Daniel was now in control of Ragnar, his new avatar, a novice druid with nothing but a handful of spells to protect himself.

  When he crossed the portal opened by Mikhaela, Ragnar found himself in a sea of new players moving through the central square of the city of Bremer.

  It had been a long time since he had visited one of the game's starting cities, so he had no idea that New Avalon was still attracting so many new people to its server.

  But it was time to get into character. From now on he would no longer be Daniel, but Ragnar the druid.

  His first action as Ragnar was to scout the city for opportunities. His first stop was the inn located at the entrance of the square. The sign above the door read: “Moose-Kick Tavern.”

  Ragnar walked in with a smile on his face.

  Like any respectable tavern, when stepping on the floorboards, a shrill creaking sound resounded, but it was muffled by the melody of a bamboo flute played by a frivolous bard.

  Even though it was early morning in New Avalon, the tables were packed.

  Ragnar focused his gaze on the barkeep behind the counter, revealing his name: Bartov. Curious, he checked the target's basic information, visible on a transparent panel in the corner of his field of vision. His name was Bartov, and he was a level 8 swordsman.

  Ragnar walked up to the counter, sat on a stool, and greeted the tavernkeeper:

  "A fine day to level up, isn't it?"

  "Sure is, buddy," Bartov replied, pausing briefly to look the druid up and down. “It’s not every day that we get to meet a level 1 adventurer. I still remember my first day in this game. Everything was so complicated, so many systems to learn, terms to memorize, but we learn it little by little. So... don't worry, the important thing at the beginning is to have fun. Over time, you'll learn the nuances of combat, the economy, and everything else."

  Bartov paused for a moment before continuing:

  "I apologize if I ended up sounding like a know-it-all. I'm still at level 8, so... in a way, my journey is just beginning too."

  “Thanks for the tips and words of encouragement."

  "Have you tried any drinks in the game yet? It's amazing, it's exactly like a cold one in the real world, maybe even better."

  "I haven't tried any yet," said Ragnar.

  ", buddy. Then let's fix that. How about a mug of Unicorn Piss? It's an exclusive mead you can only find here."

  The tavernkeeper leaned in with a smile on his face:

  "This mead is excellent for beginners, it will greatly increase your strength. You'll kill goblins, wolves, and everything else out there with ease. And if you do everything right, you'll reach level 5 in the blink of an eye."

  "Interesting," Ragnar said, feigning interest. "How long does the effect of this drink last?"

  "About five minutes."

  "And how much does it cost?"

  "Each mug is worth 25 rubros, but since you're a nice newbie, I'll give you a special price, 18, how about that?"

  "I only have five," Ragnar lied.

  "Really? How strange. From what I remember, new players start with fifty."

  ", Mikhaela," Ragnar muttered softly, grateful for being transported to a city of scammers. Then he continued: "Forgive my boldness, but isn't 25 rubros expensive for a drink like this? I read somewhere that each rubro is equivalent to one cent. So you're charging me 25 cents for a virtual drink. Isn't that expensive?"

  Bartov analyzed Ragnar with a cold, menacing gaze and grunted in disgust:

  "Get out."

  "Before I go, I'd like to try your mead, but at a fair price."

  "And what would be a fair price, one rubro?"

  "No, my dear tavernkeeper, you must not underestimate your product. I'd say this mead shouldn't cost more than three."

  Bartov let out a mocking laugh, then retorted:

  "And where did you get that value from, out of your ass?"

  "I can tell by the smell. Your mead must contain only the basic ingredients: water and honey. The water you can get for free by going to the river or the city's fountain. As for this low-quality honey by its sour stench, it shouldn't cost more than one rubro per unit. Now, let's add the processing cost, after all, you need to store the mixture until it ferments properly, which ended up not happening, since the smell of this drink is a crime. Taking all this into consideration, I'll be kind enough to add two rubros to your profit margin, resulting in the three coins I'm willing to pay for a mug of this drink."

  Bartov's face twisted in anger. He grunted, turning his back on Ragnar. Then he walked over to the mead barrel, filled a mug, and poured it for the druid.

  "Take this shit, I hope you choke on it!"

  Ragnar smiled, raised his mug in a gesture of thanks, and drank it while making faces throughout the process, and ending with a critique:

  "It was worse than I imagined..."

  "Fuck you. Now, get out of here!" the tavernkeeper muttered.

  "Me? Leave? You owe me 47 rubros," Ragnar said with a mocking smile on his face.

  The tavernkeeper approached.

  "You think I'm an idiot? You think I don't know what you're doing? You think your little blackmail of yours will work? Friend, listen carefully to what I'm going to say: this tavern is not mine, it's property of the Black Paw."

  "Black Paw? Never heard of it..."

  "Really? Then rest assured, because I'll tell you. They'll destroy you. They run this city. And unlike the pathetic NPCs who call themselves guards, the Black Paws are capable of finding any fool who threatens one of their establishments."

