Beast Realms: Trapped in the Game

The sky over the Ratcha Realm was a pale, smoky blue, dimmed beneath a hazy sun. The wind whistled low over the grassy plains, tugging at the cloaks of the two figures standing just outside the gate of the Stronghold.

The moment someone stepped inside the realm, they would find themselves in a bustling stronghold established by the Alliance. Though it was called a "stronghold," it more closely resembled a town. There were inns, shops, restaurants, and all manner of establishments. Humanity had started to develop this space just as they had outside the gate, especially as the population of challengers grew.

The streets were crowded. People moved back and forth, carrying gear, sharpening weapons, exchanging goods, and preparing for expeditions.

Wein adjusted the sword at his side. The weight had grown familiar over the past few days—comforting, even.

"Which way should we go?" Wein asked, scanning the horizon.

They were still near the gate, where there were no beasts in sight. Most of the nearby ones had long been hunted down. Any creature that ventured close to the stronghold that protected the gate was quickly eliminated.

If they want to hunt beast in Level 1, they'll need to venture further in the Wild.

"Let's head in the same direction we met last time," Terr said, tightening the strap on his satchel. "That place is technically outside the safe zone, but it's not far. I doubt we'll run into trouble."

That area, just beyond the safe zone, was considered part of the uncharted zone—regions not yet fully mapped or cleared by the Alliance. While they weren't illegal to enter, explorers were strongly advised to tread carefully. The further one ventured into the realm, the higher the risk.

At the heart of the realm was the spawning ground of the Ratcha, teeming with millions of them. It was a place even elite adventurers avoided.

The Alliance didn't dare provoke the core of the Ratcha Realm. If a full horde were to discover the gate and make it through, the damage they could cause to the human world would be catastrophic.

So far, the stronghold served two purposes: to hunt and monitor, and most importantly, to ensure that the beasts never made it out of the gate.

—

Three Days Later

Wein's body ached. His muscles were sore from hours of walking, drills, and camping in rough terrain. Yet when Terr suddenly raised a hand and crouched behind a moss-covered rock, all the exhaustion vanished.

"There," Terr whispered, pointing toward the clearing ahead.

Wein dropped low and followed his gaze.

The pond shimmered under the golden afternoon sun. Steam rose from its surface, and the muddy shore was littered with claw marks and deep footprints.

"Ratcha," Wein muttered under his breath.

Five of them lounged near the water, their grotesque bodies twitching lazily. They looked like bloated rats, their hunched backs covered in greasy, patchy fur. Their faces were pig-like—flat snouts, yellow tusks jutting upward, and twitching ears. Their long, worm-like tails slapped lazily against the mud.

Occasional snorts and splashes filled the air, blending with the low hum of insects.

"There's five of them," Wein whispered. "Should we take them together?"

Terr shook his head and smiled.

"Nope. This one's all yours."

Wein blinked. "Wait—seriously?"

"You need to get used to it. There's no better training than a real fight." He patted Wein's shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll be right here watching."

Wein's heart raced. He had never gone on a real hunt before—this would be his first true fight, his first kill. 

The nerves crept in. He had initially assumed they would face the beast together, but now that Terr had encouraged him to fight alone, anxiety settled in. Still, he knew this was inevitable. Terr wouldn't always be by his side, and if he wanted to climb the tower, he had to grow stronger. 

This hunt would be the first step. He had to do it himself.

He tightened his grip on his sword, drawing it from its sheath. 

He exhaled slowly, crouched low, and began circling around the rocks. He kept to the shadows, moving quietly through the tall grass, approaching from behind.

One of the Ratcha lifted its head. It sniffed the air, snorted, and turned back to the pond.

Wein froze.

His heart pounded against his ribs.

"Come on," he whispered. "They're just beasts. Like pigs or rats on Earth. You've done this a hundred times in the game."

He steeled himself, forcing his legs to move.

Twenty feet.

Ten.

Five...

Then—he charged.

"Hyahh!"

His blade arced downward toward the nearest Ratcha. The creature squealed and rolled to the side, but not fast enough. His sword slashed across its back, slicing through the tough pelt and drawing a thick spray of blackish blood.

Shriek!

The Ratcha screamed in pain. Wein gritted his teeth and followed up with a sharp horizontal slash to the neck—aiming for the soft flesh. 

Blood burst from the wound and the beast collapsed.

In the span of ten seconds, he managed to achieve his first kill.

The remaining Ratcha hearing the fight shrieked and turned on him, their black eyes glowing with rage.

The second beast lunged. Wein immediately ducked low, barely avoiding its snapping jaws, and countered with a rising slash—thunk!—the blade buried into its ribcage. It fell in a twitching heap.

"Two down!" he muttered through clenched teeth.

Another one came from his left.

He pivoted and swung in a wide arc—clang!—his blade hit bone, causing a jolt up his arms. The Ratcha reeled, shrieking.

The final two rushed together.

"Crap."

Wein backpedaled, raising his blade defensively. One lunged. He stepped aside, slashing its neck cleanly—shhhk!—blood sprayed across the grass.

The last one hesitated.

Wein didn't give it a chance to escape. He lunged forward and drove his blade into its chest. The beast let out a gurgled squeal and collapsed.

Finally, silence returned to the clearing.

Wein stood amidst the bodies, panting, his hands trembling slightly, his sword dripping black blood.

'He did it.'

"Not bad for your first hunt," Terr said, emerging with a grin. "You handled yourself well."

Wein looked down at the corpses. He didn't feel triumph. Just relief.

"Thanks… but I was clumsy," he admitted. Unlike the skilled hunters, his technique was rough—more like hacking at beasts whenever they got close. His movements lacked finesse, feeling more brute than precise.

"You're already better than I was on my first hunt," Terr said with a grin. "Once you get the hang of it, everything will feel more natural. Come on…we've got more hunting to do. The more you practice, the cleaner your movements will become." 

Wein nodded. 

That's right. He just needed more practice. With the natural talent of this body, he'd eventually get the hang of it.