Back to the present, on the same hill, now crowded with players inspecting the slain boar king.

-Anonymous: Listen, Dan, no one can know this. In truth, I’m on a top secret quest to save the world.

-Danontherightwing: Sick! Can I join?

-Anonymous: No. It’s a one-player quest. That's how the game works, sometimes. If you try to share your one-player quest, it fails, which, in this case, would mean the destruction of the entire planet.

-Danontherightwing: Damn. Hey, Big Bro, how'd you’d fight this huge guy? I want to battle one too.

A wincing Henry scratched his head, discovering a twig in the back of his hair.

So, yeah, that's how he—history's greatest retiree, just minding his own business, maximising the use of his spare time in this tutorial to squeeze in extra training for the upcoming noob tournament by beating up Sentient boars—ended up accidentally fighting a massive king version and triggering some apocalyptic shadow demon questline.

What an awful videogame...

-Anonymous: The boar boss won’t respawn for a week. By then, you’ll be too high to want to fight it.

The real boar-king would stay dead, but the noobs would be able to re-enact Henry's battle by fighting a nerfed phantom-version when the dungeon materialised.

-Danontherightwing: Oh...

-Anonymous: In any case, I need to head off for the next part of the world-saving mission. Laters.

Henry, lying to the noob, bid farewell.

He had more common sense than to meddle with these dark affairs. No, while everyone was fussing over King Torc's corpse, Henry would salvage the wasted time by solving the curse holding up his Earthfriend trainers.

During the previous chat with his helpers for that quest while hopping around in the branches, he'd had arranged for the research materials to be dropped off at his bunker, which, Henry having planned precisely ahead, he'd dug nearby. The supplies should already have arrived by now.

-Anonymous: On second thought, Dan, if you want to do your part to save the world, take care of this donkey for a bit.

Henry stopped, giving the shabby mount to the noob.

Dan accepted the task with handsome solemnity. "What’s his name, Big Bro?"

Henry recalled the dead wagon-driver calling it Szamar. However, he thought it better to just regard the animal as a generic mount. His career had taught him the folly of over-humanising things.

But he didn't want to explain that.

"Congratulations," Henry replied, "you get to name it yourself!"

"Sick!"

Handsome Dan grabbed the donkey by its thin, discoloured cheeks and brought its face close to his own. The innocent expression of his handsome features seemed to soothe the animal.

“You have small ears," said Dan. "How about...Small Ears Bro?”

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The donkey, seeming to understand, neighed at this noob's trash naming skills.

“Hmm...what about...Big Teeth Bro?”

Henry, leaving the pair behind, marched on down the hill, against the flood of players scrambling to gawk at the dead boar.

Near the base of the hill, he was stopped momentarily by the bald trainer. The guy, having figured out the situation somehow, tried to pressure him into handing over the corpse, citing a technicality in the lesson agreement whereby the trainees belonged to the instructor.

At first, Henry had assumed the dude was joking, but he totally wasn't.

The random attempt at blackmail confused him until he remembered he was in Suchi, where everyone was a degenerate criminal.

Henry laughed. “Sure. For the price of delaying the rest of the lesson until I return, it's yours."

"Really?" Instructor Apari was astonished.

Henry shrugged. "All you'll need to do is inform my friend coming to collect it of the change in arrangements. Good luck!”

Giving a wink, he continued on, exiting the scene.

Instructor Apari watched the strange trainee leave, sick to his stomach, a nervous sweat causing his drawn-on eyebrows to run.

The trainer hadn't expected that to work, but, since it had...

He climbed up the hill and waited among the crowd inspecting the giant beast, wondering whom the trainee had sent to collect it.

Soon, the question was answered.

In the distance, approaching from The Slums, galloping horses broke the horizon, clouds of dust in their trail. As the riders reached the base of the hill, they didn’t bother to dismount, their horses trampling anyone who stayed in their path. One Village recruiter who swore at the arriving group for knocking him over was speared, disintegrating into lights. The newcomers were led by a blonde-haired youth with cold grey eyes and a glistening name in bright red floating above his head.

The leader hopped off his horse beside the dead beast, cracked his knuckles, and crossed his arms imperiously. “I, Miechowa of Carcinogen Village, am going to steal this. Does anyone have a problem with that?”

No one in the crowd refuted his claim.

Instructor Apari, noticing one of the shirtless trainees from his group moving forward to interject, pulled them back. “It's not worth it, son. Let’s go."

Admitting defeat, the trainer joined his colleagues in wrangling their students and leaving before trouble began.

The gang members of Carcinogen meanwhile bunkered down in preparation for the rival Villages that'd arrive soon. Each of them was grinning with excitement, anticipating a bloody king-of-the-hill style battle. They would definitely not survive to the end, but, before they perished, they would at least have fun.

As Instructor Apari departed, knocked from the hill in an instant, his nerves continued to grow, his stomach aching with regret.

The blood on the trainee's clothes...the weapon's handling...the dead gaze...he'd known something was off when they'd first met. To imagine, however, that he'd try pressuring a recruit from Carcinogen, those pitiless murderers. What a fool he'd been...

As the regretful trainer descended the hill, he didn’t notice a woman pass by, nor did any of the others fleeing the location.

Her appearance was remarkably unpretty. Frumpy and dressed in civilian attire, at first glance, she looked like a peasant NPC, like someone who made her living selling fish at an open-air market.

Seeing the kids standing beside the giant boar, she walked up to them and coughed to grab their attention. “Excuse me, Miechowa.”

Her voice was a bit too quiet.

Not wanting to draw too much attention, she tried grabbing the brat's sleeve.

The blondie, out of instinct, immediately unsheathed his sword and slashed. Halfway through the attack, though, he caught a glimpse of the frumpy woman’s face and, in terror, his grip on his weapon loosened, causing it to fly away.

The other members of his gang, noticing who he'd attacked, paled.

“Sorry!" The blondie lowered his head in apology. "We’ll be leaving right away.”

The frumpy woman waved in dismissal, never expecting much from these rowdy Villagers. “It's fine. Don’t ride the horses too hard on the return trip. They look worn-out."

The gang, apologising, jumped on their mounts and, this time, rode off politely, avoiding trampling anyone on the way, careful in case some others from The Company were lurking in the crowd.

“Wait," called out the frumpy woman.

“Yes?” the blondie, shoulders bunched, swivelled in his saddle, just in time for a thrown sword to slide into his scabbard

The frumpy woman pumped her fist, praising her own aim. “Nice shot."

“Nice shot," the blondie agreed stiffly. "Thank you!”

His gang members clapped.

Afterwards, any other groups of armed Villagers arriving to fight over the corpse, upon seeing the lone woman standing by its side, turned and left.

Soon enough, an army of labourers in ash-grey uniforms had covered the hilltop, erecting a marquee tent to hide their butchering work.