Fantasy Burst Online: A LITRPG NOVEL

Chapter One

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The inn’s wooden door creaked behind me as I stepped into the bustling city of Aelpine, or as everyone called it, the Starting City. Pausing on the stone stairs, I let the faint, smoky scent of chimney fires and freshly baked bread wash over me, if only for a moment.

It should have been comforting, maybe even nostalgic. Instead, it reminded me of exactly where I was.

I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, my eyes scanning the footpath below. Cobblestones wound between squat buildings, leading to a wide plaza across the street. Before it stood the Record Building, which owed its name to the stone monument listing names of every player who logged into this game... and was subsequently trapped here.

A modest fountain burbled softly at the plaza's heart, its gentle gurgle barely masking the muffled sobs of a player slumped on a nearby bench.

A week ago, this place had been alive with excitement. Player after player had spawned here, trading stories, laughing, and marveling at the detailed designs of this so-called paradise.

Now it was quiet, save for the normal babble of the city around them.

People moved through the streets like muted waves, their tunics loose, belts poorly adjusted, swords and axes hanging from scabbards that clearly hadn’t seen use. Some didn’t move at all. They pressed against walls or sat slumped in shadowed alleys. Their eyes were fixed on the ground as if trying to will themselves invisible.

Near the fountain, a group argued about something I didn’t care to overhear. Another sat in hollow silence, broken occasionally by a choked sob that pierced the fragile calm.

I couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t every day you logged into a game and discovered it had become your prison, where dying three times wasn’t just game over but life over. No respawns, no retries. Just a fried brain back in the real world, and the lucky ones watching your fate play out like a gladiatorial match from the safety of their couches.

"Bet my body’s drooling on my pillow right now," I muttered under my breath as a wry smile tugged at my lips. "If the headgear doesn’t melt my brain first."

Some might say humor was a poor coping mechanism. I’d argue those people weren’t coping at all.

I adjusted the leather pouch of gold at my side and shifted the sword on my hip before heading down the street. My boots clicked softly against the cobblestones, mingling with the subdued hum of the city around me.

Aelpine had its charms, though. Its sturdy stone walls, towering gatehouses, and sprawling market square gave it an almost picturesque appeal.

Peddlers lined the streets with stalls, but most of their wares were either overpriced scraps of metal or potions that likely wouldn’t save anyone on a pinch.

The buildings, with their pale stone walls, wooden beams, and stained-glass windows caught the morning sunlight. They looked like something out of a storybook.

The roads between them stretched out in neat grids, leading to the edges of the city where the stone gave way to dirt paths winding toward the surrounding woods.

I passed a young man gripping a sword too heavy for him, his lips moving as he muttered under his breath. Nearby, a girl leaned against a wall, hugging her knees and trembling. Sad, really.

Not that I was any better when this nightmare began. The denial, the anger, the crying. It came in a package deal for most of us. But eventually, you either got up or you didn’t.

I got up. Not because I was stronger or braver, but because crying wouldn’t stop the Gamemakers from keeping us here. It wouldn’t win the game, and it sure as hell wouldn’t keep my brain from frying. Surviving mattered. And right now, surviving meant staying focused.