Arch 1: "Arrival at the new dawn."— Chapter 8: "The brightest star in the constellation Scorpius."

Lyson finally reached the aged wooden door, his ash staff, polished by countless years of use, providing the necessary support for his weary limbs. His posture, despite the undeniable fatigue that age imposes, retained a serene dignity, a stillness that only years of experience can bestow. His deep, wise eyes fixed on the wrought-iron handle, a familiar object he had turned thousands of times. With a slow, almost reverent gesture, he extended a wrinkled hand, his fingers caressed the cold metal, and with a soft, imperceptible push, the door slowly opened, revealing the darkness of the threshold in just a few seconds that seemed eternal.



At the exact moment the wood yielded, the elderly Lyson, with the same unhurriedness that characterized him, stepped back, his staff scraping a faint sound on the wooden floor. He did so with the intention of yielding the way to the figure who, just moments before, had announced his arrival with a discreet knock. It was an ingrained act of hospitality, an ancestral custom that Lyson practiced with the naturalness of the air he breathed.



The next moment the door opened, the silhouette of a young man appeared in the doorway, casting an unusual calm that invited contemplation. His steps, upon entering the cabin, were of an almost ethereal elegance, devoid of any brusqueness, as if each movement had been perfectly rehearsed. This composure lent his figure an almost regal formality, a surprisingly rare quality in most people, especially in informal settings like the cabin. It was as if this young man was intrinsically familiar with such environments, moving with the grace of one who has inhabited these spaces forever.



His brown hair, neither excessively long nor too short, fell with natural nonchalance, lacking any artificial or elaborate style. He did not possess a figure that impressed with its musculature or that was thin to the point of insignificance; he was, in essence, slender and of a height comparable to Tsumiya's. His physique, at first impression, evoked that of an average person, which would easily allow him to go unnoticed in a crowd, blending into the surroundings without drawing attention.



—Even at a similar level to Tsumiya, with a normality that disarmed any attempt at immediate categorization.



However, despite this apparent normality, there was a singular detail in his attire that caught the eye: he wore an impeccably tailored black tuxedo, whose quality of stitching and fabric suggested it was practically new, radiating an unexpected sophistication. Beneath, a simple, yet equally immaculate, white shirt completed the ensemble. In his left hand, he held a briefcase, made of shiny, unblemished leather. But the most astonishing aspect of his appearance was the absolute neatness that enveloped him, as if dirt had never dared to touch his presence. Even his elegant black shoes, polished like ebony, seemed completely spotless, defying any trace of dust or mud from the road.



The young man with brown hair surveyed the interior of the cabin, lingering a moment longer than necessary on Tsumiya, who, still dazed by the sweet influence of the aromatic herbs, subtly raised an eyebrow in surprise at the newcomer's peculiar attire, as if he had never witnessed such a thing in his entire existence.



Lyson: [—It is my sincerest pleasure, Mr. Antares, to have the privilege of your presence among us again. I confess I held the belief that your visit to our humble village would occur in the coming days, which is why, unfortunately, I was unable to make adequate preparations for the surroundings you now observe.]



Lyson articulated these words in a calm and deeply respectful tone, as he closed the cabin door with a delicate push that barely produced a sigh from the wood. With the same calm, he moved towards the young man with brown hair, his staff marking a soft, rhythmic tapping against the wooden floorboards, a sound that was already an intrinsic part of the cabin's atmosphere.



Antares: [—There is no cause for the slightest concern, esteemed Lyson, for, at this very moment, there is no need to worry about the circumstances surrounding my arrival. I assure you that I possess a profoundly understanding nature and unwavering benevolence when it comes to comprehending the inherent flaws in the actions of others. There is no need for you to apologize to me; I myself fully acknowledge my own errors in presenting myself on a day that, under usual norms, would not be mine to arrive. I accept my mistake with all due humility, and indeed, it is I who offers you a sincere apology for the juncture in which we find ourselves conversing. Every word I utter springs from a genuine conviction, so it is absolutely unnecessary for you to embark on elaborate preparations for someone like me, especially in the difficult times that now beset us. He who has not committed a transgression should not feel burdened by the guilt of something that did not happen; that is a fundamental truth, a maxim that you should not deny. All that does not directly concern you becomes irrelevant to a person who prides himself on being reasonable, would you not agree?]



Lyson: [—Eh? Yes, you are absolutely right, I believe my previous words were somewhat unnecessary...]



For a fleeting moment, Lyson, whose figure usually radiated immutable tranquility and a slow wisdom, seemed to lose himself in a sea of confusion at the intricate words of the young man who, oblivious to everything, maintained his elegant posture unshaken. It was an ephemeral break in the elder's serene composure, a small crack in his usual temperament.



Meanwhile, Matthew, who until that moment had been leaning against the robust cabin wall, observed the young man who had just entered with subtle curiosity. However, his expression showed no recognition, for the newcomer's appearance was so intrinsically normal that it offered no anchors for memory. Thus, Matthew maintained an introspective silence, only to resume his relaxed posture, a stillness that was only briefly altered by Antares's appearance.



