Relaxing beneath the shade of a tree, Ragnar used his free time to read The Circle of the Moon, the book he had been given by the leader of the Black Paw.

  When he finished the chapter, he set the volume down on the grass and glanced toward the iron mine entrance about thirty meters away.

  Havoc’s silhouette emerged from the tunnel’s depths. She ran out with her sword drawn; her health points were below half, and a small horde of goblins chased her.

  “Need help?” Ragnar called, leaning against the sequoia trunk.

  “Heal me,” she gasped.

  The druid stretched out his right hand and let the energy flow. A Healing Breeze was cast in a small green burst that enveloped the swordswoman.

  She thanked him and turned toward the mine entrance. The tide of goblins was coming at full speed. She smiled sadistically and began the slaughter.

  Ragnar picked up his book and resumed reading amid the goblins' screams of pain and pleas for mercy.

  The story of The Circle of the Moon told the legend of the druids who rebelled against the Circle of the Sun. In the book, that circle was portrayed as a group of fanatical worshippers of the deity Tal Bali, the Sun goddess.

  Among their many cruel rituals, the initiation rite was by far the worst: it required new members to stare at the sun for a long period. If anyone looked away or lost their sight, they were burned alive.

  Fed up with such cruelty, a group of druids renounced Tal Bali in favor of Bal Moni, the moon deity. They switched because, to them, Bal Moni was a beautiful celestial body that illuminated the nights and did not burn the eyes of those who wished to admire it.

  This new group grew in strength, though not enough to rival the blind minds of the sun worshippers. They fled far away to a white mountain whose peak pierced the clouds. There they founded the first and only Druidic Sanctuary of the Moon.

  The last page of the book was devoted to speculation about these renegades. It was known that the group’s leader took the name Hamoni after converting. He led the great expedition and conceived the sanctuary’s construction.

  Thus Hamoni and his followers were rewarded with a fraction of the moon’s power. Later, the leader devoted himself to the martial arts, founded a school, and through it, spread a new fighting style among his students.

  Ragnar closed the book and took a deep breath. The Druidic Circle of the Moon was nothing new. Druid players had long been familiar with the legends of the sun and moon. Some had even earned rare and powerful rewards like solar spells; the luckiest had found the extremely rare lunar weapons, but the sanctuary’s location remained a secret in New Avalon.

  The last goblin fell before Havoc’s blade. She sheathed her sword and walked over to the tree where the druid sat.

  “How’s the reading?”

  Ragnar waved the book in his right hand. “Productive. I picked up a few new things.”

  “Really?” Havoc said, sitting down in front of him.

  Neither of them reacted or hesitated. They just contemplated the image of the avatar in front of them. Havoc’s long, straight blond hair lacked the elaborate cuts most girls used for their avatars.

  Her brown eyes were not the usual green or blue common in New Avalon, nor the rarer shades present in the virtual world, such as gray, silver, gold, or lilac.

  Finally, though slender, her body lacked the exaggerated features that drew most players’ attention. Ragnar believed her avatar must be a recreation of her real-world appearance.

  He had no idea she was thinking something similar. Havoc held his gaze a moment, then said, “Has anyone told you that you look like a villain?”

  “That’s exactly what I thought when the game generated this avatar for me.”

  “Did you change anything to make it look like that?”

  Ragnar shook his head and countered with a question: “This avatar of yours… is that you in real life?”

  She looked at the few clouds in the sky, then lay back on the grass and finally answered, “Yes.”

  “Did you change anything?”

  “The system generated this avatar with much longer hair, gray eyes, and… larger breasts. So I adjusted everything to look more like me.”

  Her answer was so sincere it made him wary of pursuing the subject. He stored the book in his inventory and crawled across the grass until he sat beside her.

  Havoc stared at him, but unlike before, her cheeks had acquired a faint pink tint.

  “You might be the only person I know who did something like that,” Ragnar said. “I’ve never seen anyone change their avatar to make themselves less attractive.”

  “So, I nerfed my beauty?” she said in a lighthearted tone. “But seriously, I prefer this form because of some bad experiences I had in other VR games.” The lighthearted tone gave way to a melancholic seriousness.

  That made Ragnar even more curious. “What happened?”

  She turned her face away. “I’d rather not say, sorry.” She sat cross-legged beside the druid. “Don’t get me wrong, but I’ve already opened up to you a lot today.”

  Ragnar nodded. The awkward mood returned to haunt them. They sat beneath the tree in silence. Havoc stared at the horizon while Ragnar tried to decipher what was on her mind.

