Game Era – Lost Odyssey

The weightless sensation lingered for an unknown stretch until, with a thunderous bang!, Xia Feng felt his body slam into solid ground, shattering something beneath him. Pain ripped through him, his bones feeling like they’d come unhinged.

He lay still for a few seconds, waiting for the dizziness to fade before taking stock of his surroundings. He was sprawled flat on his back in a rickety, half-height fenced shack, its roof smashed open by his fall, revealing a pristine, dustless azure sky. A handful of chickens and ducks flapped out of the wreckage in a frantic escape, squawking protests all the way.

Outside, a few four- or five-year-olds gaped at him, too young to know fear, their faces etched only with astonishment. Their clothes were unlike anything Xia Feng had seen—straight out of a period drama’s background extras.

“Where am I?” Xia Feng struggled to his feet, realizing he was covered head to toe in duck feathers and chicken droppings.

“My family’s chicken coop!” the oldest kid piped up. Another, smaller one, peered skyward, then at Xia Feng clawing his way out of the coop, asking in a piping voice, “How’d you get up there? Can you take me too?”

“No clue how I got up there,” Xia Feng shrugged helplessly, reaching instinctively for his left pocket—only to find his clothes were entirely different. No pockets on this wide-sleeved robe, and naturally, no ever-present gum.

“What the hell did you do?!” A burly man in a short jacket and flared trousers stormed over, bellowing. Ignoring Xia Feng, he chased after the fleeing poultry, shouting, “Help me catch ‘em! If they get away, you’re paying—ninety coppers per chicken!”

Seeing the kids join the roundup, Xia Feng dashed after the birds. Once he sprang into action, the chickens and ducks were like turtles in a jar—no match for his lightning-fast grabs. In moments, he’d nabbed them all. The man gawked at Xia Feng’s wind-like speed, tongue lolling as he muttered, “Holy crap! With moves like that, you could be a courier—two silver coins a day, easy!”

“Where is this?” Xia Feng asked, helping stuff the birds back into their cage. The man replied, “Haiying Village in Jiagong County. Pretty remote—most outsiders don’t know it.”

“Jiagong County? Haiying Village?” Xia Feng frowned at the unfamiliar names. “What’s the nearest city?”

“That’d be Eastern Ling City to the east, about a hundred li from here. You’ve gotta know that one, right?”

“Eastern Ling City! The easternmost backwater of Eastern Xuan Kingdom? This is Real Illusion? This is the Atlantis continent!” A surge of excitement hit Xia Feng. He touched the broken coop, pinched his face—everything felt solid, real, not a shred of illusion! Hard to believe this wasn’t reality, just a construct in his mind!

He flung his arms wide, tears welling as he shouted to the world, “Atlantis! I’m finally here!” Sure, he’d been in this virtual realm before, living full cycles from birth to death, but each time he’d lost himself, unaware of a real world beyond, ignorant that his name was Xia Feng.

This time was different—he knew exactly who he was, why he was here, and his purpose. How many in this world of countless souls had that privilege?

As Xia Feng reveled, slightly unhinged, the man eyed him curiously, sizing up this outsider like he was a lunatic. Then he blurted, “Never seen you before. Where you from? Why’d you wreck my coop the moment you got here?”

Before Xia Feng could answer, the sky-curious kid pointed upward, chirping, “He came from there!”

“Don’t talk nonsense!” The man swatted his son’s head, then glared at Xia Feng. “I don’t care where you’re from—you smashed my coop, you owe me! Took me half a month to build it. You’re paying at least six—no, seven silver coins!”

Xia Feng cooled off, patting himself down. Nothing but the robe and a white cloak—no cash. He gave the man an apologetic grin. “Sorry, looks like I’m broke.”

“No money? That won’t cut it!” The man grabbed Xia Feng’s collar. “No cash, then hand over that cloak!”

The word “cloak” jolted Xia Feng. Haven’t tested this thing yet—does it even work? Let’s try it on him. Worst case, he thinks I’m nuts.

With that, Xia Feng pried the man’s hand off, ducked a few steps away, and crouched. Pulling the cloak over his head and body, he muttered the incantation: No one in the world can see me!