Varzgax's gaze, from the unexpected appearance of the young man with brown hair, retained its usual serenity. Nevertheless, an imperceptible rigidity took hold of his posture, a subtle tension that belied any indifference. There was something in his way of standing that suggested a recognition, a tacit connection with the unexpected visitor, as if, despite the outward calm, his inner self sensed a familiar and significant presence.



Antares: [—Putting aside the topic that has occupied us, I find it necessary to explain the reason for my unexpected and, I confess, premature visit. Although, as you rightly mentioned, my original intention was to present myself at the end of the month, an exceptional circumstance has precipitated my arrival. Recently, news has reached my ears of certain economic problems that have afflicted you, honorable leader of the village. Allow me to express that this situation is profoundly difficult for me to accept, and I consider it more than sufficient reason to justify my presence at this moment. Therefore, I have come to offer you my financial assistance personally and directly. As you well know, I consider myself someone who enjoys assisting others; I do not qualify it as mere kindness, but rather as the intrinsic satisfaction of knowing that people are not enduring hardship.]



Lyson: [———Thank you very much, Antares, your generosity has always been a beacon of hope for those of us who dwell deep in the Hyulkran forest.]



Lyson uttered these words in a whisper, a shade of relief tinging his voice. A slight laugh escaped his lips, a soft, musical sound that filled the cabin air. With lighter steps, he moved back towards a carved wooden chair, his body sinking into it with a more relaxed fatigue, as if an invisible weight had lifted from his shoulders. The smoke from the chimney, dancing in spirals towards the ceiling, joined the atmosphere, creating an aura of peace and warmth that enveloped all present.



Matthew: [—I think I've heard of you... Aren't you that merchant everyone talks about? The people you've helped usually refer to you as someone with a good heart.]



At that precise moment, Matthew, with his usual calm and serene tone, interrupted the silence to capture Antares's attention. The latter maintained an imperturbable expression, not so much of relaxation, but of deep nonchalance, as if nothing in the world could disturb his equanimity.



In response, Antares turned on his heels to face the man leaning against the wall. For a fleeting instant, a subtle shadow of confusion crossed his face, only to be immediately replaced by a more serene and unconcerned smile, as if he had discovered something of particular interest in the young man with blond hair, a new curiosity.



Antares: [—To be a good person? I do not believe, in the strictest truth, that I deserve such an appellation. Normally, an individual knows their essence from the threshold of their existence, and I must confess that I find myself in deep consonance with that idea. The mere possibility of being a person different from the one I have been seems to me, in my judgment, somewhat absurd. Do not misunderstand me, I simply find no solid foundation for conceiving an identity divergent from the one I cultivated in the past; even all your past actions will persist, indelible, despite any effort to mend the path; nothing, absolutely nothing, can alter the inescapable consequence of your actions. Am I being sufficiently clear with my words? —Of course I am, everything you need to understand I have already explained to you. I do not deserve the title of being a good person, because simply that notion is forged for those who are intrinsically good. I, for my part, consider myself quite normal, in the sense that you might come to understand in some future. It is not my intention to impose this perspective on you in an incomprehensible way; if you perceive it that way due to your own ignorance, then that is your mistake. My main reference is directed at what you might misunderstand in situations like this, when a person, perfectly harmonious in their being, is overwhelmed by something that was not theirs from the beginning.]



Matthew: [—I guess I wasn't wrong about you, after all, you're still quite kind.]



Matthew maintained an unbreakable composure despite Antares's dense rhetoric. He did not allow himself to be swayed by superficial judgment based on physical appearance or on the potential strengths the young man might develop. His perspective transcended the manner of speaking, however intricate it might be. For him, other people, without exception, were uniquely peculiar in their own way, each a universe of particularities.



—Antares, in his singularity, was no exception to this rule.



Tsumiya remained motionless on the white mattress, a persistent throbbing in his head, an echo of the pain that had accompanied him since his abrupt arrival in this new world. His eyes, still clouded by drowsiness, subtly shifted towards Antares's imposing figure, as if his thoughts, chaotic and disordered, struggled to focus and comprehend the unexpected visitor's presence. It was an internal struggle, a battle for clarity amidst the confusion.



But at that moment, Antares resumed his advance with those light, graceful steps that seemed to dance across the floor, heading towards the seat where Lyson, already in a well-deserved rest, was recovering from the fatigue inherent in old age. Antares's gaze, until then enigmatic, grew sharper and more concentrated, scrutinizing the scene with renewed attention, as if every detail held a hidden truth.



