The world was beautiful beyond measure.
Birdsong filled the air, petals drifted lazily on a breeze too vivid to be unreal, and sunlight filtered through fluffy clouds onto an endless expanse of jade-green grass. Every sense was alive. Even at just fifty percent tactile realism, the game world of Cycle Protocol felt sharper than the real one. This was not immersion—it was rebirth.
And yet, beneath all that beauty, I felt a strange weight—like the world was watching me back.
As flashes of light signaled fresh arrivals at the spawn point, players poured in by the hundreds. Half surged toward the village center, the rest dispersed toward nearby plains. Most looked wide-eyed, clutching starter clothes and empty inventories.
I checked my own status:
Name: KaiMoren
Class: None (Civilian)
Level: 1 (0%)
Attributes:
Strength: 7 (Attack Power 70, Carry Limit 35)
Constitution: 7 (HP 140, Defense 70)
Agility: 8 (Movement 4m/s)
Intelligence: 8 (MP 160, Regen 1/10s)
Insight: ?
Luck: ?
Fatigue: 0/100
No weapons. No gear. Only a 50-slot storage belt, a plain cloth tunic (DEF +0), and worn grass sandals (AGI +0). Both weightless, at least. No new player weapon? Cruel game design.
The in-game system guide emphasized realism in every element: injury zones affected individual stats, fatigue built gradually with each action, and gear weight affected mobility. If I exceeded 80% of my carry capacity, I'd suffer mobility penalties. At 100% fatigue, death would come from simple exhaustion. It wasn't just about stats—it was about smart survival.
"This is more than a game," I muttered aloud, almost surprised to hear my own voice break the silence.
Instead of following the crowd to the quest boards, I made a quick decision: head for the outskirts.
Outside the newbie village, the grasslands stretched wide. Players were already whacking away at livestock-level mobs—Level 1–4 chickens, ducks, pigs, sheep. Most were unarmed, punching feathered creatures bare-handed. Chickens had around 30 defense, ducks maybe 35, sheep up to 50. Not dangerous, but inefficient without a weapon.
I ignored them.
With base stats already totaling 30, I wasn't here to waste time. No self-respecting pro player farms poultry for scraps.
According to the system guide, monster experience scaled steeply:
Levels 1–9: Level × 1–10
Levels 10–19: ×10–100
Levels 20+: ×100 upward
And each level above your own added 10% bonus XP. Killing something ten levels lower? No XP. Efficiency was everything.
I crossed the grassland quickly, eyes set on a sparsely wooded glade. Few had ventured here yet. After scanning for threats, I slipped between the trees.
A felled log caught my eye. An idea sparked.
With a little effort, I snapped off a thick branch. No tools, but my Strength stat gave me the edge. A rough tree limb three meters long, heavy and awkward. I found a jagged stone and began grinding one end down to a crude point.
Ten minutes later, I had a makeshift spear:
"Crude Wooden Spear"
Attack +7 | Durability 20/20 | Weight 3
It wasn't pretty. But it was mine. I gave it a few test swings—clumsy, but manageable.
Moments later, two Level 5 elk emerged from the treeline. I tensed—but then came a rustle. A heavy snort.
A Level 9 wild boar barreled through the underbrush, charging directly at me.
My heart pounded.
Nine levels up. Dangerous. But the XP...
As it neared, I sidestepped and lunged.
My spear jabbed straight into its right eye.
A scream split the air. Blood poured from the wound. A red number floated: –44 (Critical Hit: Weak Point!)
Reality-driven combat systems worked. Reflexes mattered.
The boar staggered. It bled at –5 HP/sec, just like the manual said. Bleed DoT, realistic model. It charged again. I dodged, slashed. Repeated. After a harrowing dance, it finally collapsed with a grunt.
Loot: 2 Copper Coins, 1 Boar Tusk
The tusk was nondescript. I pocketed it anyway. The coins went into my pouch—minor weight, but counted toward total carry.
And best of all: I dinged.
Level Up: Level 2
+2 Stat Points
I dropped 1 into Strength, 1 into Agility. Solo players needed burst and speed. Healing potions were expensive this early.
The elk were long gone. I pushed deeper into the woods.
Over the next hour, I downed eight more boars. The forest darkened as I neared 3 kilometers in. The drops? Slim, but useful: 14 copper, 2 more tusks, and one crude armor piece:
Boarhide Vest: DEF +16 | Durability 30/30 | Weight 3
Not great, but better than nothing. I threw it on. New stat spread:
STR +1
CON +1
AGI +4
Total: Level 5 (59%)
The hunting process wasn't easy. The boars grew more aggressive the deeper I went—almost as if someone had tuned their AI to detect patterns in player movement. Some even flanked. One broke my wooden spear—its tusk caught my weapon mid-strike, snapping it in two. I barely managed to finish it off with a sharpened branch scavenged nearby.
"That wasn't luck," I muttered, glancing at the beast's collapsed body. "They're learning. Or someone's watching."
By the time I sat against the trunk of a giant ash tree to catch my breath, my fatigue had risen to 62. I devoured a piece of starter ration—a dry, biscuit-like block that restored a bit of stamina and dropped fatigue by 15.
Suddenly, my interface flickered.
[SYSTEM NOTICE: Unstable Signal Detected - Legacy Anchor Pulse Intermittent]
A compass overlay appeared—northwest, pulsing faintly. The Echo was calling again.
I stared out toward the forest shadows, heart pounding, breath slow. The first steps had been taken.
This wasn't just another game.
It was a second life.
And somewhere ahead, its truth waited to be unlocked.
System Log (Hidden): Observation Level escalated to Tier 2. Legacy Beacon Response: confirmed.