As the world faded to black for a moment, Aron felt the familiar rush of immersion before his senses adjusted to the Second World once more.

  When he opened his eyes, he was back as Morality Mortalized, standing in the last place where he had last logged out. The neon glow of the city reflected off the damp pavement, the distant hum of hovercrafts filling the air.

  Aron rolled his shoulders, feeling the weight of his in-game gear settle back onto his body. Alright. Back in.

  He quickly pulled up his interface, checking the quest log.

  …

  —Quest Name: The Truth in the Shadows—

  Status: Pending Verification

  Objective: Confirm the authenticity of the delivered package

  Reward: Lead on a Unique Rarity Item

  …

  His eyes narrowed slightly. He had expected complications, but verification was an annoying curveball.

  Let’s see where this leads.

  Though before he could move, he needed to know one thing. Frankly, he didn't have any idea about this so called District 17, this was the first time he heard this name.

  “Hmmm…”

  Aron furrowed his brows as he glanced at his quest log.

  District 17 - The Rusted Spire.

  He had been playing this game long enough to know most of the major locations, but this? Completely new. Either it was an area few people knew about, or it was some hidden sector only accessible through specific quest lines.

  He pulled up his in-game self designed map and searched for “District 17” to make sure once again. The usual city districts lit up. The Neon Belt, The Vanity Markets, The Underworks, but no sign of District 17.

  “…Figures,” he muttered.

  If the game wasn’t going to make it easy, then he’d have to go old-school.

  Aron turned, stepping out of the alley and into the bustling streets of the city’s underbelly. He needed to find someone who actually knew this place.

  A fair question, though. Why hadn’t he just asked Enver?

  Aron scoffed at the thought. Like that guy would just hand over the information.

  Yes, the reason why Aron didn't even bother to ask Enver was that he had experienced dealings with Enver, and knew that this NPC would not spill anything, even if it's related to the quest itself.

  There were no freebies with Enver.

  So instead of wasting time asking and potentially getting into another trip, he chose to save himself some time by doing it himself.

  “I wonder what someone else is gonna do if they were in my shoes.” Aron shook his head with a smirk.

  Aron knew that this first hurdle was not even going to be smooth, even for him.

  Such is the price of Unique Item Rarity, huh.

  The most obvious lead was the street fixers—mysterious-level information brokers who lurked in the dark, trading in dangerous transactions, black-market deals, and the kind of things that were too risky to be spoken aloud. These brokers were hard to trust, after all.

  If District 17 existed in the city’s underworld, they would have at least heard whispers of it. But dealing with them wasn’t as simple as asking a question. They expected high payment too—either in credits, valuable items, or favors. And favors from these guys? They always came at a cost.

  Another option was to go into the underground network forums, an encrypted in-game message board where players with deep knowledge of hidden content shared their findings—if they were willing.

  The problem was, these weren’t average players looking to help. The real veterans, the ones who actually had useful intel, would either gatekeep the information or demand something in exchange. It was also quite a gamble. Either he’d find a lead, or he’d hit a dead end filled with speculation and misinformation.

  Then there were the high-level NPCs, the ones with connections. Maybe it was classified knowledge, something only ex-government officials, rogues, or old-world survivors would even remember. Finding the right NPC to talk to was another challenge in itself—too many in this game were designed to brush off questions unless you asked in just the right way, the right person.

  There was one more option, and that was the relatively safest option but also low expectation as well. Asking the people that one knew.

  There were close players—parties, friends, guildmates—who might have come across District 17 in some way. Even if they didn’t know its exact location, they could have heard rumors, stumbled upon restricted areas, or even encountered an NPC who let something slip.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Especially between the high ranked players themselves.

  Guild was an especially valuable resource. Guilds often had players mastering in different aspects of the game—explorers, lore-hunters, traders who dealt in rare goods. Someone among them might have seen the name “Rusted Spire” before or at least know where to start looking.

  And between all of those mentioned above, Aron believed and knew that there was one thing that he didn’t want to compromise. And that was related to this specific quote.

  “Information is key.”

  …

  Time passed slowly as Aron navigated through the neon-lit streets, moving away from the crowded underbelly of the city and toward the upper tiers of it. The air became cleaner, the streets smoother, the flickering neon replaced by elegant golden lights and floating security drones.

  At this point, a towering palace surrounded by high walls and automated guards, home to a noble known for his extensive archives and long memory, stood in front of him. If there was a trace of District 17’s past, it might still exist in his records.

  Unlike the grimy, industrial sprawl of the lower city, this place exuded an air of untouched opulence. The manor’s smooth ivory walls gleamed under the soft glow of artificial moonlight, accentuated by intricate gold filigree tracing patterns across its surface.