The cloak was thin, letting him faintly see through it. The man’s face flashed shock, then fear. Blind to Xia Feng right in front of him, he stammered at empty air, “Weird… could he be…”

His expression twisted into greater terror. With a thud, he dropped to his knees, kowtowing frantically, crying, “Great Mage, I didn’t mean to offend you! Please don’t be angry—I’m begging forgiveness!”

His head banged the ground with loud thuds, blood trickling within moments, yet he kept going. Inside the cloak, Xia Feng felt a pang of guilt. Reciting the incantation to drop the invisibility, he emerged, chuckling, “Just messing with you—why’re you kowtowing?”

His sudden reappearance spooked the man, who fell back on his rear, then crawled forward, sobbing, “Great Mage, I… I didn’t mean to disrespect you, please spare me!”

“I’m no mage!” Xia Feng clarified, touching his face. “Do I look that old?”

The man looked up dumbly, bewildered, unsure what to do. Xia Feng, fearing more haggling over compensation, waved him off. “Alright, alright, you’re forgiven. Get up. I’m outta here!”

He turned and bolted, not slowing until he’d left the village, finally catching his breath.

Outside, rolling hills stretched in every direction, blanketed with exotic wildflowers painting the landscape in breathtaking beauty. After washing off the filth in a stream, Xia Feng set off on his adventure.

Breathing in the floral mountain air, he recalled Atlantis basics: this was the northeastern edge of Eastern Xuan Kingdom, near the Eastern Ocean, a remote mountain region.

Eastern Xuan Kingdom folk, or Eastern Xuanese, were mostly yellow-skinned, black-eyed, and black-haired, so Xia Feng blended in fairly well.

Atlantis housed three main races: the populous yellow-skinned Eastern Xuanese; the white-skinned Great Westerners, who ruled the richest plains and built the mighty Great Western Empire; and the black-skinned Semu, driven by the Great Westerners into the western Gobi Desert, living in loose tribal coalitions sans a unified state.

Mix-bloods of all kinds existed too, though far fewer. In the southeastern desert swamps, outcast drifters from every race—shunned by their own—fled to the Southern Wilds, a barbaric land of evil spirits and fierce beasts, far from civilization.

Guessing Dumas’s destination, Xia Feng pegged the Great Western Empire as the likeliest bet. But on foot? No chance. He’d need a mount from Eastern Ling City first—a hundred li of mountain roads, peanuts for an elite extreme rider, though he wasn’t sure if a game li matched a real one.

With that, Xia Feng strode east along the mountain path, soaking in the dazzling wildflowers, crisp air, and spotless blue sky. This virtual world outshone reality by miles!

Meanwhile, in Poseidon, the Great Western Empire’s capital, atop the tallest sacrificial tower of the Great Poseidon Temple, the Chief Diviner shuddered. Pressing his eyes to the sky scope, he muttered in barely contained dread, “Calamity stars! Calamity stars! One, two, three—three of them! No, four—the last one’s so faint it’s nearly invisible, radiating an unprecedented evil and bloodlust! This paradise continent… it’s heading for chaos!”

A nearby attendant bowed, asking, “Mage, should we alert the Emperor, let everyone prepare?”

“Pointless, utterly pointless!” The Diviner stumbled from the scope, staring blankly into the void. “These four stars—Calamity, Chaos, Slaughter, Death—fell so suddenly, so swiftly, without warning. They’re too powerful, beyond anything we can counter. If only Grand Mage Stanma had mastered Sky Eye, we might’ve glimpsed their forms!”

“Then…” the attendant hesitated, “should we record today’s anomalous sky signs?”

“Of course—absolutely!” The Diviner waved excitedly. “Use indelible cinnabar, seal it in the secret archives. Write: On the eighteenth of May, third year of Emperor Richard’s reign, Great Western Empire, at 9:45 a.m., four stars—Calamity, Chaos, Slaughter, Death—fell. One in southeastern Great Western Empire, one in the Southern Wilds, two in northeastern Eastern Xuan Kingdom. Dire omens! Atlantis, land of peace, has twenty years of calm left at most.”

That was a common-sense guess. He couldn’t know these calamity stars wouldn’t wait twenty years to wreak havoc.

“Gods, give me a sign! How can the Great Western Empire dodge this unprecedented disaster?” The Diviner knelt on the tower, unmoving for ages. After a meal’s worth of time, he ordered, “Report to the Emperor and Grand Mage Stanma. Request a live sacrifice to appease Heaven and Earth and seek an oracle!”