Human (level 0) killed. Because you have not unlocked a Martial class, no EXP is awarded.

Henry stood victorious, axe in hand, another enemy defeated.

Distasteful as it may have turned out, decapitating the driver had been an act of mercy. Left alone, the driver would have lain on the ground for minutes until his brain died from a lack of oxygen.

Also, Henry hadn't wanted the Miracleworker or Shaman in the observing family to change their minds and heal the driver. The only good cannibal was a dead one.

The swarming lights into which the driver's body had erupted, his soul, lingered for a moment. They hovered around Henry like a hive of resentful bees around a bear who had stolen their honey but whose hide was too thick for their stingers to penetrate.

Henry shrugged at them. “You've only got yourself to blame, dude. No matter what you’re missing in life, there are plenty of ways to fill the void without joining a cult of murderous cannibals. In the next Cycle, consider taking up fishing or a team sport instead.”

In Saana's cosmology, the souls of NPCs went through an eternal cycle of death and rebirth. However, most would not retain their memories.

The Soul-lights, infuriated by Henry's flippant regard, tried to swarm closer to him, but a magnetic force in the sky seemed to be pulling against them, growing stronger by the moment. No matter how hard they fought against it, they were soon dragged off into Suchi's cloudless blue heavens and the stars beyond.

On the ground, all that remained of the driver was his Spatial Bracelet, his armour, and his spear.

Henry turned to the family. From shirt-lift to head-chop, barely 20 seconds had passed, and they had yet to fully grasp what they were witnessing. In such cases, when people were in an ambiguous state that could turn hostile, he'd found it best to lead their emotions by setting a confident, calm example.

“Hahaha!" He laughed casually. "I guess we should find out what prizes we won today!”

The parents paled.

The son clenched his fist in excitement, his body trembling. This was how a man should act! Bathe in the blood of enemies! Laugh in the face of death! Greedily reap the spoils of war!

The daughter was still crying.

Henry tapped the driver's Spatial Bracelet with the butt of his axe and, despite the bracelet looking in perfect condition, it shattered into dust.

Motes of lights appeared, forming into a pile of items.

Due to a collector's compulsion, Henry searched among the belongings for documents. The driver had dropped a diary, a copy of The Primordial Path of Nerin’s religious manifesto, and a map marking an ambush point about a kilometre and a half away.

Unlucky.

Since there was an audience, Henry stored the documents in his inventory to be absorbed later. “The rest of possessions aren’t worth much, but you guys are more than welcome to help yourself.”

“We’re...fine as we are, thank you.” The father, clenching his jaw and telling himself to just play along, picked up his crying daughter. “The kids have a birthday party to attend. We shouldn’t be late.”

The father quickly led his family past the macabre scene, shaking his head. He regretted not listening to the children's grandmother and waiting till the kids were older to buy them VR Units.

The boy, passing by, tried to stop and ply Henry with questions. “Add me, Mr Pro, my name is—“

“Don’t.” His mother covered her son’s mouth and dragged him along.

Step 5: Steal donkey

With the family leaving, it was time for Henry to reap the real reward, for which he'd decided to kill this cannibal NPC.

By the wagon, the donkey had been nervously eyeing him after he'd murdered its master. The creature, despite its terror, had not moved, its hooves locked firmly in place.

“It’s alright now, boy,” Henry spoke in a soothing tone. “Szamar, was it?" He recalled what the driver had called it. "Here, Szamar, want something to eat?”

Summoning an apple, he tossed it gently towards the creature, not himself yet closing the distance.

One glance at the apple made the donkey’s muscles tense up further.

The apple looked like it had been splashed with strawberry syrup.

Henry glanced down.

His hands and sleeves were a red mess, and a few splatters from the axe blows were dirtying his colourful West African attire. He must have been a gory sight.

"Whoops. Well, that explains why the parents had felt creeped out."

As for himself, how was he feeling? he wondered, pausing to reflect. His hands, although stained and messy, were as steady as usual. His heart was beating a bit faster than what would be expected given the physical effort. Thinking back, a few of his stabs had been clumsy. He seemed to be somewhat nervous, but this level remained within the realms of expectation for anyone executing a difficult task after a long time out of practice.

