I sit up, rubbing my eyes as a yawn escapes my lips. Have I stopped dreaming already?
A ray of sunlight seeps through the tent's entrance, bathing the interior in soft gold. Tent... I'm still here? The memory of that message prompt flashes in my mind. Hero of Graywatch? I barely did anything.
Stepping outside, I see the city's reconstruction well underway. Wagons loaded with wood and stone creak under the weight of their cargo, drawn by oxen and horses. Foremen bark orders, guiding workers as they hammer and saw. I thought all this would stop after the tutorial… wait.
A chuckle escapes me as I recall an old joke. Only after reaching level 80 was the tutorial truly over. There was always more to learn, more to explore. I guess I should start leveling up—though I don't see any floating icons or UI elements like in the game. What should I do? Say "Status" like in those manhwas?
"Sta—"
A commotion interrupts me. A crowd surrounds a beaten man tied to a wooden pole, his face swollen and smeared with blood. Several burnt poles stand nearby, blackened remnants of past executions.
"LET ME GO, YOU NPCs!" he shouts, his brown hair disheveled, his leather armor caked with dirt. A quiver and a longbow lay discarded at his feet. A Hunter-class player?
"Heretic!"
"Lich spawn! Burn him!"
"Burn him to the ground!"
The hatred in their voices is palpable. But why? He called them NPCs… and they called him Lich spawn. Is he undead?
I turn to an older man beside me, his arm in a cast. "Excuse me," I say.
"The hell do you want... wait wait wait... is that you?", the older man asks with a scowl before doing a double take. His eyes widen, scanning me from head to toe. A pit of unease coils in my stomach. If he realizes I'm a player too…
"…Who are you again?" I keep my expression neutral. A habit from years of fighting—never let your opponent know you're hurt.
He studies me, then smirks. "Body of an athlete, tattoos, cauliflower ears, and that piercing gaze… You're the Hero of Graywatch."
"I'm no hero. What did he do?" I nod toward the tied-up player as the crowd pelts him with garbage.
"Bah! He's one of those goddamned 'players.'" The old man spits on the ground.
"Player? What's that?" I feign ignorance.
"Madmen who think they're more than us. Corrupted by the madness of the Dragon Lich."
The Dragon Lich. One of the game's main antagonists. His undead hordes plagued the continent, mindless husks bound to his will, spreading his curse like a disease.
"…I see. Have they ever—"
"HE'S A PLAYER TOO! THAT GUY WITH TATTOOS!" the Hunter screams.
My heart stops. My face doesn't change.
The crowd turns.
"The Hero of Graywatch? No way…"
"…But he saved so many lives! How could he be corrupted?"
"I don't believe it! He saved my sister… but what if it was all an act?"
Murmurs ripple through the mob. I remain silent, calculating my next move. Defend myself? Defend him? I hate the idea of abandoning a fellow player, but he sold me out in a heartbeat.
A man steps forward. One eye is covered by a bloody bandage. In his other hand, he holds a lit torch.
"If you really are our hero… prove it. Burn this dragon minion."
The torch is placed in my hands. The crowd parts, forming a path to the pole. The Hunter trembles, eyes wide with horror.
"Please! Help me—you're a player too, right!? If we work together, we can kill these stupid NPCs! It won't even matter!"
My grip tightens on the torch.
Is this what being a player means? Seeing these people as nothing? Maybe they're right. Maybe he is corrupted.
"What do you think?" My voice is firm as I hold the flame near the rope binding him. Smoke curls into the air. The Hunter thrashes, shrieking.
"I TAKE IT BACK! YOU'RE NOT A PLAYER! BUT PLEASE, SAVE ME! YOU'RE A HERO, RIGHT?!"
I lower my gaze. If I free him, the townspeople will come for me next. And if I let him go, what kind of havoc will he wreak in revenge?
I can't allow that.
"I'm no player."