  Ragnar stopped to think. Bartov's story didn't sound like a bluff, as he had encountered guilds that operated like criminal organizations before. Many of them established themselves in some irrelevant place with the aim of controlling the market, terrorizing the population, and taking advantage of innocent players. After pondering, Ragnar insisted:

  "I want my 47 rubros."

  "And what makes you think I'll give that amount to a level 1?"

  "You're taking advantage of this being a city of newbies to sell your overpriced drink," Ragnar made sure only the tavernkeeper could hear.

  "So what? Is there a law protecting fools?"

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

  "Here? In the game? No! This world is a jungle where the strong oppress the weak. But the name of this inn would be tarnished if your customers knew the truth."

  "Kid... You have no idea what you're getting into."

  "I know exactly what I'm getting myself into..." Ragnar stared at him.

  "Either you leave now, or you'll be on the Black Paw's list."

  "I'm the one calling the shots here. Either you pay for my silence, or everyone will know about your little scheme of yours.”

  After Ragnar's ultimatum, nervous conversations spread across the tavern's tables. Bartov was on the verge of imploding with rage as he said:

  "Kid, you're way too cocky for a level 1. Either you're crazy, or your avatar is a secondary account! Are you asking to be reported?"

  "You can report me, but I'll shout to everyone that you're scamming newbies... Do you have any idea what a veteran, one of those with a level 60 avatar or higher does to people who deceive those who are just starting out? I'll tell you, the name Bartov will be on a lot of important people's blacklists..."

  A hunter who overheard the conversation stood up, he raised his bow, and stood beside Ragnar, announcing to everyone:

  "It's true!" He pointed his finger at Bartov. "This guy sold me a mug of mead for 40 rubros."

  Ragnar glanced at him; his name was Skiff, a level 2 hunter.

  The tavern patrons turned their furious gazes toward the tavernkeeper.

  "Forty for the mead?" a customer near the stage where the bard had stopped playing his flute exclaimed indignantly.

  "But he sold it to us for only five rubros," said another customer.

  The built-up tension seemed ready to burst.

  "Give me back my money!" demanded the player next to Ragnar.

  "No!" Bartov replied.

  "We're not leaving until you give us our money," Ragnar said, looking at the hunter and nodding. Most of the customers stood up and left the establishment.

  "Hey!" Ragnar turned to those who hadn't left yet. "Are you just going to sit there and watch, or are you going to grow a spine and help?" The customers seemed offended at being scolded by a level 1.

  Taking advantage of the others' distraction, Bartov drew his sword from its sheath and pointed it at the two who had challenged him. This scared off the last remaining customers in the tavern.

  Anticipating the tavernkeeper's reaction, Ragnar jumped onto a table and raised his arms to prepare casting a spell.

  "Get out of here," Bartov shouted.

  "What now?" Skiff asked, holding his bow and arrow.

  "Stay back and shoot only when you're absolutely sure you'll hit."

  "You want to fight him? Are you crazy? He's much stronger than us," Skiff's voice was filled with desperation.

  "I know, but try to buy some time."

  "Enough!" Bartov roared and charged forward.

  Ragnar's hand flashed, and he aimed the spell at the tavern keeper, but downwards. Three roots sprouted from the ground and grabbed Bartov's ankles, knocking him face down against the tip of the druid's wooden sandal as the druid himself kicked him. Bartov fell to the ground, feeling the humiliation of being beaten for a level 1.

  But Ragnar didn't have a weapon. His original plan was to rely on the customers' indignation to join the fight, but he had overestimated them and was now paying the price for his optimism. Seeing his only ally, Ragnar gave the signal:

  "Now!"

  Skiff was behind an overturned table, pulling his bowstring to its limit. The tip of the arrow was surrounded by a swirling gust of wind spinning at high speed. When Skiff released the arrow, the roots summoned by Ragnar let go of the enraged tavernkeeper, but there was no chance for him to counterattack. The hunter's arrow flew at high speed and hit Bartov in the shoulder. The damage was low, but the goal of the shot was to afflict him with the slow status. Despite their efforts and efficient teamwork, the opponent's health was still almost full.

  Ragnar knew this was a battle he couldn't win alone.

  Bartov recovered from the attacks, twirled the sword in his right hand and, with a gesture of his left hand, called the druid to fight, but he did not fall for the provocation and remained at a safe distance.

  The three studied each other for a minute. Skiff couldn't shoot freely, as after firing an arrow, he would be vulnerable until he prepared the next shot or switched weapons.

  Ragnar slowly backed away toward the tavern's stage.

  Skiff took the initiative by firing a well-aimed shot at his opponent's leg. However, even though he was damaged, Bartov charged at an astonishing speed towards the shooter. But before he could reach him, roots burst through the ground between them and turned towards the tavernkeeper, who smirked mockingly.