That was a good sign, Henry supposed. After handling administrative duties for so long, he had held a mild fear that an unexpected development of sentimentality or softness might impair his duelling performance. This didn't seem to be the case.

For points of future improvement, he needed to work on his precision under stress. He really should have also waited for the family to pass - the nerves had given him tunnel vision.

Stolen story; please report.

Another, cleaner apple appeared directly in front of the donkey, Henry summoning straight out of his inventory. The animal looked at the gift suspiciously, its amber donkey eyes swivelling back and forth between the apple and the one who’d killed its master.

Henry gave the donkey some space and returned to the driver's belongings and wiped what he could off on an undershirt. Since the levelling process would require killing far more stuff, it would be wasteful to change completely and dirty a second set of clothing. His zebra mask would have to go, however, having been smashed up by the punches. Henry considered replacing it with a lion mask, but, thinking of the donkey, he chose one of a monkey to seem less intimidating.

Away from him, the donkey tore off some of the peel and nibbled cautiously. The offering seeming to be unpoisoned, it took a second, greedier bite.

Noticing this, Henry summoned a few more apples along with a bucket, which he filled using a Waterworker ability to summon rain. As a tiny cloud rained into the bucket, Henry stealthily tipped in a vial of purple liquid.

The donkey, not noticing or not caring, trotted over and dove muzzle-first into the refreshing waters. The day was hot, and its former master had not been so generous.

“Good, Szamar,” Henry coaxed. “Drink up well, buddy. You’re going to need all the Stamina you can get.”

The donkey lapped up the water, and it felt an unexpected but not unpleasant surge of vitality coursing through its muscles.

While it drank, Henry mapped a course from his current location to the newbie training area by connecting Villages that were inactive during these hours, avoiding the congested areas where their passage would be slowed. He then hitched himself up onto the front seat of the wagon and armed himself with the riding crop the driver had dropped.

The Newbie Spawning Area, an open plaza between the western edge of The Slums and a forested strip growing along the banks of Suchi's main and only river.

A figure in a monkey-mask rode into the plaza on a sweat-soaked donkey.

Nearing The Newbie Spawning Area, the streets had grown too packed for the wagon, forcing Henry to abandon it. The donkey, he decided to keep, finding it much to his taste. It looked like a walking trashcan, a shabby, wonky-eyed specimen with a patchy coat, yellowed teeth, legs so stumpy a rider's feet almost touched the ground, and a general aura of impoverished gloom. In The Slums, this shabbiness would be very useful for not attracting mount thieves, and, later, without improving its appearance, Henry could feed the creature power-up foods to raise its stats.

The Spawning Area in most regions was a marvellous place. New players could be seen everywhere frozen in awe at their surroundings and the game's realism, with their hearts trembling with anticipation to dive into this majestic, limitless world.

But in Suchi...

As Henry and his new mount rode into the crowded plaza, a dozen heads turned his way, eyeing him like farmers studying cattle at an auction.

The first to rush over was an Arcanist wearing an armband with a turquoise mongoose insignia. “Friend in the monkey mask! What Martial class are you planning to roll?! The 912th Village has opened up a slot in our raid group for three main healers!”

“I’m already signed up for one," Henry rejected the offer.

“No problem, friend!”

Hearing the refusal, the recruiter, along with the others charging over, had no time to feel disappointed. A second later, a pillar of light shot down from the sky and crashed into a spot a few metres away.

“New friend! What Martial class are you planning to roll?! The 912th Village has opened up a slot in our raid group for three main healers!”

The poor noob who’d just spawned jumped in fright. “Wh-what?”

A recruiter wearing a bandana with a yellow cow logo squeezed the noob's bicep. “Ignore him, my dude! With the size of the muscles on you, you must be a Crusader or a Fighter! Luckily, the Lightning Cow Village needs a tank for its 6-man arena team!”