  A bad experience, he thought. For a girl who liked VR games, that could mean a few things—and he knew how bad they could be. He decided to leave her alone.

  Just as Ragnar stood, Havoc received a message. When she saw the sender, she opened it without hesitation and read. After finishing, she summarized it for Ragnar: “Zed is calling all officers to an urgent extraordinary meeting. Since that excludes everyone ranked sergeant and below, you’re out.”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  He breathed a sigh of relief.

  Not wanting to waste time, Havoc stretched, and—before heading to the Wolf’s Den Fortress—said, “It was really fun and rewarding playing with you. I hope we can adventure together again soon, but I have to go. You don’t know how cranky our leader gets when people are late to meetings.”

  Ragnar smiled and said, “Good luck at the meeting.”

  ***

  After bidding Havoc farewell, Ragnar contacted Skiff, Artic, and Niki and arranged to meet them at Salem’s gate.

  The knight and the hunter arrived in ten minutes; the assassin showed up half an hour later with a familiar player excuse.

  “Sorry I’m late—swamped with college work.”

  Once the group had gathered, Ragnar announced he needed help hunting more Megalotaur. As he expected, Artic and Niki complained—this wouldn’t help them at all. But Ragnar had an argument ready.

  “All right, I get it. If our friendship means nothing, how about a thousand rubros for each Megalotaur killed?”

  “For each of us?” Niki clarified.

  Ragnar rolled his eyes, mentally cursing that they’d noticed the ambiguity. “Obviously. I’m not stingy.”

  Artic turned to her. “That’s a good offer. What do you think?”

  Niki thought for a moment, then answered, “Fine by me.”

  ***

  Ragnar led his friends across the green fields west of Salem, stopping by the banks of a familiar lake. The place reminded them of the fight with the Megalotaur. As before, the pasture around them was occupied by groups of bulls.

  They first cleared out the common ones nearby. Those were the trigger that would make the boss appear. When Niki killed the last one, the Megalotaur emerged in the distance.

  Unlike last time, the fight was quick. Artic had leveled up in recent days and bought new gear, so he could block the horn strikes without being tossed aside.

  Thanks to the coordination between Skiff and Niki using the Blood Brothers tactic, the boss bled out from hemorrhaging inflicted by the assassin’s new dagger.

  To the druid’s delight, the boss’s loot was a dozen Megalotaur hides—a rare item with a 10% drop chance.

  With the objective complete, the quartet returned to Salem and Ragnar took them to his vampire friend’s magic goods shop.

  Sinistro welcomed them with a smile and led them to a table in the corner. A short time later he served each of them a cup of tea.

  The four sipped their tea while discussing trivialities.

  Ragnar sat at the end of the table near the shop wall. He picked up the small spoon beside his saucer and tapped it twice against his cup, producing a graceful tinkle that caught the others’ attention.

  “Everyone, a moment of attention, please.”

  They fell silent, waiting for the druid to continue.

  “I have a proposal for you.” Niki looked at him with a suggestive expression. “And ladies…”

  “Go on,” she said.

  “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I joined the Black Paw.”

  The three widened their eyes. Niki leaned forward in her chair, bringing herself closer to the table. Artic crossed his arms and stared at the druid. “You owe us an explanation,” he said.

  “My original idea was to take advantage of a large guild like theirs to level up faster—whether by joining dungeons or raids with them.”

  Niki shook her head in disapproval. “You’re playing dirty!” She pulled a dagger and stuck it into an apple on the fruit tray decorating the table.

  “Calm down…” Ragnar tried to soothe her, but her look was deadly. “Then I visited their fortress. There I found a flaw in the permission settings for item deposits and withdrawals.”

  Artic uncrossed his arms and adopted a softer posture; his expression showed interest.

  “So, here’s my proposal: I want you to join the Black Paw too.”

  “What are we going to steal?” the knight pressed.

  Keen as ever, Ragnar considered. “Tons of iron, my friend.”

  Artic laughed. At that moment Niki snapped her fingers, putting the pieces together and understanding the plan. She propped her elbows on the table, joined her hands, and rested her chin on them.

  “But iron is heavy and isn’t sold for much,” she said.

  “Correct. That’s why we’ll devise a plan to steal the entire fortress’s supply. We can’t leave a single gram of iron with them. One detail: this flaw only exists at the recruit rank, so don’t think about getting promoted. Make excuses not to participate in missions that would push you up, or they’ll promote you to soldier.”

  “Okay, we get it, but how are we going to move so much iron without raising suspicion? I imagine there are records of what’s withdrawn. Sooner or later they’ll notice.”