The torch touches the rope. Fire engulfs the bindings, licking up the wooden pole. The Hunter's screams pierce the air as the crowd erupts into cheers.
"…And I'm no hero either."
I watch as he burns, my stomach churning. The stench of charred flesh sears itself into my memory. But I don't react. I can't.
The people of Graywatch return to their tasks like nothing happened. I just have to live with that.
I take a deep breath and leave the city, following the stone road south. The landscape is exactly as I remember—wooden bridge to my right, stables to my left, an archery range ahead. The only thing missing is the crowd of players showing off their gear by the entrance. Do I still have my skins? My emotes? Doubtful.
A man in a navy-blue uniform stands at a crossroads, peering through a spyglass.
"Hey. What do you see?" I ask.
"Hello there, citizen! I'm an officer of the Coridian Explorer League."
Uhh… okay, sure. I asked for that.
"I see. What are you doing here?"
"Well, after the attacks on Graywatch, we're ensuring other settlements weren't ravaged before moving on. We're also updating our maps and securing waypoints."
"Maps? Waypoints?" I echoed, feigning cluelessness.
The explorer launched into an explanation I already knew by heart. In the old game, maps had a completion system—fully exploring them earned rewards. Waypoints acted as fast travel checkpoints, allowing teleportation for a small fee. Completing a map granted special gear and a personal message from the Explorer League.
"You seem like you'd make a great explorer! Here, take this."
He handed me a blank map and a compass. The map was enchanted, filling itself as I explored. The compass, attuned to magic, pointed toward places of interest—vantage points, hidden secrets, and people in need of help.
"Now that we have that out of the way..." The explorer gestured toward the bridge.
"Agriculture is the backbone of Corrleon, but centaur raids and bandit attacks have left our farmers and fishermen struggling. The miners aren't faring much better—earth elementals and kobolds infest the tunnels."
The map in my hands glowed. Golden heart symbols appeared in various locations—favor quests. The more I contributed, the more they filled up.
"Now don't just stand there—help them, soon-to-be explorer!" the scout said with a grin before turning back to his spyglass.
I nodded and crossed the bridge.
A curious sight caught my eye—three pillars stood in a field, each topped with a rotating black kettle sprinkling water over the crops. To this day, I still don't understand how it works, but that wasn't my concern right now.
I walked up to the farm, where an elderly woman in overalls and gloves stood, looking troubled. As I approached, the compass in my hand vibrated. A waypoint registered on the map.
"Hello, ma'am. I'm here to help."
The old woman glanced up. Her despair quickly melted into delight.
"Well, well! If it ain't the Hero of Graywatch! Won't you be a sweetie and lend old Annie a hand on the farm?" She grasped my calloused hands, pleading.
I chuckled at the realization—I went from war hero to farmhand in no time.
"Sure, madam. What can I do?"
Annie wasted no time instructing me on farm duties—watering crops, slathering her special fertilizer onto withering cornstalks, entertaining the cows, shoveling manure, and dealing with the occasional bandit or wurm. It was almost comical—one moment, I was a war hero, and the next, I was knee-deep in farm work.
So, I got to it. Watering crops, spreading fertilizer. As I worked, my compass vibrated intermittently, signaling my golden heart progress. Everything was going smoothly—until the ground trembled beneath me.
A few feet away, the soil split open, and a wurm burst forth—a massive, grotesque creature with spiraling teeth lunging at the livestock.
"Hero! Take care of it, please!" Annie cried.
"You got it, boss!"
Without hesitation, I grabbed a rock and hurled it at the beast. The impact made it reel, its eyeless face turning toward me. It screeched—a high-pitched, grating sound—and spat a glob of acidic saliva. The burning pain seared my torso, but I barely flinched. My pulse quickened with exhilaration. Time to see how MMA fares against a monster.