  "Pathetic!" he sneered as he performed two diagonal sword slashes. The strike was so fast that blue streaks marked the blade's path, and the force was so great that it cut through Ragnar's roots as if they were nothing.

  Such was the gap in strength between them.

  With the roots out of the way, Bartov bent his knees and used his Charge ability to charge at the archer at breakneck speed. The tip of the blade pierced Skiff's chest, but before he could pull it out to follow up with another attack, Ragnar transformed into a black bear and charged at the opponent, knocking him to the ground with a paw strike to the chest.

  Skiff fired his arrows, and Ragnar delivered two more paw strikes before being repelled by a clumsy sword slash, which took out 30% of his health in one fell swoop. Ragnar retreated and canceled his animal form, returning to his human appearance.

  Bartov stood up and held his sword horizontally, preparing for the final blow, but before doing so, he said:

  “You messed with the wrong person…! And he quickly turned his body, releasing a cutting wind through the blade of his sword.

  Ragnar felt the sword cut him three times, red messages with the damage taken flashed in his field of vision. The total damage far exceeded his health points.

  The battle was over. Ragnar was kneeling on the ground, contemplating his life counter which, for some reason, had not reached zero:

  Health: 99/112

  Raising his head, he saw a tall woman. In one hand, she was casting a healing spell, while the other held a saber against Bartov's neck, who fell to his knees before her.

  "Bartov..." the woman said. "You are under arrest for the crime of assaulting innocents people."

  After the arrest was announced, the accused's hands were imprisoned by chains conjured by magic.

  "But... Baroness Merwin," Bartov whimpered. "They were the ones who attacked me..."

  "I'm not finished..." she said. "You are also suspected of selling products at abusive prices. This offense has an aggravating factor: you targeted novice adventurers to avoid suspicion."

  "You're done for, brats," Bartov said, seething with rage. "Especially you, you damn druid!"

  "Guards," ordered the baroness in charge of governing the city. "Take him to the dungeon."

  Three soldiers led the condemned man away, but halfway there, Bartov tried to break free. However, he didn't count on one of the soldiers being a mage capable of freezing him from the torso down with the snap of his fingers.

  "Damn it. Log out!" Bartov shouted, and he disappeared.

  Ragnar stared at the baroness, and she said:

  "Don't worry. He's officially arrested, so he'll wake up in the prison cell until he serves his seven-day sentence."

  Ragnar noticed that she wore several layers of fine fabrics that overlapped and harmonized with a silver crest, on which was engraved the image of a sitting cat.

  "What... madness," Skiff sighed, his eyes wide and his mouth open in disbelief.

  The baroness approached Ragnar.

  "Thank you for reporting the tavernkeeper. He's been a thorn in my side. You did a good job holding him off until a customer came to inform me of what was happening. He could have escaped in time to seek refuge in another city. But your courage, or perhaps stupidity, made him stay and fight." She turned to Skiff: "We are grateful that you stood by justice while the majority of the customers fled in panic."

  A message appeared for Ragnar and Skiff:

  Three messages appeared for Ragnar:

  You have evolved to level 2

  You have evolved to level 3

  Your reputation with the City of Bremer has advanced from Neutral to Friendly

  He couldn't contain his happiness. In half an hour of gameplay, he had advanced two levels, and 100 rubros was an amount of money that would help catapult his progression.

  In addition to the traditional rewards, Ragnar received enough reputation points to become a friend of the City of Bremer. This would provide discounts at local shops, limited items, and opportunities like exclusive quests.

  Finally, he was granted official permit to use the city's community garden. There, he could grow whatever he wanted—as long as it wasn't illegal—without having to worry about someone coming along and stealing his harvest, since the garden plots were limited to those with the permit.

  With all the rewards assimilated, Ragnar approached Baroness Merwin and asked:

  "Were you after him?"

  "We heard rumors about a con artist in the city, but we didn't know he was targeting only newcomers," she said, studying Ragnar from head to toe. "You're not part of a Druidic Circle yet?"

  "Not yet, but I intend to undergo the initiation rite when I can."

  "That won't be necessary," Merwin pulled a piece of paper and a quill from her small bag. She placed the paper on one of the tavern's tables and scribbled. When she finished, she showed what she had written:

  "I, Merwin, Baroness of the City of Bremer and honorary druid, attest that Ragnar, a druid, is fit to join the Druidic Circle of Bremer as a worthy initiate, entitled to all that the position has to offer."

  "Now you can enter the Sanctuary of Lilies," she said, handing the document to Ragnar. "The sanctuary is located in the forest west of the city. It's not far, just follow the trail through the woods."

  "Thank you."

  She nodded with a slight bow of her head, bid farewell to the two newcomers, and left the tavern.

  Ragnar turned to Skiff and verbalized one of the game's commands:

  "Add Skiff to friends list!"

  Within seconds, the following message appeared:

  Skiff accepted your friend request.

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