"Hey everyone, One Hand Noah here! Even the mightiest goblin slayer needs a day off, right? So, treasure hunt time!" He gestured dramatically with his one good hand, the other resting limply by his side.

  "Found this old map – leads to Arthur Village. Think we'll find gold? Lost artifacts? Or just cobwebs and grumpy spiders? Chat, what do you think is waiting for us?"

  Noah's fake streaming is a lonely charade.

  He pretends to connect with an audience, hoping to fill the void of his isolation and find some semblance of solace.

  In past, Noah had been among the first to stream the game.

  He’d a career, a community, a connection. He’d even bought a new VRcam and VRmicrophone, eager to share his adventures.

  But the reality had been harsh.

  Unlike many RPGs where you can customize every detail of your character, DragonWar restricts this. You can't change your character's fundamental traits because they are based on who you are in real life.

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  He wasn’t handsome, like the top streamers. His jokes fell flat.

  Viewers drifted away, their comments turning from polite encouragement to cruel mockery.

  Eventually, he gave up.

  "If I can design a beautiful loli for my character, will it make me popular and successful, or is there more to it than that?"

  Noah, tracing the faded lines of the ancient map, muttered to himself,

  "Arthur...Sword Saint, then Dark Dragon...what a story."

  He ran a finger over a particularly worn section. "Four years ago, they whispered his name like a legend. Three years later, boom! DragonWar's final boss. Crazy." He paused, a frown creasing his brow.

  "But the treasure...that's what gets me. This map shouldn't even exist. The treasure's supposed to be long gone." He held the map up to the dim light.

  "So, what is this? A mistake? A fake? Or..."

  His voice dropped to a whisper, a flicker of excitement in his eyes.

  "Or did those player get it wrong? What secrets are you hiding, Arthur? What secrets are you hiding?"

  "Alright," Noah muttered, unfolding the brittle map with his good hand.

  "The treasure's gotta be here...one of these houses. Five hundred years old...a long shot, but hopefully some info survived."

  He scanned the deserted village square, wishing he could ask someone.

  "Darn it, no one. A thousand houses..." he sighed.

  Better than that Fucking forest, though. He glanced at his bandaged stump, wincing.

  "With this hand...my strength's halved," he mumbled, worry gnawing at him.