Chapter 3: The Hunting Portal

The night's cold had left me stiff. When I opened my eyes, the sun was timidly rising on the horizon, its first golden rays illuminating the streets of Drakathen. I rose from my spot, quickly brushing off the dirt that had accumulated on my coat. I had spent the night trying to survive the cold, and although it wasn't lethal thanks to my worn clothes, it certainly hadn't been pleasant.

Around me, the city was beginning to wake. Sleepy merchants were pulling out their wares, preparing their stalls with slow but expert movements. The smell of freshly baked bread, mixed with smoke from the furnaces, filled the air. Yet there was nothing welcoming about this scene. It was a world that seemed to function despite everything, like a machine that never stops, indifferent to its broken gears, like me.

I noticed a bench nearby and made my way toward it. Heavy legs and a troubled heart urged me to slow down. I sat down, taking a deep breath, and let my mind wander.

Orvhalis: A Cruel Land

Orvhalis. A cruel world where the weak succumb and the strong prosper. This was clear. But there was more. This world held secrets, mysteries that I had neglected to understand in the game. My ignorance, which I could once afford, now weighed on me like a boulder.

One of these mysteries was the Fellmire, a vast area covered by a thick grayish fog. I didn't remember much about it: during the game's cutscenes, I had skipped that part thinking it was boring. Now, however, that decision seemed like a massive mistake. I only knew that the Fellmire was created after the war of past sovereigns, but I had no idea who they fought against, what the war was about, what lies beyond this fog, or what mysteries it holds. One thing I did know was that we shouldn't go beyond that fog - it was said to be dangerous, which is why high-level guards were stationed there to keep watch.

And the taxes? I wondered. In this world, citizens were squeezed with heavy taxes, but there was no visible trace of improvement in their lives. Where did that money go? Who managed it?

There was so much I didn't know. My mind still wandered, analyzing every piece of information I could remember. Perhaps I could discover more with time. Perhaps...

I shook those thoughts away and focused on the present. The Hunting Portal. That was my objective. I thought back to what I remembered about its mechanics.

1) The portal opened every two weeks and remained active for an hour.

2)Once inside, you couldn't leave freely. You had to complete a randomly assigned mission: upon entering, you couldn't leave immediately; instead, a message would appear before you stating how many monsters you needed to kill to return. For example, if the message tells me to kill 10 monsters, I can't leave until I kill 10 monsters. Once done, I can decide whether to stay longer or leave. This varies for each type of fighter - if they're support classes, their quest is based on their abilities, like how much they need to heal and protect, and so on.

3)There actually exists a method to leave - the time inside the dungeon moves much more slowly compared to the outside world. A day in the dungeon equals one minute in the outside world, so if a fighter's family suspects something might have happened to their loved one, they can request an "immediate recall" by paying money to the guild. The mages who manage the portal can then recall them if they're alive. This usually happens when a fighter stays in the portal for too long. The player inside receives a warning that they will be recalled in a few minutes, so if they're alive, they grab what they can and prepare. This applies to the entire group - if one member is recalled, the whole group returns.

It was a ruthless but ingenious system, I thought. Everything in this world seemed designed to pressure you, to push you to risk a little more each time. And me? I had nothing to lose.

The sun was already high when I decided to spend my remaining money on a simple breakfast. A piece of dark bread and watered-down soup: it was all I could afford, but at least it gave me the strength to go on. I watched other fighters gathering in the square near the portal.

There were warriors with gleaming swords and sturdy armor, mages wrapped in intricate cloaks, and long bows decorated with glowing runes. Many of them had robust backpacks to gather resources or carry potions. Me? I had only my coat, its empty pockets, and a common dagger. It was a difference that weighed heavily, and not just on my shoulders.

I could feel the stares. Some turned to look at me, others exchanged knowing glances. A human. The weakest and least trusted race in this world. They didn't need to say anything; the contempt was clear in their eyes. "He'll probably die right away," they seemed to think. And perhaps they were right. But that judgment burned inside me. I was tired of being considered less than nothing. I had to be more careful because I was human - in this game, the races think poorly of and don't trust humans because they believe that since we're at a disadvantage, we might make some treacherous move. They're right to think so because many do exactly that, which is why the races prefer to stick with other races rather than humans.

When the guard shouted: "You may enter now! The Hunting Portal is open for one hour!", the crowd's murmur increased. Warriors hurried toward the portal, each with their own strategy in mind. I made my way through, trying to avoid drawing too much attention.

The portal's structure was majestic. Two black columns, decorated with intricate symbols that seemed to pulse with magical energy, rose toward the sky. Between them, a liquid, trembling surface reflected the sky above us, but it wasn't just a reflection: it was an opening to another world.

I paused for a moment before the portal. I could feel my heart beating strongly. Every part of me screamed to run away, to not enter. Yet, I took a step forward. Then another. Until I crossed that luminous barrier.