Deepforge Saga

Chapter 1: The Lord's Trial

The Countdown Begins

The world had been holding its collective breath for months. Billboards emblazoned with the Deepforge Saga logo flickered across city skylines, their holographic projections stretching stories high. On social media, speculative threads ran endlessly—leaks, class breakdowns, player theories, and whispered rumors of secret mechanics. Every major gaming channel streamed countdowns, analysts breaking down every teaser trailer frame-by-frame. Deepforge Saga wasn't just another game—it was a cultural event.

At midnight, the first true VRMMORPG would go live, promising an experience unlike any before. Total immersion. A world not just played but lived.

Murtagh Morningstar leaned against the chipped granite countertop of his apartment kitchen, a heavy mug of coffee steaming between his hands. The glow of the holographic newsfeed painted the room in soft blue light, its display floating inches above the table's surface. News anchors—one human, one AI-generated—debated the ethical implications of fully immersive gaming while a ticker scrolled beneath them, counting down to the launch.

"Experts are calling it the most significant leap in immersive gaming to date," the AI anchor chimed. "Deepforge Saga lets players choose between two distinct paths: Adventurer Mode, focusing on exploration, quests, and discovery, or Lord Mode, where players can build, rule, and lead their own underground kingdoms."

Murtagh barely listened. His mind was already deep in the strategies he'd been crafting for weeks. Maps memorized, economic systems studied, rare loot drop rates committed to memory. This wasn't just a game to him—it was an opportunity.

Melissa's entrance was announced by the squeak of the fridge door and the hiss of an energy drink popping open. She strolled in, her dark hair tied into a hasty ponytail, wearing an oversized hoodie with a faded game logo from three years ago.

"You're really going all in on this, huh?" she asked, leaning against the counter, can in hand.

Murtagh didn't even glance her way. "You act like this isn't the most important launch in gaming history."

She scoffed. "Half the school canceled classes tomorrow because everyone's playing. Even my physics teacher is logged in already."

He smirked. "See? Told you."

She took a sip of her drink, eyeing him over the rim of the can. "So? Adventurer or Lord?"

"Lord." The answer was immediate, as if she'd asked him his own name.

Melissa rolled her eyes, a knowing grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Figures. You always have to be the one calling the shots."

"Because someone has to," Murtagh countered, pushing off the counter. "Building an empire? Managing resources? Strategizing wars? That's the endgame. Everyone else is out there grinding mobs and chasing loot while I'm carving my name into the world."

"Most Lord players don't last two weeks," she reminded him, casually scrolling through her holo-screen. "They say the first month's brutal. Raiders, lack of resources, player betrayals."

"They fail because they don't plan," he replied coolly. "I've been studying this for months—economy loops, NPC behavior algorithms, optimal build orders. I know how to make this work."

She raised an eyebrow. "So, what's the goal here? World domination?"

"Something like that."

Melissa chuckled, shaking her head as she turned toward the door. "Good luck, King Murtagh. Try not to get wiped before breakfast."

"Not a chance."

Midnight: The Gateway Opens

The room darkened as Murtagh pulled on the sleek VR interface. The world outside blurred and vanished. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence.

Then—boom—the world exploded into color.

The login screen hovered before him, vast and silver-lit, like the night sky twisted into code. A deep, metallic voice filled his ears.

"Welcome to Deepforge Saga."

His heart hammered in his chest. His fingers twitched mid-air, flicking through menus with practiced ease. The Adventurer Mode icon gleamed temptingly, already the choice of countless others.

But Murtagh barely glanced at it.

Lord Mode.

He selected it.

The screen darkened, and a sensation of weightlessness flooded over him—his body dissolving, pixel by pixel, into the vast network of the game.

A beat of silence.

Then light.

When his vision cleared, he stood in a cavern unlike anything he'd ever seen. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone, metallic tangs of ore, and the faint musk of something ancient. Bioluminescent fungi clung to towering stalactites, their eerie glow painting the stone in shifting blues and greens. The floor beneath his boots was rough and uneven, dust swirling in lazy eddies where the stale air moved.

An obsidian throne dominated the center of the cavern, set atop a rough-hewn dais. Ancient runes carved into its surface pulsed with faint, rhythmic light, like the beat of a slumbering heart.

Murtagh took a slow breath.

This is it.

Then, the voice—deep, commanding, ancient—echoed across the cavern.

"Lord Candidate detected. The trial begins now. Survive the siege. Rule or perish."

Phase One: The Goblin Horde

Without warning, a deafening boom split the air. Heavy gates on the cavern's far side slammed open, and from the darkness beyond, goblins surged forward—dozens of them. Their guttural shrieks reverberated through the chamber, claws scraping against stone, jagged weapons glinting in the eerie light.

A crude iron sword materialized in Murtagh's hand, its weight anchoring him to this new reality. The blade was unpolished, heavy in the hilt, its balance awkward. He tested its weight, feeling the raw edge tug at the air.