  “The Black Paw is disorganized from what I saw,” Ragnar said. “Their reaction time is slow. We can take advantage of that by acting at the right hour. In one hour, I guarantee we can move more than five thousand units of iron out of the fortress.”

  “How? We can barely carry a hundred kilos in our inventories; more than that will overburden us,” Niki warned.

  She spoke the truth. A beginner player’s weight limit was 150 kilos—the equivalent of 150 units of iron—but that limit could be increased by buying bags or backpacks, investing in strength, or acquiring special items that raise the cap. Artic had the highest weight limit among the four, but his armor was heavier than the others’, which reduced that advantage.

  But Ragnar had the solution.

  “We have my legendary animal form. It has all the conveniences of a traditional mount, including the ability to equip cargo bags. To give you an idea, my wild bear form lets me carry up to four bags; as an iron bear, the limit goes up to eight.”

  “You’re kidding!” Niki exclaimed, eyes wide and mouth open.

  “Wow,” Artic reacted.

  “Hell yeah!” Skiff cheered.

  “Wait a minute,” Niki said. “If you can carry so much weight on your own, why do you need our help?”

  Skiff slapped his hands hard on the table; the cups vibrated. From the shop counter, the vampire shot the hunter a nasty look, and Skiff apologized.

  “Sorry.” Then he turned to Niki and Artic. “He needs us because the bear form is too big to fit through the fortress doors.”

  Ragnar nodded repeatedly. “That’s right—our friend is correct.” He finished his tea and asked, “Can I count on you?”

  The three agreed.

  “It’s time you met the Wolf’s Den.”

  ***

  Ragnar and his friends climbed slowly up the hill to the Black Paw’s fortress. During the walk, Artic, Niki, and Skiff speculated about what a siege on the fortress would be like.

  Much of what they said was incorrect or only partially true, and instead of correcting them, Ragnar let them bond in peace.

  As they neared the top, they were met by Havoc—Ragnar had told her he had three people interested in joining the guild.

  When the swordswoman’s eyes landed on the hunter, she inclined her head slightly and said, “I apologize for attacking you that day. I hope we can be friends from now on.”

  Skiff’s face was not particularly friendly, but he accepted Havoc’s apology. Artic and Niki shook the lieutenant’s hand and wore friendly expressions.

  “They know how to fake it well,” Ragnar observed.

  “Follow me,” Havoc said. “Unfortunately, our leader Zed is busy, so I’ll introduce you to the guild myself. Then we’ll talk about the rules and the roles available to you.”

  Havoc led them inside the fort like a tour guide, presenting each area with enthusiasm and ease—unlike Zed’s rough, forced manner during Ragnar’s first visit.

  It took about twenty minutes of introductions before she led them back to the fort’s courtyard and reminded them of the guild’s main rules.

  “Our philosophy is neutral and individualistic. We do not do favors. Any service rendered in the Black Paw’s name must be paid for. Remember: 30% of your earnings must be deposited in the Treasure Hall’s vault. Understood?”

  The three recruits agreed. When Havoc looked away, they glanced sideways at Ragnar, who reassured them with a wink.

  “Since it’s Saturday and you’re recruits, you’re off duty—so enjoy it.” She turned to Ragnar: “Next week we’ll find a mission to promote you to soldier.”

  “Can’t wait,” he said.

  Havoc bid the group farewell and headed to the stables at the back of the fort. Moments later she passed them mounted on a horse, riding toward the front gate.

  “Man, I want a mount too,” Skiff said.

  “Only sergeants may use the stable, my friend.”

  “You can buy a mule in Salem,” Artic added.

  “But even the cheapest will cost you more than 20,000 rubros,” Niki interjected.

  Skiff sighed, discouraged.

  Ragnar turned slowly in a circle, his eyes studying every inch of the fortress. The dark walls were manned by two sentries. The courtyard was occupied by just a trio of low-level avatars.

  “It’s time to plan the raid,” he said quietly to his group.

  “When?” Artic asked.

  “Today, after noon.”

  The three turned, astonished.

  “The guild leader is offline. Havoc just left. The second-in-command, although appearing online, is far from here.”

  “Seems reckless to rush it,” Artic said.

  “Reckless would be waiting. Each day that passes increases the chance they fix the recruits’ permission flaw. Didn’t you hear? The girl is already trying to send me on a new mission. If I accept, they’ll promote me by Monday.”

  “All right, got it,” Artic nodded.

  “Skiff,” Ragnar called. “It’s time to craft eight Megalotaur bags.”

  “On it.”