The western side of Fwerah was quieter than most parts of the village — not because of a lack of life, but because most players had learned to avoid it.
And for good reason.
Nestled between a tailor shop and a closed down storehouse was Dusty Amber, a run-down tavern that smelled of spilled ale, cheap tobacco, and lingering bloodlust. The building leaned just a bit too far on its right side, as if groaning under the weight of the filth it had witnessed.
Inside, however, the mood was vibrant — loud laughter, the clinking of mugs, and a tavern keeper too smart to ask questions.
At a large round table near the hearth sat four players — the only patrons at this time of the day — their faces glowing with amusement and smug satisfaction as they relived the highlights of their latest hunt.
They were the leaders of Black Halo, an Assassins' guild infamous throughout the VR gaming world for its ruthless PK squads. Real-life friends, funded by the live streams of their perversion and cruelty on illegal sites, they thrived on chaos and others' misfortune.
Even in ReLife, despite the short time that had passed since its launch, they had already claimed themselves as kings of the underbelly — above consequences, immune to fear.
Their usernames floated ominously above their heads, all in the colour of crimson, unlike the serene blue of the regular players.
AshesNSmoke, ILikeNips, CurryFavor, and WillFYourSis
They wore their blood-red names like trophies — proof of just how many players had died at their hands.
Three of them weren't particularly bad-looking. In fact, they might have even passed for handsome — if not for the glint in their eyes, or the sick satisfaction curled permanently on their lips.
The reason they dared to act without restraint from day one — was only because this world allowed it.
In ReLife, justice was only as strong as the zone you stood in. So long as their blades stayed sheathed within village boundaries, the NPC guards looked the other way.
Quest-givers also didn't care how intensely their names glowed. All that mattered was that the contract was fulfilled.
Morality, in this world, was optional — and these PKers had opted out entirely.
The leader, AshesNSmoke, was a hulking, bald, Asian man with a piggish face and folds of flesh clinging to every inch of his armor. His full cheeks were perpetually red from alcohol or exertion — probably both.
Despite his unsightly frame, his gear was top-tier: a Silver-tier Black Iron Breastplate, and a massive Bronze-tier war hammer slung over his back that shimmered with an aura of bloodlust.
He was a Level 11 Warrior, and proud of it.
"Damn, did you see the way that assassin scum tried to backflip away from my hammer on the last run?" AshesNSmoke cackled, slamming his mug down hard enough to spill frothy ale onto the floor. "Cracked his ribs clean in two. His knight buddy also barely had time to cry before I flattened him."
"Yeah, well," grinned ILikeNips, a lean, smirking, African man in a blood-red hood. He was a Level 10 Thief, his Bronze-tier twin daggers — each glowing with a minor bleed enchantment — strapped to his thighs. His black eyes were always moving, hunting, even when idle. "Shame about the girls, though. They really weren't bad to look at. If they had just... cooperated, you know?"
The group chuckled darkly.
"The priest screamed a bit too much for my taste," added CurryFavor, a tall, wiry Caucasian player with sunken eyes and pale skin that looked borderline undead. He had a long-limbed, almost insectoid grace to him, and his green robes fluttered slightly even without wind. A Level 10 Cursemancer, he was known for stacking negative status effects with almost sadistic precision.
"Still, could've had a little more fun if we waited at the graveyard longer. The premium subscribers always like it when we zero idiots. Too bad, levels don't drop on death in this game."
"Wasted effort," said the last one, WillFYourSis, with a bored tone. He leaned back lazily, feet kicked up on a chair, absently spinning a silver coin between his fingers. A Level 11 Knight — another Asian man with a relaxed handsomeness about him.
Smooth brown hair and a deceptively friendly smile — the kind that made him look trustworthy until you were bleeding on the ground. "We got everything we needed: the Bronze staff, a Bronze shield... hell, even a Gold dagger. What else were they gonna drop?"
But CurryFavor frowned. He wasn't done. "Still... I'm pissed I didn't get more time with that mage girl. She was exactly my type. Young, difficult to break." He let the last sentence linger like a bad taste on his tongue. "Would have been worth it to cripple her with a curse and have our way till she begged for it."
The victims in question had been a six-member party — two women, four men — all players at Level 10 — fresh out of class change.
They had just left Fwerah for the hunting fields. Spirits were high from all the advantages and skills they gained after the class change.
Their party was also well-balanced — a Knight, two Warriors, an Assassin, a Mage, and a Priest.
But they never saw the ambush coming.
The Black Halo leaders struck just outside the main gate — a legal PVP zone in ReLife — with surgical brutality.
The fight had lasted less than a full ten minutes — just enough to rack in thousands of credits from the live stream.
But how could they be satisfied with only that?
