Co-op never was Vesperia’s strong point. When I was a child, I loved to play with my friends for the social element. Back then, I knew almost nothing about multiplayer game mechanics and thought the game was the best thing ever. It was only when I started high-school that I realized how pointless the party system really was. The developers had made sure that guilds had all sorts of advantages, pushing players to group together and spend money on the paid guild services. The only advantage player parties enjoyed was to have their quest objectives linked. The message was clear: go pro or go guild. After FlickerFlacker had sent me a party request, I found there was a second advantage: I could share part of his premium information access.

A text message appeared in the party chat window.

Give me a few mins. Need to take care of something.

“Take your time,” I said, as I looked at the area map.

The Sylvan Forest was among the smaller ones of Vesperia, but way too large for a single person to scour in a week. Even with a full party, it would take us longer than we had. Those who had inserted the quest in the game knew that; that’s why there had to be more to it.

“Twinkle, color the map by plant type,” I ordered.

“Sure thing, Sarah!” The AI companion twirled around me. “Do you want me to go my species classification only, or—“

“Whatever’s fastest.”

The cat clapped its paws, then disappeared in a burst of sparkles. That was strange. I thought I had disabled that animation. Possibly the reboot had changed my settings. After my session, I’d have to manually go through the settings again and see if there was any other damage. Good thing that the security settings had double authentication.

Within seconds, the map changed color. Based on Twinkle’s query, the forest was divided into eighty-two types of flora—not much, considering that probably two thirds were spell and potion components. The dispersion followed the logic of most games: component plants were evenly spread throughout the whole area of the forest, clustering on key locations.

“Twinkle, mark areas that have an overlap of component plants.” I stretched the map window. “Three or more.”

“There are three hundred and eighty-two such spots.”

Far too many. I looked at the outline of the forest. It was too irregular to form a grid, too simple to be a picture. As I stood there, trying to find some logic to the hint, a teleport cone appeared next to me.

“Sorry it took so long.” FlickerFlacker materialized. “My mother kept me longer than expected.”

How old are you exactly?! “Everything fine, I hope?”

“Well...” He looked to the side. “She wasn’t happy that I ditched school. Even if I already have a passing grade. I convinced her I’d catch up after we complete the quest.”

“Nice.” I closed the map. “Let’s get started.” I led the way forward.

Initially, I had hoped that additional clues would reveal themselves as we got near, similar to the letters on the tapestry in Airmist. After close to an hour, it became obvious that brute force wasn’t the answer. I also had expected FlickerFlacker to come up with suggestions. He hadn’t, silently following behind, fighting off any mobs that approached and occasionally casting a mass detect spell.

“There has to be a better way,” I grumbled after the hour had passed. FlickerFlacker had provided us with an endless supply of potions, making exhaustion impossible, but we still hadn’t discovered anything. The creatures we had killed—and there were plenty of them—were all common game beasts with insignificant loot drops.

“Twinkle, sell everything.” I sat on the ground. “Standard price.” At least I’d clean my inventory. “You okay, Flicker?” I glanced at him. “You’re quiet today.”

“I...” Hesitation showed through the orc avatar. “I”m thinking.” He remained still for a while, contemplating. “What do you think will happen once we complete the quest?”

“Who knows?” I went through my inbox. My college had sent me another reminder along with a schedule change. Due to net traffic conflicts, my exam was delayed by six hours, putting it right at the start of my shift. Cheap colleges did that sort of thing a lot, to the point it had become standard to provide bonus score point for any inconvenience. Since they were moving the exam into a work day, I could rely on a ten percent gift—not bad, but definitely not worth taking time off work. “Secret area, hidden item, promo content, cash,” I replied, absentminded.

“I hope it’s more than that.” FlickerFlacker cast a glow spell. A flurry of tiny bell-shaped lanterns popped in the air around him. “Something that we can’t even imagine.”

“So, a secret area.” It would be nice to have some cash as well, but I saw his point. Getting a healthy dose of dopamine and serotonin was just the thing I needed. If I was feeling romantic, I’d call it the desire for adventure. “Have any of the other groups said anything?”

“No.” FlickerFlacker grabbed one of the aether lanterns, holding it between his fingers. “Most quit the game after the quest. I knew five groups when I started. We’d chat all day sharing information and jokes. When two of them failed, they deleted their accounts. I tried to call them out of game, but they blocked me.”

“How can you be sure they failed?” This was getting interesting.

“The parents of one told me. He... hadn’t taken it well. They said they put him in therapy of some kind.”

Obligatory anti-game therapy. I’d heard about the practice: it was something that only happened for the rich. People like me had no time to get addicted. Even the most obsessed would eventually run out of food, rent, or online money, and they knew it. The only way to maintain their addition was to score it big or find a shifty low-paying job that would maximize their playtime.

“Another group will fail tomorrow,” FlickerFlacker continued. “They only have two clues and refuse to deal with my dark broker.”

So you made a broker contract. Good to know.

“Are you trying to buy the fifth clue from them?” I closed my inbox to pay more attention to the conversation.

“No, my broker found it from somewhere else. She wouldn’t tell me who but guarantees it’s legit. I’ve made an offer, but so far they’ve kept quiet.”

“How much?” I couldn’t help myself.

“A hundred,” he replied. Knowing amounts he was used to I doubted that he meant a hundred bucks. “My dark broker told me it would be enough.”

“We can only hope.” Are you crazy?! For that much money I wouldn’t even hesitate to sell! “Anyway, let’s search.”