No fancy starter weapons. This is raw survival.

The first goblin lunged, its serrated dagger aimed straight for his chest.

Murtagh sidestepped, pivoted his body, and brought the iron sword crashing down. The impact was visceral—a crunch of bone, the goblin's shriek cut short as its body dissolved into a shower of glowing fragments.

No time to savor it.

Another goblin lunged from the left. Murtagh spun, blade sweeping low. It caught the goblin across the chest, sending it sprawling backward before its form disintegrated.

But they kept coming.

Five. Ten. Fifteen.

The swarm closed in, their snarls growing louder, their blades flashing in the dim light.

Murtagh moved with instinctual precision. Every swing had to count—no wasted movement, no unnecessary flourishes. He ducked beneath a slashing claw, his blade arcing upward to cleave through another attacker. The heavy iron clanged against crude goblin daggers, sparks flying.

His breath was ragged, his arms already aching from the sheer force needed for each strike. The game's pain simulation—dialed to seventy percent—added a sharp, stinging burn to every blow that connected with his armor.

Another goblin lunged.

He twisted at the last second, bringing the hilt of his sword down hard on the goblin's temple. It crumpled into pixels.

The horde was thinning—but not fast enough.

Then the ground trembled.

A deep roar reverberated through the cavern, low and guttural.

The Hobgoblin.

It emerged from the shadows—towering, armored in rusted iron plates, its jagged axe dragging deep scars into the stone as it stomped forward. Beady red eyes glinted beneath its horned helmet.

Murtagh's pulse skyrocketed.

The Hobgoblin roared and charged.

Murtagh barely managed to raise his sword in time. The axe smashed into his blade, the sheer force sending vibrations up his arms and knocking him backward. He skidded across the stone floor, boots scraping for purchase.

The beast was fast—too fast for its size.

It swung again. Murtagh ducked low, the axe passing inches over his head, before he lunged forward, driving his blade into a gap beneath the Hobgoblin's armor. The creature bellowed in pain but didn't slow.

It's tough. Need a weak point.

The Hobgoblin roared, lifting its axe overhead for a crushing blow.

Murtagh didn't retreat.

Instead, he sprinted forward, sliding between the creature's legs. He twisted as he passed, dragging his sword along the inner thigh joint—armor-thin and vulnerable.

The Hobgoblin shrieked, staggering, its massive form unbalanced.

Murtagh didn't hesitate.

He leaped onto the beast's back, driving his sword down into the gap at the base of its neck.

The Hobgoblin thrashed once, twice, then collapsed, its form exploding into cascading light.

A final notification flickered across his vision.

[Phase One Complete: First Blood]

Phase Two: Leadership and Strategy

The cavern shifted again, stone walls sliding away to reveal a second, larger chamber.

Before him stood rows of armored soldiers—his soldiers—forty in total, spears gleaming under the dim cavern light. They stood at rigid attention, awaiting his command.

Across the chamber, heavy gates groaned open.

Crag Beasts emerged—hulking, reptilian monsters with thick, stone-like hides. Their claws gouged deep trenches into the rock as they advanced, primal growls vibrating through the air.

Murtagh's interface lit up. Command protocols. Formation controls.

Time to lead.

"Shields up! Spearmen to the front!" he barked, his voice echoing through the cavern.

The soldiers reacted instantly, locking shields together in a tight phalanx, spears angled forward like a bristling wall.

The Crag Beasts roared—and charged.

The first impact was brutal. Stone claws raked against iron shields, the sheer force driving soldiers backward. Murtagh sprinted along the line, barking orders.

"Hold the line! Focus on the legs—cripple them!"

A sharp pressure built behind his eyes—his foresight ability activating. In a split second, the battlefield shifted in his mind's eye, highlighting enemy movements in faint, glowing outlines. He spotted it—a smaller group of Crag Beasts circling around the far right flank, aiming for a weak point.

"Archers! Right flank—cut them down!"

A volley of arrows sliced through the air, striking the ambushers before they could close in.

The tide shifted.

Murtagh pressed forward. "Advance! Keep formation—don't break ranks!"

His soldiers surged as one. Spears found gaps between stone plates, stabbing deep. The Crag Beasts shrieked, staggering under the relentless assault.

One final push.

Murtagh drove his blade deep into the throat of the largest Crag Beast, its massive form convulsing before collapsing.

The battlefield fell silent.

Another notification pulsed before his eyes.

[Phase Two Complete: Leadership Proven]Bonus Achievement: Tactical Foresight – Increased Rating Earned!

A golden City Totem materialized, hovering in the cavern's center—an artifact of immense value.

Murtagh approached, his breath still heavy, and reached for it.

The moment his fingers touched the stone, a final message appeared.

"Welcome, Lord Murtagh Morningstar. Your reign begins now."

(To be continued in Chapter 2: The Foundations of Power)