The wurm lunged. I pushed off my feet, executing a precise backstep, narrowly dodging its bite. As it recoiled, I charged forward, fists raised. A stiff left jab snapped its head back. Its flesh was squishy—soft enough that repeated blows to the neck might hinder its lunges.
Adopting a boxer's stance, I spread my feet wider, keeping my posture low. The beast struck again. I countered—a sharp left jab, then a straight right—each punch snapping its head back and disrupting its momentum. What about kicks?
I feinted a retreat, baiting it into another lunge. The moment it struck, I pivoted on my heel, swinging a tight left hook into its neck. Its head whipped to the side, leaving the perfect opening. I followed through—pivoting my hips, folding my left arm up to guard, and unleashing a devastating right roundhouse kick as I whip across with my right hand for added power. My shin smashed into its flesh with a sickening thud, sending it reeling. The beast gagged, vomiting a mixture of blood and green bile.
Time to finish this.
I reset into my stance, then lunged forward, dropping into a deep step as I shot my arms around its slick body. Gripping my right wrist with my left hand, I squeezed my elbows together, locking the hold.
I rose onto my toes, arching my back—then exploded upward. The wurm lifted off the ground. Twisting my torso midair, I slammed it down in a thunderous suplex, the impact rattling the earth. The creature convulsed, vomiting a final mix of blood and acid before falling still.
Dead.
"Oh my… aren't you a strong and handsome fella?" Annie cooed, her voice carrying an almost sultry tone. Yeah, she's definitely buttering me up to do the rest of her farm work… and it's working.
I stood up, still catching my breath, my body slick with sweat and wurm slime. Before I could even wipe my face, Annie's voice rang out in panic.
"Bandits! Help!"
My head snapped toward the barn, where a group of bandits was hauling crates of goods. No time to think. I charged forward, still riding the high from my fight with the wurm—until my feet skidded to a halt.
A bandit stood in my path.
He wore rugged leather armor, a red bandana across his face, its white pattern resembling jagged shark teeth. A wickedly sharp dagger glinted in his right hand.
"Easy there, mate," he sneered. "You better stop unless you wanna fuckin' die."
Die? I just killed a goddamn monster. Who the hell does this guy think he is? I'm fuckin' invincible.
I raised my hands, settling into my stance—left foot forward, right foot behind, hands up.
"Now this will be fun~," the bandit chuckled. We began circling each other.
His biggest threat was the dagger. If I could secure wrist control, he'd be nothing.
I dashed in, feinting a left jab. He flinched. Gotcha. I seized his wrist with my left hand, forcing it downward—
"...Are you fuckin' dumb?"
A searing pain ripped through my wrist.
I barely had time to register what happened. The bastard had lifted his wrist just enough to drive the dagger straight through my hand.
My breath hitched as white-hot agony flared through my arm.
Before I could react, he tore his wrist free, switched the blade to his left hand, and grabbed my injured wrist.
Then he stabbed me.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four—
I lost count as the blade tore into my gut. My vision blurred. My knees buckled. I felt something rising up my throat before I coughed—hot, thick blood spilling past my lips. No… no way. Am I… dying? Just like that?
No.
I clenched my jaw and threw my head forward with all the strength I had left. My forehead crunched into his face.
"ARGH—FUCK—!"
He reeled back, blood soaking through his bandana.
I seized my chance. Throwing my right arm over his left shoulder, I leaned forward, hooking his ankles with my right foot in a sloppy takedown. We crashed to the ground.
Pain burned through my body. My limbs felt weak.
If I'm going down…
I turned my head, eyes locking onto his exposed throat.
Then I'm taking you to fucking hell with me!
I opened my mouth and bit down.
My teeth sank deep into his flesh.
He screamed. He thrashed. Blood filled my mouth, warm and metallic. I ripped and gnawed, tearing away at his carotid vein. His frantic movements slowed.
But so did mine.
The burning pain faded into something cold. So cold. My fingers went numb. My vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the edges.
Then—nothing.
I have died.