or even the dimmest orc would venture into a forest wearing a leather skirt so short it barely qualified as clothing, a flimsy leather vest, and a pristine white blouse with sleeves rolled up and a neckline plunging deeper than a dungeon pit.

  The ensemble wasn’t ranger gear—it was a buffet for mosquitoes, gnats, and every other woodland pest. Not to mention the thorny brambles, stinging nettles, and other prickly flora waiting to make her day miserable.

  But in the World of Fantasies, such critters and plants were mere set dressing. They only attacked if a quest script demanded it or some spell triggered their wrath. So, the only real threat to this scantily clad adventurer was the barrage of leering stares and crude jests flooding her private chat.

  Truth be told, she didn’t mind the attention. In-game, she was Rihanna, a stunning elven huntress with a flawless face and violet eyes. In the real world, she was Raisa—a mousy office worker with a forgettable figure, a plain face, and zero prospects for romance or promotion.

  The World of Fantasies was her escape, the one place where she could live her dreams. With a single pout, she could send five grown men scrambling to amuse her, each vying to outdo the others with clever quips or grand gestures.

  “How about we take on a boss?” one of her companions suggested, a lanky figure in mismatched armor.

  “He hasn’t respawned yet,” Rihanna sighed, tossing her hair.

  “Wanna hit the market?” another piped up.

  “On your dime? Oh, honey, I’m in!” she teased, batting her lashes.

  A goblin named Zelenkin scratched behind his ear, his expression sour. He had neither the gold nor the inclination to spend it on anyone but himself.

  “Want me to show you a bug?” he offered, a sly glint in his eye.

  Their party consisted of two elves—Rihanna and Corwin—and a motley crew of others. Corwin, the unspoken leader, owed his status to his high level and a clan-creation license he’d snagged during a developer giveaway.

  He believed his charisma, vast game knowledge, and natural leadership had forged the group’s loyalty. In reality, his teammates were drawn by his generous gold handouts and the promise of spots in his yet-to-be-formed clan.

  And, of course, Rihanna.

  With her doll-like features, model-perfect figure, and those striking violet eyes, she was a vision. In the Khar Reserve, a zone ruled by orcs and goblins where elves were barred and humans rarely lingered, she stood out like a beacon. The area offered few quests or valuable gear for non-greenskins, and its surly NPC trainers and merchants often refused to deal with anyone lacking green skin or protruding tusks.

  Sure, orc and goblin women had their own rugged charm—curvy orc maidens and wiry goblin lasses weren’t without appeal. But next to Rihanna’s ethereal grace, they faded into the background.

  In real life, she and Corwin were siblings, which explained why they played as a pair. He handled the grind—studying forums, optimizing gear, and leveling—while she recruited players with a flutter of lashes and a knack for playing the helpless newbie, “accidentally” struggling with basic tasks or squealing at the sight of a quest wolf.

  “A bug?” Rihanna echoed, her curiosity piqued.

  “Yup, a glitch,” Zelenkin grinned. “The tavern keeper’s bugged. You can milk some free XP off him. C’mon, I’ll show you.”

  Corwin, puffing out his chest like a seasoned MMO veteran, yanked open the tavern door and strode inside. The others trailed behind, eager for the promised exploit and a bit of fun.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Inside, a stout, bearded NPC stood behind the counter, lazily wiping a clay mug with a grimy rag. Every so often, he spat into it, as if that might somehow make it cleaner. But what else could you expect from a bot? Like all vendors in starter zones, the tavern keeper was a non-player character, or “NPC,” driven by basic scripts.

  His role was simple: hand out quests, accept completed ones, sell drinks, and endlessly polish that filthy mug. Legend had it that, at the game’s launch, some prankster player had swapped his clean mug for this dirty one, rag and all. It became a running gag across MMOs—every tavern keeper, in every game, doomed to scrub a grimy mug with a grimy rag.

  Someone, somewhere, had thought it was hilarious, and the tradition stuck.

  Above the NPC’s head floated his name, Shardon, and his level: 1.

  Just another generic NPC in a starting zone where orc and goblin players began their journey in the World of Fantasies, one of the hottest full-immersion MMOs around.