Antares: [—I am, if you allow me the generalized expression that most people tend to understand, a rather busy individual. My nature inclines me to be much more patient with the inexorable passage of time that governs our actions, but not having a free space in my weekly agenda that specifically aligns with this place, it is a circumstance that, unfortunately, I cannot control with the precision I would like, unlike most people. Therefore, my wish is for this conversation to be as concise and formal as possible, without the intention of usurping even a shred of your valuable time as the leader of a magnificent village. I offer you, personally, these coins that I have treasured since the beginning of the month; it is the only token of appreciation that, as a humble servant, I can give to others. —I place immense trust in you, Lyson. I know that a man as wise and experienced as you possesses an exceptional capacity in all aspects of daily life, and, therefore, is intrinsically responsible, guided by the morality of his actions rather than by the superficial value of money, despite its representation as a system that often generates conflicts, distorting what we truly value. That is the fundamental reason for my offering to a person of your caliber. I am a simple merchant; I cannot express to you with the eloquence you deserve how truly admirable you are, even in accepting my disrespect for arriving on such an unusual day and under circumstances unknown to you.]



Lyson: [—I am deeply grateful to you, Antares. Your help has been a fundamental pillar in alleviating our economic concerns. Honestly, I don't understand why most people fail to recognize the immense kindness that radiates from your being.]



Lyson uttered these words in a barely audible tone, a subtle smile gracing his lips, a laugh that revealed a strange and pleasant warmth at the situation. He had known Antares for a long time, a familiarity that, in some way, had made him a constant and appreciated figure in every community he visited.



But without further delay, Antares opened his briefcase, from which he extracted a small cloth bag, whose jingle suggested the presence of coins. With a precise movement, he tossed the bag towards Lyson, who caught it with surprising, almost instinctive ease. The coins contained in the bag represented the economic aid destined for the village, which had recently faced difficulties, not due to a shortage of primary resources, but due to the inability to acquire higher quality goods in a short period of time.



For Tsumiya, still in the vague dizziness that clung to him on the mattress, Antares's subtle action evoked distant memories of his past, of free afternoons spent immersed in virtual worlds, among the video games he loved so much.



※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※



—Although, in the grand tapestry of existence, this observation may seem irrelevant, there is an intrinsically curious relationship between this event and the system that has governed and continues to govern the vast majority of video games, not only in the present, but also in the past and, very probably, in the future yet to come.



[Level 1]



—This concept, "Level 1," represents the unavoidable starting point. It is the dawn of every experience, the moment when each individual, from their first breath, begins their journey. It is the fundamental premise that, in every action we undertake, from an infant's hesitant first step to the formulation of the most complex word, we all start from a state of absolute inexperience. It is an intrinsically progressive process, a natural law that governs the development of living beings, especially in us, human beings, the species that, by its own right, has ascended to the top of the global food chain and dominated its environment. It is the stage where ignorance is total, but potential is infinite, where every action, however minuscule, contributes to the construction of the self, to the accumulation of experiences and knowledge that, in time, will forge identity. It is the cradle of learning, the phase where every mistake is a lesson and every small achievement, a victory that propels forward.



[Cheat Skill]



—However, within this narrative of constant progression, there are "Cheat Skills," a concept that introduces a disruption in the logic of gradual development. These skills represent the exceptions that, astonishingly, ignore or subvert the main law of progressive evolution. In the realm of video games, they are tools or capabilities that grant disproportionate advantages, allowing the player to skip learning stages or overcome challenges with unheard-of ease. In a broader context, they refer to those individuals or groups who, through a combination of innate talent, exceptional circumstances, or a deep understanding of life's "rules of the game," achieve extraordinary results with seemingly minimal effort. Often, these people seem to have "broken the game" of linear progression, reaching levels of mastery or success that defy the logic of gradual development. They are the prodigies, the visionaries, those who seem to be "playing with an advantage." This term has also been extended to describe individuals so exceptionally skilled that they seem to operate on a different level, generating a mixture of admiration and awe. The existence of these "Cheat Skills" in real life forces us to question the uniformity of progression, suggesting that the path to mastery is not always a slow and steady ascent. There can be shortcuts, unconventional methods, or innate talents that allow some to transcend the limitations of ordinary development, achieving adaptation earlier than linear progression would suggest.



[Hero]



—The concept of "Hero" is, in essence, a fundamental narrative in most cultures and in the very structure of fiction, and its definition, though seemingly simple, encompasses profound complexity. A hero is that individual who, despite their undeniable flaws, their human imperfections that anchor them to reality, maintains an unwavering adherence to justice and nobility. Their primary motivation lies in the desire to provide equity, to restore balance, to defend what they consider right. And the most crucial aspect of this definition is that this pursuit of justice and nobility often occurs at the expense of their own well-being. It is an idea that can, at the same time, bless them with a transcendent purpose and corrupt them with the immense burden of their responsibilities. The blessing lies in the positive impact their actions have on the world and on the people around them, in the inspiration they generate. Corruption, on the other hand, manifests in personal sacrifice, in the invisible wounds of the soul, in the solitude that often accompanies those who bear the weight of great ideals. A hero is not perfect, but their imperfection is what humanizes them and makes them relatable, while their unwavering commitment to a just cause elevates them above the ordinary.



[You are not like that...]