Edward
The next morning, Lua woke up in her home, lying on a rudimentary bed made of tanned hides and dry grass. Though it wasn't the most comfortable setup, ever since the arrival of the players, she had started to sleep better. A part of her was slowly beginning to enjoy the rest.
"Good morning, boss," said Sia, her voice always cheerful and robotic, echoing in Lua's mind as usual.
"Mmm," Lua replied, indifferent, with her usual blank expression—nearly absent—and her face still half-asleep.
"I have good news and bad news," Sia announced, her tone unusually serious.
That was enough for Lua to open her eyes fully. She frowned.
"What happened?" she asked.
"The good news is we received a small energy recharge. With it, we can summon a new player," Sia quickly explained. "The bad news… is that I already sent it. But I sent it to a computer… and it seems it got thrown out."
Lua raised a hand to her forehead, exasperated.
"First… what's a computer?"
…
"Edward Fool… what a peculiar last name," muttered a man as he flipped through some papers held in his greasy fingers. In front of him stood a thin, hollow-eyed man with a worn face and a visibly exhausted body. His slouched shoulders spoke volumes.
Edward wore the grayish uniform of factory workers—worn, wrinkled, and stained from years of labor. His beard was clean-shaven, more out of habit than vanity, but even that couldn't hide his pale, prematurely aged face.
Hearing the man mock his name, Edward managed only a faint, empty smile. It wasn't politeness—it was resignation. The man in front of him was not only his direct supervisor, but the head of the food processing plant where Edward had worked for years. A despicable man, one of many who clung to the small sliver of power the elves allowed them, using it to crush those below.
It was said the factory supplied food for the entire area—food for humans, of course, made cheaply with formulas left behind by the elves themselves. Allegedly, this man "worked directly for the elves," though Edward had never seen one in person.
"What did you call me in for, sir?" Edward asked with a neutral tone, trying to sound firm.
"Oh, right… you're fired," the supervisor said with total indifference, as if he were commenting on the weather.
He was a heavy man, bald at the crown, with a sweaty face and an immaculately pressed suit. It was obvious he lived far better than any of the factory workers, and he made sure everyone knew it.
"Excuse me?" Edward asked, thinking he must have heard wrong.
"Yeah, that's right. You're fired. Go to the payment center, collect your mana vials, and leave," the man repeated with a mocking tone, clearly enjoying the humiliation.
"But why? I… I work every day. Twelve hours without rest. I've never missed a day. Even when one of the machines crushed my finger, I kept working—"
The supervisor raised a hand to silence him, as if his words were mere noise.
"Yes, yes, I've heard it all before. You're a good worker—everyone says that. But look at you. You're worn out, weak. You can't even lift a crate. We'll find someone younger, stronger. That's how the system works. Now leave before I have to call security."
A wave of rage swelled in Edward's chest. For a moment, he imagined lunging at the smug bastard and punching him in the face. But he didn't. Years of slavery disguised as work had turned him into someone submissive, resigned. He simply lowered his head and walked out, heavy-footed.
As he walked away from the factory—a gray, cracked structure that never stopped spewing smoke—his thoughts were burning.
The elves had designed these facilities to produce just enough food to keep humans alive. They never intended to do the work themselves, so they handed down simple recipes—formulas with recyclable ingredients and no real nutritional value, just enough to keep their "stock" breathing.
Edward received thirty low-quality mana vials per month. It wasn't enough to feed even a small family. Thankfully, he had no one else to care for. Although, that also made him expendable.
There were other jobs—missions for the elves, off-world mining, suicidal expeditions—but all for the same reason: the elves wouldn't risk their own kind. Humans, on the other hand, were considered disposable resources.
"Damn it… Damn it… And why do you think I'm weak, huh? Because I've been working like a slave in this wretched factory! Twelve hours a day, never seeing the sun! Work, sleep, repeat. I don't even have time to use the damn bathroom in peace, you bastard!" Edward shouted as he kicked an empty box in one of the alleys he passed through every day on his way home.