  “Hey, barkeep!” Corwin bellowed, slamming a hand on the counter. “Serve me your finest wine!”

  “No wine, m’lord,” Shardon sighed, his voice heavy with scripted woe. “Only ale.”

  “What kind you got?”

  “Dark human brew and goblin karachun.”

  “Swill!” Corwin scoffed. “Why no wine? Bet plenty here would pay for a proper drink.”

  He gestured grandly at the cramped tavern, which could barely hold fifteen patrons. Right now, it had fewer than ten, including Corwin’s crew.

  The exchange triggered a quest prompt about frog legs, which Shardon promised would “expand” his drink menu to include a semi-sweet red.

  “It’s a long, dull tale,” Shardon began, launching into the quest’s opening line.

  Every player in the Khar Reserve had run this quest at some point, so the group barely listened.

  “…bring me ten frog legs, and I’ll quench your thirst!” Shardon concluded with theatrical flair.

  Quest Received: Tasty Legs

  Reward: 10 XP, 5 Gold

  Corwin dismissed the system notification with a flick of his eyes, visible only to him. He rummaged in his inventory and pulled out a bundle of frog legs—oddly pink ones.

  “Now, watch closely!” he said with a wink, handing the legs to Shardon.

  “Oh, you’ve not wasted time!” the NPC exclaimed, following his script. “You’ve earned your reward…”

  A glowing symbol flashed above Corwin’s head, signaling quest completion. He pocketed the XP and gold, but Shardon…

  Shardon flailed, grasping at thin air as he tried to take the frog legs. After a dozen futile swipes, he gave up and resumed smearing dirt across his mug.

  “Still got the legs!” Corwin crowed, holding them aloft.

  “How’d you do that?” Rihanna asked, leaning in.

  Switching to party chat, Corwin spilled the trick.

  The quest had a flaw. It counted as complete when a player turned in any frog legs. But the NPC’s script only recognized Green Frog Legs for the handoff.

  Since the Khar Reserve only spawned green frogs, this wasn’t normally an issue. But nothing stopped players from buying other frog legs—like pink ones—on the auction house or looting them in other zones.

  So, when Corwin offered Pink Frog Legs, the game logged the quest as done, but Shardon’s script refused to accept the unfamiliar item. Corwin kept the legs and got the reward.

  “It’s a daily quest!” Zelenkin blurted, catching on.

  “Exactly,” Corwin grinned. “You’re quick.”

  “Lemme try!”

  Zelenkin grabbed a bundle of pink legs and banged on the counter. “Yo, barkeep! Your best wine, now!”

  “No wine, m’lord,” Shardon sighed. “Only ale.”

  “What’s on tap?”

  “Dark human brew and goblin karachun…”

  The scene played out identically. Zelenkin handed over the pink legs, got his XP and gold, and Shardon failed to take the items.

  “It works!” Zelenkin cackled, passing the legs to Rihanna.

  She ran through the same routine, with the same result.

  “This is a straight-up cheat!” declared Ukhorez, a level-3 orc, nodding sagely. “You could farm XP like this and hit the leaderboards!”

  “Yeah? And how long would ten XP a day take to reach the top?” Corwin shot back.

  Ukhorez fell silent, counting on his fingers.

  “Can I try?” piped up another goblin, Podpodmyshkins—called Myshka by everyone. He squeezed up to the counter.

  “Hey, barkeep! Bring your best wine!” he barked.

  The script played out as expected—until Shardon, with a grateful nod, took Myshka’s ten pink frog legs, which vanished into his inventory.

  “Dammit, Myshka! I paid fifty gold for those!” Corwin roared.

  “What? Don’t blame me! It’s his fault!” Myshka jabbed a finger at Shardon, who calmly resumed polishing his mug.

  “No more freebies?” Zelenkin muttered, deflated.

  “Guess the devs patched it,” Corwin sighed, turning to Myshka. “You, shortstuff, owe me fifty gold.”

  “Why me? Take it up with tech support!”

  Bickering and shouting, the group spilled out of the tavern, convinced they’d just witnessed the devs fix a minor exploit that let them scrape a bit of easy XP.

  But they were wrong.

  Something else had happened—something that would soon turn the World of Fantasies upside down…