He was perfectly happy doing what he should be doing—sitting in his cozy crafting corner, surrounded by bubbling flasks, dried mandrake root, and slightly suspicious glowing mushrooms. Going outside was not part of the deal. Going outside was gross.
Victor, the guildmaster of Prosperous Guild, gave him a tired look. “Ren, you know we’ve been stuck at the last challenge in the level 50 dungeon. The boss nukes all potions unless they’re crafted on the spot. We’ve tried with a couple other clerics, and… yeah. No use. Their alchemy’s too low. And if we go with a pure alchemist, we’re short one in the party. With a five-man raid, that’s suicide. So yeah, we need you.”
Ren frowned. “Victor, my guild contract specifically says I don’t have to go out.”
And for good reason.
Dusty roads.
Sweaty armor.
MONSTERS.
And worst of all—dying.
Towerbound, as the most immersive VR game ever made, had shattered every previous benchmark in the industry. Real sound, real sight, real taste—and unfortunately, real feeling. Yeah, you could tone it down, but even with his pain settings at 10% (the lowest allowed), dying still sucked.
He’d died once early on. Just once.
Took him three days to log back in after that.
Only returned because his real-world phone wouldn’t stop ringing—reminding him he technically had a guild contract to fulfill.
That’s when he’d added the all-important clause:
No dungeon runs. Ever.
He was the guild’s best alchemist, not some glory-seeking raid monkey.
Victor rubbed his face. “Look, we wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. We’re training another cleric with alchemy, but he’s not ready. It’ll be at least a month before he can craft mid-tier healing potions, and you know how important timing is.”
Ren raised an eyebrow. “This about reputation?”
Victor didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Prosperous Guild hadn’t been very prosperous lately.
Once a top VR guild, riding high from early clears and media buzz, they were now… stale. No first clears in six months. Whispers in the forums. Mocking memes. Reddit threads titled “More Like Mediocre Guild LOL”.
Ren sighed. He liked being indoors. He liked his quiet. But his cushy crafting position did rely on the guild not falling into obscurity.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Fine. I’ll go. But I expect extra pay.”
Victor perked up. “No problem! Normally, as you know, we pay out in guild points.”
“I don’t want guild points,” Ren said flatly.
He didn’t. He already had all the gear he needed. He was the top alchemist in the guild. If he wanted something, it was usually handed to him. Drops that were alchemy related auto-allocated to his inventory by priority.
Guild points were meaningless.
“What about credits?” Victor offered. “We can convert your guild points into direct credits. Black market rate, if needed.”
Ren’s eyes lit up.
“Now that’s more like it.”
Technically, credits weren’t transferable from the game’s banking system, but guilds had all kinds of ways around that. Legal? Not really. Useful? Absolutely. Credits could buy you real food, rent, fancy VR upgrades—or more importantly his real passion: fancy cheese.
He loved his craft in game. But lately? The guild had been treating him like a potion donkey.
His contract gave him half a day for experimental alchemy work. But that had slowly been chipped away—first a few hours, then a couple, now just a pathetic hour a day.
He’d thought about breaking the contract. But every time he brought it up, they said the same thing:
“It’s just temporary.”
It was always temporary.
And now they wanted him to run headfirst into a no-potion death dungeon?
Ren sighed.
“And after this run you’ll go back to 100% self guided alchemy.”
“No more making level 3 instant heal and instant potions?”
“Yeah…..no more.”
“Plus credits? In real life?”
“Yup, a ton of them. Enough for that cheese trip you always wanted to go on.”
The thought of a whole bunch of fancy cheese in real life made Ren smile.
He wasn’t poor—far from it. As the top alchemist in a pretty good guild, he was doing better than most. His bank account didn’t cry itself to sleep at night, and he could easily afford everyday luxuries.
If he wanted a nice five-dollar block of sharp cheddar? No problem. Toss it on the credit card.
But if he wanted something a little stupider—like flying to France to gorge himself on a $200 block of smoked cheddar aged in the caves of wherever-the-hell? That was a different story.
He could afford it. Technically.
But being able to buy mountains of it without blinking?
That was the dream.
That was the “swimming in cheese like Scrooge McDuck” dream.
(Although the mental image of literally swimming in melted cheese made him gag a little.)
Still. It was the principle of the thing.
“All right,” Ren said, cracking his knuckles. “I’m ready to go.”
He geared himself up carefully, going over every piece twice.
The guild had loaned him the best equipment available for the run—probably because they knew he’d back out if they didn’t make it worth his while.
Technically, Ren was a Battle Cleric, and he had the cleric spells to prove it:
- Basic Heal
- Minor Cure Status
- Blessing of Endurance
- Light Barrier
He also had Battle Cleric spells. The spells weren’t anything special—just the ones people normally got after they hit level 10 and specialized:
- Heal Self
- Aura of Cleansing
- Self Regenerate
Nothing fancy.
Nothing flashy.
He wasn’t one of those battle clerics who ran around smashing people with maces while shouting about divine justice.
No, Ren’s real strength came from his professional class:
Alchemy.
His potions could make a tank invincible for thirty seconds.
His healing potions could outpace a regular cleric’s best channeling spells.
His experimental brews could turn the tide of a battle in the blink of an eye.
Assuming, of course, he wasn’t busy being eaten by a boss monster.
Ren sighed and glanced over his gear again.
Lightweight chain under reinforced priest robes.
A belt full of emergency reagents.
Two quick-deploy alchemy kits clipped to his hip.
And, slung across his back, the Guild-Issued Holy Staff, affectionately nicknamed by other clerics as the Bam-Bam Stick—because if things got desperate enough, you could always smack a goblin with it.
He wasn’t a fighter.
He wasn’t a raider.
But for this one stupid dungeon run…
He was ready to be a hero.
Or at least, ready enough not to die in the first two minutes.
***