“I-I’m not—”

A recruiter with a dainty purple handkerchief tied around her throat took the noob in an affectionate armlock. “Our friend is clearly interested in higher pursuits! Come now, the Silent Rose Village is accepting all Civilians!”

All around the plaza, another noob was spawning every seven or eight seconds, only to be mobbed by these recruiter thugs.

Watching the scene, Henry's heart hurt. Those who started in Suchi truly never had a chance. Never would they get to experience a normal, competently-structured, internationally-relevant gaming experience, misled as they were into these stupid gangs.

On the other side of the plaza, a crowd had formed around a row of seated NPCs with a banner above them reading, New Offworlder Inquiries.

Offworlder was the name given to players by NPCs, who viewed them as immortal aliens spawning into their universe.

Henry, trying to make his way through the crowd, had to turn down several more recruiters. After his sixth refusal, he realised that the issue was his lack of Village insignia. Bringing out a previous outfit, he ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom and wrapped it around his upper arm. Using an inkpot and a quill, tools of his Scholar class, he drew on the improvised armband a monkey’s head, matching his mask.

Taking four strides with his new disguise, he was stopped by yet another recruiter thug.

“You’re a member of The Shadow Monkey Village?” asked the recruiter, his gaze filled with admiration.

“Nope. I drew this several seconds ago to cover my identity. See, the ink is still wet.”

“If you say so...” the recruiter winked. “Can I have your autograph?”

The recruiter continued to insist and wink, so Henry gave up and resummoned his writing utensils, using them to scribble a random name on the madman's shirt. After signing the excited fan's back, he modified the monkey logo, giving it a pair of horns and buckteeth. Checking the reports in his Mental Library, he found that this appeared to not correspond to any real Village.

Reaching the crowd in front of the noob inquiry area, he was faced with a sweaty, noisy, disorganised mess. The social technology of queueing had yet to be introduced to The Slums. Instead, here, where strength was order, recruiter thugs were shoving and knocking to get to the front, while the bewildered noobs locked in their arms looked at each other, wondering what they’d signed themselves up for.

On the edge of the rabble beside Henry, a middle-aged noob with a beard, who’d likely escaped the recruiters’ eyes due to being older, was watching helplessly; all his efforts thus far to rush in had resulted in him being knocked back out, and he was wondering whether to give up and join a Village.

"It's not worth the struggle," Henry advised the geezer. "Delete your character and pick a different Starting Zone."

The middle-aged noob, however, touched in the brain like all players who chose to spawn in Suchi, returned a defeated glance. Giving up, the man walked up to a beefy Bowman who'd already captured two noobs, one locked in each arm, and submitted himself to The Empire.

"Hopeless," Henry muttered. "Hopeless morons..."

Shaking his head, he dismounted from the donkey, which, mysteriously, bolted forward, knocking several players over and parting the crowd.

“Hey!” one swore.

"Watch it!"

“Sorry, sorry,” Henry apologised, chasing after the animal, his hand continuing to pinch its rump. “Stubborn beast's got a mind of his own!”

With the donkey splitting the crowd, he soon arrived in front of a female NPC administrator of the Sandpeople caste seated at an admin's table under a sun umbrella.

The donkey, mysteriously, calmed down. Behind them, a few disgruntled players were picking themselves up, rubbing their sore spots.

"My bad," said Henry. "But, since we’re already here, excuse me, ma'am, do you have a list of trainers?”

The administrator took one look at the monkey-headed Offworlder covered in bloodstains, another at the shabby donkey on the verge of collapse. “Sure thing, sugar.” She summoned a book and, flipping to a page marked by a feather, placed it on the table before him. Her finger squished the top of a list of trainers with notes for their session times, class specialities, admission fees, and so on. “If you find one to your liking, I’ll give you their attendance token. Slots are limited.”

Henry flipped through a couple pages, searching for a trainer that'd suit his needs. He then closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath of Suchi's sour, misery-scented air.

The administrator noticed his negative reaction. “Something a matter, hun?”

Henry sighed.

This zone...could it not even allow him to do the noob tutorial without incident?