Indeed, the young NPC had spoken the truth. Just as they hurled themselves through the city gates with every ounce of strength, the beasts arrived.
Erik heard a thunderous crash, followed by the anguished howls of the beasts. Glancing back, she saw that the towering creatures, each larger than the city walls, had been flung back by an invisible force surrounding the perimeter. They were hurled dozens of meters away, crashing into the dust in a cloud of earth and debris.
Those who had taken shelter inside—merchants, adventurers—went about their business with practiced nonchalance, sorting goods and processing entry permits. The gate guard barked, "Quit gawking and get registered!"
"The portal's over there," Erik said, spotting the shimmering ring of light under the gate.
"It only appeared after we entered. This instance is pure torment. Come on, let's go back," Edward wiped the sweat from his brow and stepped forward.
Erik glanced back at the city. There was something about it that tugged at her—an inexplicable allure that stirred a longing to explore further.
Her heart pounded. She took a step backward.
But clarity returned quickly.
No.
She couldn't.
The portal had materialized—if she lingered, it might vanish, trapping her here. This mysterious and perilous instance had already pushed her luck to its limit. She had no faith in surviving another desperate dash through the wilderness should she wait for the next cycle.
Suppressing the strange pull within her, Erik stepped into the circle of light.
The sky darkened. Somewhere on a slope near White City, a vast field of crimson ginger lilies bloomed—a sea of red brilliance that flourished year-round. As night fell, the red moon unique to the growth season rose high, casting its eerie glow over the blossoms, setting the crimson waves alight with even greater intensity.
Beneath the scarlet moonlight, two figures appeared to sit close together atop a boulder, gazing silently toward the city gates.
A breeze swept by, and the red blossoms rippled like a tide. The two silhouettes faded into the wind.
That breeze whispered toward the gate, brushing against Erik's cheek.
She lifted her head instinctively, sensing something. But in the next blink, she was back among the stone pillars.
**\[Player Erik has completed standard instance: Wasteland Migration. Points earned: 4.]**
A vague sense of loss settled over her. She stood unmoving for a long time.
After regaining her composure, she made her way to the exit. Having completed two standard instances that morning, she planned to return to the inn for some rest.
The task hall buzzed with noise and tension—players venting, weeping, cursing.
Since the instance entrances had been merged, players like Erik had entered standard instances back-to-back, while others, like Justin, were repeatedly thrust into horror-themed ones.
On the second day after the merge, player casualties surged.
Walking the streets of the transit hub, Erik noticed the thinning crowd. Where once new players had jostled shoulder to shoulder, now the streets lay unnervingly sparse.
A chill crept through her. Clearly, merging instance entrances was a calculated move—a method to rapidly and efficiently reduce the player base.
But why?
If the issue was overcrowding, they could have expanded the hub or limited new entries at the source. What was the point of granting the dead a second chance at life only to cast them back into oblivion?
It must benefit the game somehow. A wild thought struck Erik—if an underworld cycle truly existed, then perhaps this game was a glitch, secretly siphoning souls from the afterlife.
Over a meal, she voiced the theory. Justin laughed, then gently warned her not to dwell too deeply on the game's true nature. It was not a mystery meant for players to unravel.
Erik chuckled. "Just a random thought. By the way, what instance did you get this morning?"
"A horror one," Justin sighed. "Only did one. Spent the rest of the morning catching up with old friends. These days, the assignments are entirely random. Maybe the player population will stabilize over time."
The topic weighed heavy, so Justin changed it to lighten the mood.
"Oh, I recruited a new player, by the way. Said he'd stop by tonight."
"A new teammate?" Erik asked.
"Not sure yet—he said he wants to take a look first."
After an afternoon of rest and some light training, Erik headed to the task hall just past four o'clock. She picked a stone pillar at random and stepped into the light beneath it.
—
Within the \[Wasteland Migration] instance, after Erik left, the boy finally came to. But his companions were nowhere in sight. He opened his mouth to call out—only to forget who he was calling for.
He touched his head in confusion. He remembered his grandmother, the neighbors who had fled with them—and tears welled up in his eyes.
