The chaos finally began to settle as the countdown ticked lower.
**9:… 8:… 7…**
Some players started checking their inventories, others tested their swings in the air — just like old times.
A few had… unconventional weapons.
"Look guys Explosive tags!"
"Eh? No way we're ninjas now?"
"Not quite look at this gourd!"
"Eh what does it do?"
"It heals!"
"It's a flask! This is a Soulslike, confirmed!"
"But there's no stamina bar?! What kinda rules are these?"
Laughter and confusion bounced through the air of the courtyard. with what looks like eastern structures in ruins in any direction we see.
And me?
I found a weapon stabbed into the ground just a few paces from where I landed.
Tall. Steel shaft. A sharp, angled blade at the tip.
And hanging from beneath the spearhead — a **banner**.
A deep **crimson flag**, weathered and torn.
And emblazoned on it:
A **golden comet**, streaking downward like a divine fall.
It pulsed faintly — as if acknowledging me.
I didn't know what it was.
But my hands moved before my thoughts did.
Like they remembered something I didn't.
===
Best Matching weapon for soul data held.
===
yeah.... interesting.
===
wave incoming, get ready.
enemies: 0/1.000.000
Players : 1000
(Respawn disabled for the first tutorial wave)
===
"OH! MUSOU GAME!?"
"Wait there's only 1000 of us?"
"I mean 1000 in a musou game is not much!"
"Let's kick some ass!"
"They gave me a flute? What do I do, play them to death!?"
"Bro, I got a broom!"
"And me a pan!"
It seems like the crowd is in high spirits.
I walked toward the edge of the area.
The crowd was still high on adrenaline and novelty, jokes flying like arrows before the first clash.
Me?
I walked toward the edge of the platform. Needed space. Needed perspective.
Turns out, we were on a raised **courtyard**, perched atop a massive stone hill. Moss crept along the edges. Statues of long-forgotten heroes lined the path, their faces worn smooth.
And below?
A valley of madness.
A sea of wooden dolls.
**Endless.**
Rank upon rank, shoulder to shoulder, weapons clutched in hand — training dummies with blank eyes and chattering teeth, moving as one.
A million of them.
And they were already marching.
United
Unnatural
Corrupted
"Guys! Look at that!"
"Whoa the demon king really looks like a commander with the flag and all"
"HAHAHA! Give us the command oh the one true king!"
"Yeah! At least lets have some fun RP-ing"
"Long may he reign!"
I said nothing.
This always happens in public lobbies.
Hype. Noise. Memes.
And me — standing quietly in the middle of it all.
I'm not the one for long speeches.
Less is more, they say.
So I raised the banner.
The golden comet blazed in the windless sky.
Cloth snapped. Steel hummed.
And with a voice just loud enough to be heard—
"Charge."
morale soared.
Bodies moved
First Contact,
===
progress: 4.000/ 1.000.000
===
"God this is fun!"
"Did you feel the impact! Holy shit devs! hold back a bit! you'll kill the entire industry!"
"Hey guys I think they all die in 1 or 2 hits!"
"Tutorial mobs, let's gooo!"
"Ouch! No I frames on dodge!"
"Yo—my hand! I lost a hand! But the flask... it grew back!"
They're right.
Each swing of my spear, each thrust of the flag-tipped pole, carved through swarms of puppets like slicing through tall grass. Their hollow bodies crumpled, limbs breaking like brittle branches.
And the **feeling**?
**Indescribable.**
The pounding in my chest — real.
The smell of splintered wood and sweat — sharp and earthy.
The resistance on every swing — perfectly tuned.
Weight. Drag. Follow-through.
Even the **momentum** felt correct — not just simulated, but earned.
It didn't feel like playing.
It felt like **fighting**.
One of them lunged — a larger puppet, faster than the rest, a jagged blade whistling toward my neck. Instinct took over. I twisted the shaft of my spear upward, just enough — clang! — the sound sharp, satisfying. Sparks flew. The force rippled through my arms as I redirected the strike, stepped in, and drove the butt of the pole into its chest. The puppet crumpled backward like a broken marionette. For a moment, the world slowed. Not lag — clarity. Perfect weight. Perfect timing. I didn't just block it. I understood it.
"Guys! The demon king just pulled a ripose!"
"Wait—WHAT!? It's a Soulslike!?"
"Let me try! Let me try!"
"There are elites! watch out guys!"
"Confirmed—parry and riposte are chef's kiss, but the timing? Brutal!"
"HEY! WATCH IT! Friendly fire's on?!"
The adrenaline still surged through me — a high I hadn't felt in years. It was too good.
Familiar. Electric. Like my body remembered what my soul had been missing.
But this wasn't just fun anymore.
This was getting… interesting.
I knew VR tech. Loved it. It kept me active, helped me stay in shape after retirement.
But this? This wasn't just playing.
It felt like living.
Then it hit me.
Not a blade — a feeling. The hairs on my arm stood on end. That battlefield instinct, forged over a thousand matches, screamed at me:
an elite,
"Guys, team up! Elites are live — they're spawning now!"
The blade came down.
Predictable.
Another twist of the shaft.
another opening.
*stab*
Another lifeless doll dropped, limbs folding in on themselves like a broken toy.
I scanned the battlefield.
Some were thriving.
Others? Struggling to keep their weapons steady, dodges sloppy, panic creeping in.
"Pair up!"
"Melee users take point — play defensive and wait for openings."
"If you're not used to Soulslike timing, fall back and cover range."
The words flowed out without thought — not shouted, not barked.
Just spoken.
**Command.**
Like breathing.
"Wait I think this is the time for these to shine"
and then
*boom*
"EXPLOSIVE TAGS!"
"WOOOHOOO GRANADES!"
"That's gonna leave a splinter! Haha—get it!?"
"oh shut up and keep throwing!"
Wooden bodies exploded mid-charge, shrapnel flying like confetti in a war zone.
Fire. Noise. Chaos.
And through it all…
I stood still, banner raised, watching everything fall into place.