The real content — the real fun — was what followed. Premium content that was only reserved for the premium subscribers.
The six targets respawned at the village graveyard, confused and infuriated. But AshesNSmoke and his gang were already there.
Another slaughter.
And another.
And another.
By the fifth time, the victims had given up. Their inventories had been stripped. Their dignity ground to dust. They had only one choice left: a Force Log Out while in their soul state.
Death in ReLife didn't drop levels. But trying to avoid it in between revival came with a huge penalty.
A Force Log Out in soul state — the liminal phase between respawns — would punish the players with a heartless restart. Their levels, inventories, quest lines — all cleared like a clean slate.
Yet sometimes, it was better to start over than to keep being someone's chew toy.
AshesNSmoke had laughed harder than ever at their choices.
"That's right! Keep clawing at the bottom of the gutter like the garbage you are!"
He kept the Gold-tier dagger from the assassin — a beautiful, curved blade, with a gold-woven hilt. He had plans to gift it to his girlfriend, an Assassin who had logged out early because of exams. The others split up the rest. Staffs, swords, armor, and coins.
Unbeknownst to Ezekiel, the quietness of Fwerah didn't entirely stem from the restrictions of the players' gaming gears.
The ones truly responsible were none other than this party of four.
The guild's top dogs had made Fwerah their personal hunting ground, and word of their cruelty spread faster than any patch note or update.
No one wanted to be the next highlight in their sadistic streams, so a quiet consensus had emerged among players: log out, lay low, and wait for the storm to pass.
It wasn't for lack of resistance. In the past, players had tried to fight back. A few even managed to corner the PKers once or twice. But in the end, it didn't matter. They were pests — impossible to root out completely with the efforts of few.
Besides, Black Halo didn't just kill their enemies — they erased them. Anyone who helped bring them down would find themselves stalked, harassed, hunted, traumatized through zone after zone until the only option left was deletion.
And ReLife didn't allow that. No second accounts, or backups. One's initial character was their only path forward. A few days offline was a small sacrifice when the alternative was repeatedly losing everything — levels, gear, progress — to the vultures circling overhead.
Now, back in the Dusty Amber, as the echoes of their cruelty faded into another round of drinks, the tavern door burst open.
A young player — Level 4 — stumbled in, panting heavily, eyes wide in excitement. His username hovered above his head: SkeetScout.
All four leaders turned to him, annoyed.
AshesNSmoke's grin vanished instantly. "What the fuck do you want?"
SkeetScout gulped and hurried to their table, nearly tripping over his boots. "S-sorry, boss! I didn't mean to interrupt. It's just — I saw something. No — someone. At the Adventurer's Association."
AshesNSmoke leaned forward, mug forgotten. "Someone what?"
"He… he came in alone. Solid build. Didn't hide anything. Just walked in, calm as you like. I couldn't see his level, but—" SkeetScout hesitated, then added proudly, "—I used my item appraisal skill to scan his gear. Beside a common sword, they were all Bronze-tier."
The table went still.
CurryFavor raised an eyebrow. "A whale?"
"Could be," said WillFYourSis. "Might've bought his gear with cash."
"Or," muttered ILikeNips, eyes gleaming, "maybe he's just been farming solo and thinks he's invincible now. A true showoff."
AshesNSmoke leaned back, smirking wide. "Or maybe… he's a rich little pig who wandered too close to the butcher."
The group laughed again, but it was quieter this time. Focused. Sharper.
AshesNSmoke turned back to SkeetScout. "Go. Keep your eyes on him. Don't engage, just watch. If he leaves the Association, follow him. If he leaves the village — you message me."
The low-level player nodded frantically. "Yes, boss!" Then he darted out of the tavern as quickly as he'd arrived.
SkeetScout had once dreamt of being a hero. Then these four taught him what happened to dreamers. Now he just tried to stay useful — and invisible.
As the door swung shut behind him, the tavern seemed a little darker.
AshesNSmoke drained the rest of his ale and stood up, cracking his neck. "Looks like we've got ourselves a fat new chew toy."
ILikeNips grinned and pulled out his blades. "Let's see what's under all that bronze."
CurryFavor chuckled, running a finger along the edge of a curse scroll tucked into his robe. "I've got a silence curse with his name on it."
WillFYourSis was already adjusting his Bronze-tier shield. "Bet he screams better than the last guy."
AshesNSmoke turned to the group, eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Let's remind this little piggy who owns Fwerah now."
And just like that, the four of them stood, leaving behind spilled drinks and uneaten food — predators scenting blood on the wind.
Their boots echoed like war drums on the tavern floor as they left in formation, ready to hunt.
They had no idea that it would become the biggest regret of their lives.