They had set out with over a hundred people. Now, he alone remained.
With hibernation season ending, White City's adventurers were preparing to hunt again.
The land beyond the shield was fraught with peril but rich in opportunity. With enough courage, one could gather vast resources—essential for surviving the next long winter.
The massive beasts that had once pressed against the city's barrier were soon hunted and slain by fearless adventurers.
Warm winds swept the earth, coaxing green shoots from the dead soil. More beasts dashed across the plains.
One day, as an adventuring party rested on a hillside, dozens of players began appearing out of thin air just meters away.
The instance continued.
Through the long growth season, waves of players entered—only to be wiped out entirely. At last, the instance's timeline reached its end. It reset. Winter returned. And with it, a new batch of players.
This time, three survived. But one, fleeing the thundering herd of beasts, ran the wrong way—and was driven farther and farther afield.
Miraculously, she survived. After White City's fireseeds repelled and cleared the beasts, she emerged from hiding.
She made her way back with an adventuring party. But just as they reached the city gates, the portal vanished before her eyes.
"Wait! Please wait!" Sherry ran, desperate, only to be stopped by the guards.
"You haven't registered yet!"
"Don't cut the line!"
Sherry was held back, tears streaming.
"Wait for me… please…"
But the portal had vanished.
Left behind in the instance, Sherry cried her heart out. Then, gathering herself, she resolved to survive in White City until the instance reset again.
Life in White City was grueling. She endured hardship after hardship. But she was no stranger to suffering—after all, survival was the game's premise. She adapted quickly. Seeing her diligence, the innkeeper eventually made her a permanent staff member—meals and lodging included, with a stable wage.
Settling down, Sherry began to understand the rhythms of hibernation and growth seasons.
She feared the instance might restart during growth—where survival was near impossible.
Despair colored her outlook—until one night, unable to sleep, she wandered to a nearby hill and found herself staring at a sea of ginger lilies bathed in crimson moonlight.
She had heard guests speak of its beauty, but this was her first glimpse.
"It's so beautiful," she whispered. And for a fleeting moment, all the sorrow tied to the instance dissipated, leaving only the breathtaking expanse of red flowers.
There was a stone nearby. She sat and gazed.
In time, she returned often. One day, she noticed that the stone bore carvings—simple etchings of three stick figures with round heads: two adults holding the hands of a child in between.
"Little… Little flower and her parents?"
So, it was drawn by a child named Little flower—a little girl, perhaps. Sherry smiled, thinking of her own childhood drawings scrawled across the walls at home.
This instance world… it felt far too real. The longer she stayed, the more her grasp on reality wavered.
Was this truly just an instance?
Could it not, in fact, be a real world?
During a work break, she mentioned the carving to her boss. The innkeeper squinted in memory. "That must've been Erik. I remember her. Loved those ginger lilies. Always said she was a flower too—called herself Little flower. Her parents adored her, spent every coin on her. I kept telling them to save up for a house or at least move to the inner city. This area's not safe. It's too far from the fireseed. Heard the closer you live to it, the better the chance for kids to awaken spirit bones…"
Over the months, Sherry had learned more about the fireseed too.
It was a strange phenomenon—the fireseed protected humanity, sustaining the cities amid this harsh land. It wasn't a sightseeing spot; she hadn't seen it herself.
The innkeeper, lost in nostalgia, continued chattering.
Sherry, wiping a table, asked, "So where's Little flower now? From what you said, she'd be in her teens, maybe older. I haven't seen her around."
The innkeeper paused. "Little flower…? Let me think. Oh, right. Must've been almost ten years ago. Her parents said they were sending her home—and then they just… left. Haven't seen her since. She'd be nearly twenty by now. Time flies."
Seeing how close the innkeeper had been to the family, Sherry pressed further. "What about her parents? I haven't seen them either."
The woman paused again, glancing around. "Her parents… they were just here, weren't they? Wait—why haven't they delivered the meat this month?" She called for her son:
"Hey! Where are Little flower's parents? Didn't they say they'd come by this month?"