"You're going to hire someone younger and stronger? For what? So they end up like me? Do you really think you'll be safe when the elves are done with us? Idiot! You'll meet the same end as the rest of us!" he yelled with fury, raising his middle finger toward the distant factory as its smokestacks filled the sky with more toxic clouds.
"Fuuu… damn it…" he muttered, grabbing his head and slowly collapsing against one of the alley walls. He sat on the ground, his back resting on the cold, cracked concrete, eyes fixed on the brown clouds that filled the sky.
"What am I supposed to do now…?"
He reached into his pockets and pulled out seven medium-quality mana vials. That was his entire pay for the month. Each one was worth four low-quality vials, so altogether he had twenty-eight. He was missing two, as always. No one would explain why, and complaining would only mean losing everything.
"At least they let me keep these…" he whispered. As he tried to stand, he placed one hand on the ground but touched something that made him stumble and nearly fall.
He looked at it with irritation… and then surprise.
It was a computer. A complete device, and it still had a medium-quality mana vial attached—only about ten percent of it had been drained.
"How lucky..." Edward murmured with a faint smile. He could simply take the vial and go on with his day. But a computer might be worth something.
Without thinking twice, he decided to take it with him.
So, even though the day had been bitter, at least luck had smiled on him—just a little. With the computer in his arms, Edward walked through the alleyways as he did every day, dodging puddles of contaminated water, rusted trash, and the occasional rat with glowing eyes watching him from the shadows.
Eventually, he reached a battered old metal door at the end of a dead-end passage. He pulled a rusty key from his pocket, slid it into the lock, and pushed. The door opened with a harsh creak.
The inside of his home was dark and cramped. Barely four meters on each side. The bathroom in the corner was even smaller—just enough room for a toilet, and if he wanted to bathe, he had to do it sitting down. The bed took up most of the space, leaving only a narrow path to walk. In one corner, a small metal table served as dining table, desk, wardrobe, and nightstand all at once.
Despite the conditions, everything was perfectly clean and organized. Edward, lacking control over his own life, kept his environment in near-obsessive order.
Sure, he could have occupied an empty house in better condition… but it wasn't as simple as just walking in. In this world, when a family abandoned a house—whether due to death, forced relocation, or simply vanishing—the property automatically fell under the control of the local gangs.
And if you wanted to stay in one of those places, you had to pay "protection."
Ridiculous, in theory. But a very real rule.
The only exception, according to rumors, was the so-called "School City," a district where these rules didn't apply. But moving there was a gamble. Crossing into a new zone could land you under the control of a gang even more violent or corrupt than the one before.
In contrast, the current area was run by a more pragmatic leader. He didn't bother those living in humble conditions. He only demanded protection payments from people living in large houses or trying to appear wealthy. And even then, if they didn't pay, they weren't attacked—just evicted and relocated to worse sectors… like Edward's.
He had heard stories about more dangerous mafia groups, ones that roamed remote towns, stealing mana vials by force. Some even used mana drainers—devices that extracted mana directly from the human body—and kidnapped women to drain even more. Rare, perhaps, but not unheard of in a half-collapsed world like this one.
Ironically, gang leaders usually protected the people living in their territory. The more people there were, the greater the mana flow under their control. It was a twisted system—but a functional one. Some said there was even a tacit agreement between gang leaders and what remained of the old government—a desperate attempt to prevent the world from falling into total chaos.
Edward let out a sigh as he set the computer down on his small table.
"I wonder what kind of idiot threw this away without taking the mana vial..." he muttered, scratching his head.
He leaned down to remove it. One hand gripped the vial, but as he moved the other, he accidentally pressed the power button.
The screen lit up with a soft blue glow.
"Tch… What a waste. Every drop counts," he muttered, reaching to shut it off. But what appeared on the screen caught his attention immediately.
[Hello, dear user.
Would you like to escape this world?
To live a completely different life?
To conquer lands and protect the weak?
Why not try this fantastic game called DRUNAI?
This invitation is unique. It could change your life forever.]
[Do you accept? (Yes) (No)]
Edward stood still, staring at the screen in silence.
He didn't know if it was a joke… or a trap. But for the first time in a long while, he felt something that wasn't fatigue, pain, or anger.
He felt curiosity.