The tall man with dark, slicked-back hair studied Freya carefully before addressing her. “I would like to invite you to join our team. We have a lot more experience than this buffoon and, if I may say, you are quite stunning. You definitely deserve someone better than him.”
One of his companions chimed in. “This guy is only an amateur level 50. Look, his name is Broken-no wonder. Maybe the contents of his head are broken too?”
“What is he doing at such a low level in a place like this? This is a town with high-level monsters-seriously, what’s a level 50 player doing here? Are you bored with your life and just want to end it in the game? It’s not worth it-why don’t you just quit the game and hang yourself from the ceiling?”
His colleagues roared with laughter at the cruel joke.
Broken rose from his chair, his expression darkening ever so slightly. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Freya grabbed his wrist, desperately attempting to pull him back.
“Broken…,” she whispered urgently, knowing that engaging with people like them in such a crowded place would only lead to trouble, especially since the bullies likely had more allies nearby.
“Look at him, he’s standing up. Does he feel insulted? I wonder what he’s going to do, hahaha,” one of them sneered.
“Maybe he’s scared and wants to leave? What can he possibly do against high-level players like us?”
“Hey, newbie, did you just start this game? Do you think it’s easy?” one of the men jeered. “You know, we’ve been playing this game for six years, Yunatea time! Imagine that!” He reached out to push Broken, but Broken deflected his hand with a swift motion.
“Wow…” The man looked genuinely surprised. “Look at his courage, hahaha. Do you guys think he wants to fight us? Haha!”
Freya’s voice dropped to a whisper as she pleaded, “Broken… let’s just go…”
But instead of backing down, Broken’s lips curled into a thin smile. His eyes locked onto the long, black-haired man with a steely resolve.
“Leave us alone… I’m not interested in dealing with you,” he said firmly but calmly.
The black-haired man’s eyes narrowed. “You think you can just tell us to leave and we’ll comply? Do you even know who you’re talking to?”
Freya immediately stood up, grabbing Broken’s arm with urgency. “We’d better go. There’s no reason to stay.”
The black-haired man smirked. “So… this cute, low-level player is angry because he’s being troubled. I wonder what you can do to us? Duel? Let’s do a duel. I’ll show you how worthless low-levels are here.”
His remarks were met with a chorus of laughter from his companions.
“See, this beautiful woman is only burdened with her stupid friend,” another man added, his eyes roaming lewdly over Freya. “You’d better let your beautiful friend join our party before it’s too late.”
One of the men reached a hand towards Freya’s cheek, but Broken swiftly intercepted, brushing the hand away with a sharp movement.
“She is not pleased with your presence,” he said coldly. “So I suggest you leave immediately.”
Instead of backing down, the group of men laughed even harder, their faces contorted with disdain as they jeered further. “So what if we don’t want to leave? Do you want to cry and beg, or do you want to get angry and try to teach us a lesson?”
Freya tightened her grip on Broken’s arm. She knew that confronting these high-level players could lead to disastrous consequences, especially as they were clearly spoiling for a fight. Broken, however, remained resolute. “You won’t get either from me,” he said. “But you’ll regret underestimating us.”
One of the high-level players stepped forward. “Big words from a low-level newbie. But words are just that-words. How about you back them up with some action?”
Broken shook off Freya’s hand gently, stepping forward to face the black-haired man directly. “Fine, you want action? I’ll give you action. But you’ll only end up embarrassing yourself.”
The black-haired man drew his sword, its blade catching the dim light of the tavern, and pointed it threateningly at Broken.
“So be it. Let’s see if you can handle even one strike from me.”
Broken frequently encountered similar situations. Within the game, it was commonplace for higher-level players to treat those of lower levels with disdain. Social status in the game was exceedingly important because many people played to escape their real-life struggles.
When players found teammates they could rely on and felt rewarded for their efforts, they often became arrogant, flaunting their successes by belittling others. This kind of behavior, although unfortunate, was very common.
In earlier times, Broken might have chosen to back down and leave when faced with such treatment, as he didn’t have much time to waste on confrontations. However, things were different now. He had more time and felt confident that he could at least hold his own in a one-on-one battle. After all, Polly was level 140, and even she would easily stand in a one- on-one fight against some of these players.
“I don’t fight without a worthwhile reward,” Broken said. “Tell me, what do I get if I manage to withstand your attacks or even defeat you?”
The black-haired man laughed. “Hahaha, look at this guy’s confidence. I’m quite impressed with his bluffing, trying to look cool in front of a woman.”
“That’s natural,” another sneered. “He can’t look scared in front of a woman he loves, can he? That deserves some respect, but we should give him a proper lesson as well.”
“Hey, fool,” they continued. “Tell me, did you set your spawn point in this town? Make sure you set the spawn point here so I can watch you reduce your level to zero. Haha.” Broken remained undeterred. “Tell me, what do I get if I manage to defeat one of you?” he pressed on. frёewebηovel.cѳm
Suddenly, a rumble of thunder echoed from outside the door, and a gust of wind blew it open with an ominous creak. The room fell silent as three figures strode inside.
Leading the trio was an imposing man who towered at an impressive height. He wore a brown leather coat adorned with thick fur along the collar and cuffs, giving him a rugged, almost primal appearance. His short-cropped hair was tousled in disarray, reminiscent of a savage
beast ready to pounce.
Beside him walked a man with sunglasses, his face hidden in shadow, lending him an air of mystery and menace. The last member of the group was an old mage, his wrinkles tracing a map of deep wisdom and experience etched over his weathered skin. His eyes seemed to glow with knowledge, and his presence radiated a quiet but undeniable power.
The three figures carefully scanned the room, their gazes piercing through the crowded tavern. Conversations halted, and the once lively room fell into an uneasy silence. The air was thick with tension, and every patron felt an immense presence looming over them. They looked up in shock and awe, their eyes widening at the sight of the trio standing before them.
“They are members of the Ass Guild…” someone whispered.
“That’s Maylock, the smartest person in the Guild; Goldrich, a mage who possesses the most spells of any player in Immortal Legacy; and Kingsley, a versatile tank who could rampage alone at the front row of any battlefield.”