I made numerous unsuccessful attempts to log off before gradually realizing that I was unable to exit the game. I tried swiping the air to bring up the menu or find an exit but failed. The outside world seemed to have vanished. I initially experienced the well-known panic attack, my heart racing as I made repeated attempts and ran my fingers through the air in the hopeless search for a way out. Ultimately, the crushing realization dawned on me: I was unable to escape.

  To my surprise, though, I felt no remorse. Rage or dread didn't overwhelm me. A peculiar calmness washed over me if anything. As a matter of fact, I had no real-world attachments. If I vanished, there wouldn't be anyone on the other side of the screen waiting for me, so nobody would be concerned. I had lost both my younger brother and my parents. My former pals had moved on, and I had become less of a person and more of a ghost in recent years. I was just existing; I wasn't living. Therefore, playing this game didn't feel like a prison. It seemed like a fresh beginning.

  I accepted whatever had led me here. I chose not to obsess about the mystery. I didn't understand the circumstances behind my selection or how it had occurred. Now, survival was the only thing that counted. Following the rules was crucial for my survival in this virtual world.

  I started by evaluating what I had. I surveyed my possessions, as few as they were. I had a tiny waterskin and a couple of loaves of bread that were still edible. A sword, encased in a scabbard that appeared dependable despite its wear, was likewise at my hip. I quickly looked in my pouch and found about 1,000 denars. Although it wasn't much, it was sufficient to get by for the time being. Regrettably, unlike most VR games, I did not have a magical inventory system. There was no convenient way to store my belongings. I had to physically carry them on my person or in my hands. It provided a fleeting yet profound reminder that this world differed from the ones I had grown accustomed to in video games.

  I experimented with opening menus for inventory, character stats, encyclopedias, and anything else that would help me gain more control over my circumstances. However, nothing was present. No floating icons or pop-up windows. I felt as though I lacked every resource I would expect a protagonist in one of these "trapped-in-a-game" tales to possess. All I had was my sword, some bread, and the future.

  I tore off a piece of bread and chewed it attentively while washing it down with a few gulps of water. I felt the raging hunger in my stomach. Bread's faintly yeasty scent permeated the air, and it was dry and a little stale. I had to find out where I was and what I should do next. The positive news was that I was already somewhat familiar with the Bannerlord realm. I had spent many hours playing the original game, ingraining the history, the cities, the factions, and the land's topography in my mind. I could find my way around if this world was like I remembered.

  I inhaled deeply as I collected my thoughts. A blend of earthy soil and the subtle taste of smoke from distant fires permeated the air, adding to the world's rustic atmosphere. I socialized with the merchants and listened to their chatter over the course of the following few hours. They discussed Calradia's political situation, the rivalries for control, and the threats that were everywhere. The details gradually came together, and I was shocked to see that they aligned with my recollections of the game.

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  The Aserai lay across the wide desert to the south. They were traders, experts in business, and bargainers. Their caravans managed the movement of products into and out of the southern regions of Calradia, despite the harshness of their territory.

  The Vlandians, a group to the west, were formerly pirates before they took control of the fertile regions. Their crossbowmen and knights, who were skilled in both melee and ranged combat, were their greatest asset.

  The Khuzaits resided in the grassy steppes farther to the east. They were a confederation of wandering tribes who were unmatched horse archers, capable of moving with lightning speed and hurling arrows at their adversaries.

  The Sturgians, who looked like the old Nords, lived to the north of them. They were as hardy and vicious as the places they called home, the frigid northern mountains where winter reigned all year round. Their fighters were known for their fierceness and tenacity in combat.

  East of Valandia was Battania, a group of barbarian tribes that had a strong bond with the forest and the natural world. They held enormous respect for their homeland's sacred trees and traditional customs.

  The shattered remains of the once-powerful Empire were located in the centre of Calradia. With an iron fist, it had ruled over the other factions, dominating the world. However, the empire had broken up into three fighting factions with the passing of Arenicos, the last Emperor.

  Rhagaea, Arenicos' widow, claimed to continue her late husband's heritage as the head of the Southern Empire. Garios, a former army commander under Arenicos, commanded the Western Empire and considered himself the rightful heir. Lastly, the Northern Empire rejected both Rhagaea and Garios and was a loose alliance of strong aristocrats who had seceded from the central government. The once-great empire was now in danger of collapsing as each party fought for dominance.

  As of just now, I was in the Western Empire, close to a town outside Zeonica, one of the major cities in the area. I heard in the village that Zeonica was planning a tournament shortly; if I could safely reach there, it would be an ideal opportunity for me to learn more and potentially acquire some resources.

  However, the path to Zeonica was perilous. Travellers and caravans were the prey of bandits and raiders who prowled the countryside. I was aware that I couldn't travel alone. Luckily, a few villagers were getting ready to go to the city to sell their extra grain. I seized the opportunity to assist in escorting the items when they required additional assistance. They rewarded me with a meager five denars for my efforts, but I was determined to ensure the safety of numbers.

  I found my thoughts wandering that night as I lay on the rough floor of the village barn where we had congregated to rest prior to our adventure. The sounds of the surrounding village were both familiar and strange. Playing Bannerlord on a computer was one thing, but being in the middle of the world, where I had spent years studying, was quite another. I felt both at home and out of place.

  The morning arrived swiftly, and I heard the village coming to life as I awoke. The other escort group members, a motley crew of farmers and merchants, were already getting ready for the trip. I packed up my things and went to join them. A total of twelve of us were travelling toward Zeonica in a small caravan. I positioned myself at the back, ready for anything, my hand on my sword's hilt.

  When we headed out, the crisp morning air was still holding on to the last of the night's chill, and the sun had just risen. My sword's subtle metallic tang blended with the aroma of dew-soaked grass, reminding me of this world's beauty and peril. I had a sense of purpose for the first time in a long time, even if the road ahead was lengthy and unknown. I was no longer merely getting by.

  As we marched towards Zeonica, I realized that I had become a part of something, no matter how small. I was now living this story.