  Two royal guards, clad in pristine black and silver armor, flanked the entrance. Their visors gleamed under the estate’s soft lighting, giving no indication of their expressions beneath. They weren’t standard guards, their rigid posture and slow, deliberate scanning of their surroundings suggested they were part of a high-level security force, likely programmed to engage any perceived threat without hesitation.

  “Let’s just do this quickly.” Aron muttered under his breath, walking toward the entrance calmly.

  ...

  Arriving inside the palace, Aron met a noble that looked majestic and solemn. The clothes that adorned his body spoke volume of the resources that he had on his disposal. A rapier was attached on his waist, with its total sharpness that could be told just from a single glance. Even if that said rapier was covered by its sheath…

  Aron laid his eyes on it for a moment, a few seconds ago. And there was a complex, hard to read expression on his face.

  Beside the noble, there were many ministers that stood between the left and right side of him. They adorned clothes that also spoke volumes of their status, especially for being able to work directly under the noble himself. Variety of weapons were also accompanying them, and each one of these ministers had a variety of attitudes toward Aron.

  Aron stepped forward for a few steps, his boots barely making a sound against the polished marble floor of the grand hall. The room was vast, illuminated by floating crystalline chandeliers that bathed everything in an ethereal glow. Ornate pillars stretched toward the vaulted ceiling

  Just looking at the arrangement for a single glance could tell that this noble had respectable power. Either in authority, or by his own power.

  Damarion Velstara.

  The noble’s presence was imposing yet refined, his posture straight and composed, exuding an effortless authority that demanded respect. He wore a deep violet robe lined with silver thread, an emblem of the coiled serpent embroidered over his chest.

  Even though Aron stood in this kind of situation, he didn’t look out of place or something along the line. The calm looking demeanor of his was still lingering around him as ever.

  “It’s been quite a while for us to meet again, Sir Velstara.” Aron spoke in a calm voice.

  “It is… You still look good and easy going as ever, Morality Mortalized,” Velstara replied.

  Aron shook his head with a smile, “It’s one of the best attitudes a human could have, what can I say.”

  Velstara smiled in response to what the man in front of him said.

  “.... I know that you like to save time, so I will just be impolite. In what business do you bring onto us now, Mora?” the noble said with a pretty flat voice.

  Aron seemed to think for a moment before he spoke.

  “I’m looking for a certain place. It would be very much helpful if you could bring me the information. But first of all…”

  Aron seemed to look around the people that surrounded the noble, as if he was suggesting something.

  A group of ministers had ugly expressions drawn to their face, looking at the guest in front of them with clear hostility. Though after they looked back toward the noble, they changed their expressions humbly.

  “My Lord…” One of them spoke in a persuasive voice. He was also one of the people that stood very close to the noble, having a sword attached on his waist.

  “Alright. All of you set aside yourselves for now. Can’t I even give some face to him in this way after I’m being impolite just now?”

  Before one of the people beside him could say anything more, the noble raised his hand and spoke with ease.

  “....”

  The ministers were in a dilemma whether trying to convince the noble once more or obeying the order, but looking at the aura of the noble, they could only resign and step back one by one.

  Step Step Step ….

  After all of the ministers left and closed the door tightly, Aron spoke in a respectful voice, “Many thanks for the understanding, Sir Velstara…”

  The noble just raised his hand in reply with a nod of his head, his golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he looked at Aron with a certain light.

  "Now, Mora," he said interestedly, his voice still unreadable. "You have my attention. Speak."

  Aron exhaled slowly. Asking for information from someone like Velstara wasn't as simple as exchanging pleasantries.

  "I'm looking for a place. District 17, The Rusted Spire." Aron said steadily.

  For the first time, something flickered in Velstara’s gaze. But just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished beneath his composed exterior.

  “District 17 is not a forgotten place...”

  Aron raised his eyebrows. “Ahh, alright, what is it then if I may ask?”

  Velstara’s gaze flickered.

  “It is a synonym, you could say…” the noble revealed. “A shadowed name for a place that still exists, just not under that title.”

  “So you’re telling me that District 17 isn’t lost, but rather… disguised?” Aron hummed.

  A faint smirk ghosted across Velstara’s lips, but he did not confirm nor deny it outright. Instead, he continued, “Names change when they must be buried. When history needs rewriting, when power shifts hands… places do not disappear, only the words used to speak of them.”

  Does it mean someone, or something, had deliberately erased ‘District 17’ from the records, renaming it to keep its existence hidden?

  “If that’s the case,” Aron paused with a thoughtful expresssion “then where is it now?”

  “The Hollow Verge.”

  The words carried weight, echoing through the grand hall like a distant omen.

  "With this, my debt to you has been decreased once more..." Velstara spoke softly.