The moment we continued, Flicker fell silent again. I didn’t mind much. Questing with chatterboxes had always been a pain, and with the clock ticking down, it was better to keep focused. So far we had explored six percent of the forest without even a hint. I made Twinkle compose several new maps, dividing the forest by animal types, color scheme, even date of creation—thanks to FlickerFlacker’s premium info access—and still there were no discernible patterns.

As time passed, I started getting more and more concerned. There was no way we’d finish within the time limit. Each time I heard the sound of harps announcing an area-specific quest or hidden boss, I’d feel an adrenaline rush, only to have my hopes shattered minutes later.

“One-hour warning, Sarah.” Twinkle appeared. If his AI had been slightly more advanced I might say he was mocking me with his cheerfulness. “Since you didn’t sleep, you should—“

“Shut up, Twinkle.” I waved the cat away.

“Need to go?” FlickerFlacker asked.

“No.” I glanced at my work schedule. Today was going to be hell. “Soon.”

“I can check if the hint’s for sale anywhere.” I could tell by the end his statement that he was doubtful. I was as well. If anyone was selling it, it would have already been made available. The chances of someone appearing in the next two days were absurd.

“Where would they hide a hint?” I thought out loud. There had to be some logic to it, but so far, I wasn’t seeing it. It didn’t seem to be the area, no glowing indications had appeared, and the mobs and plants were pretty common. If I had properly earned the other two hints, I would have had an idea what to expect. Who would have thought that my grandfather’s arcane moral sayings would turn out true in today’s world?

“Maybe it’s time related?” FlickerFlacker suggested.

“No.” That would be too hardcore. The Airmist hint had been simple but annoying. This had to be similar. “Twinkle, how many quests are there unique to Sylvan Forest?”

“Seventy-nine confirmed, Sarah.” The companion floated up to my face. “A hundred and two have been discontinued or merged in larger quest chains since the creation of the area.”

“A hundred and five,” FlickerFlacker corrected. Both Twinkle and I stared at him. “Premium access. There are several hidden, paid only, and—“

“Forget the paid only,” I interrupted. “Which quest is central to the forest?”

“What do you mean?” His avatar’s emoticon animation kicked in, making his face twist in the greatest display of wasted animation skill I’d seen in a game.

“The hundred-level quest was triggered by Vesperia’s endgame event. Why can’t the hint be triggered by the forest’s end-quest?”

“Heart of the Forest!” Twinkle swirled in the air, drawing a figure eight between my and Flicker’s avatars.

I opened my journal menu to check. The quest was listed as public, set for characters level seventy and over, and composed of three steps. The description was far too long to read, so I did an online search. The summary read “Save the elves, kill the elves, save the elves again.” Whoever had written it had a sense of humor. From what I could tell, it involved a fair amount of fighting, ending with a level seventy-five boss conflict, after which I would earn a useless blind skill item that would help me grow uncommon plants in my stronghold. The quest was also said to have a low completion factor. Given the useless rewards, I wasn’t surprised.

“Flicker, go accept the quest,” I said, opening my in-game browser. “I’ll join you in a bit.”

“Want me to wait up?” He offered.

“Nah, I need to finish something.” I tried to be polite about it. “You go ahead.”

There was some hesitation on Flicker’s part, but in the end, he nodded. I watched his avatar fragment into voxels and disappear in a beam of light. Counting to fifteen, I then equipped my invisibility cloak and set all my settings to private.

“Twinkle, how many people have attempted the Sylvan Quest in the last week?” I whispered.

“That information is behind a paywall, Sarah.” The AI responded with its sad expression.

“How much will a single query cost?” I so much hated paying for game services.

“Forty-nine ninety-nine.”

“Pay it.” The thought caused me physical pain. A full week of earnings gone just like that.

“Sure thing, Sarah!” Twinkle beamed. “Seventeen people started the Heart of the Forest quest in the last seven days. Fifteen completed it. Of the seventeen, fifteen had free accounts.”

“What info do you have on the remaining two?” For fifty bucks, I was hoping the game system would provide me with something.

“Both players had female nymph characters, bladedancer class.”

Nymphs? That was something new. I did a quick search. The nymph premium package had been launched earlier this month in an attempt to attract more “refined female” characters to the game. According to the press release, it came with a new autoskill functionality that allowed players to experience the world while not bothering with combat.

Sissy accounts. I snorted. Vesperia must have reached the bottom to resort to that. Either that, or they were starting a new marketing campaign.

“Do their avatars use body biometrics?” I asked.

“Yes they do, Sarah!” Twinkle curled up in the air, in a needless attempt to appear cute. After this, I was going to spend some serious time fixing his settings, and do a virus scan just in case. “Both of them also completed the quest in just over seventeen minutes.”

Seventeen? There went my paid supermodel theory. The average completion time was listed as an hour. Even with money, a good player could at best cut it in half. Only a pro was capable of setting such a record time.

“Twinkle, do a search for other quests completed by nymph characters this week,” I ordered. “Free only.”

“Sure thing, Sarah!” The cat jumped into action once more. “There are comments of a nymph character completing the Crowning Achievement quest in seven minutes. The first post was on the Moonlight Guild forum board and it was copied from there.”

The Crowning Achievement was a level ninety-five quest. I had considered completing it at one point, but didn’t because of the crappy reward. Strictly speaking, this didn’t mean anything. It was common for god-tier players to join simpler games to de-stress. Just because someone had level-rushed a new character didn’t mean a thing. Yet for some reason, I felt a dull ache in my stomach. A new competitor had entered the scene, and I feared she was a pro player.