“Lord Charleth Lionheart the Beatht Thlayer?” the lisping, middle-aged human male repeated timidly. He wore a hunting cap, some very light brown cloth armor draped with a simple dark green mantle, had a longbow and quiver slinged over his shoulder, and he struggled with every 's'.

???

“No name?”

The system had revealed the fellow to be an NPC, but gave no details. This indicated he was in no capacity an official or key figure.

“No way … is my announcement in effect already?”

That was the only explanation Carl could come up with.

“That's me,” he confirmed, seeing that the NPC shrunk back in fear from his scrutiny.

“Good day to you, Lord Charles Lionheart the Beast Slayer.” The man bowed respectfully. “My name is Theodore Deerstalker, I'm a huntsman.”

Only now did the system display his name and profession.

“Alright.” Carl nodded. “What's this about?”

“We – err … we heard rumors … I mean … my old colleague at the bureau … I mean the Expedition Bureau … she said an immortal Beast Slayer has appeared today and made quite the commotion. She also said that she overheard … I mean … that there's a rumor … that the Beast Slayer is interested in working with us, mortals …”

“Oh? Max's doing? Or a coincidence? Have I already made such big waves?”

“And you found me in this endless crowd?”

“I have, My Lord.”

“How?”

“I– my apologies, My Lord.” The man bowed once again.

“Don't apologize, just tell me how.”

“I'm a tracker, My Lord, I have good eyes and senses.”

“What I mean is, I've been all over the place in the past few hours. Have you been standing watch over here all this time or what?”

“Yes, My Lord, up there on the stairs.”

“And you saw me among the myriad people who passed through here?”

“I have good eyes and senses, My Lord,” Theodore echoed humbly. “And you … stand out, My Lord.”

“What kind of senses are those?! This is a bit ridiculous …”

“You can stop with this 'My Lord' already. You said 'we', who were you talking about?”

“Me and my comrades … we formed a party after you descended and we went on expeditions beside you, hoping to gain fame and fortune, since you …”

“Are young and inexperienced,” Carl finished.

“Y-yes … but we were wrong … you are so … able and resourceful … we can't compete,” the huntsman stammered.

“So you're a tracker and an archer?”

“Yes, M– … Master Lionheart, been doing it my whole life. Got my name for it.”

“Didn't you have a last name before that?”

“I did not, Master Lionheart. I was a street urchin.”

“And your comrades, what's their specialty?”

“Father Petro knows mending arts and anatomy, Bonecracker is a huntsman like myself, Bub is good with an axe, and Sunny is our shield man,” Theodore enumerated on his fingers.

“So there's five of you?”

The man faltered.

“There's five of us now, Master Lionheart.”

“What happened to the sixth one?” Carl interrogated with a raised brow.

“A dire wolf … bit his leg badly on our last hunt … we brought him back, but … he has to recuperate now,” Theodore revealed with painful sadness.

“And why is this Father Petro in your party? Isn't there a high demand for such professionals? Shouldn't he have a well paid job?”

“His license … got revoked …”

“Of course. This Bonecracker, how did he get his name?”

“It's because his bones crack at the most inopportune moments.” Theodore began laughing, but he silenced just as abruptly.

“Great. Bob?”

“It's Bub, Master Lionheart.”

“Bub? Seriously? Who's he?” Carl was flabbergasted.

“He's an old friend of mine, we grew up in the streets together. He's rugged and can hit like a horse.”

“Okay. And Sunny?”

“Heh … you'll understand once you see him remove his helmet to wipe the sweat off,” Theodore explained while scratching his head.

“Fantastic. What a comical bunch of misfits. No wonder they can't keep up.”

“So you barely brake even, huh?”

“Master Lionheart, we do have the skills, we just … I mean the competition … the prices are dictated … I mean it's too dangerous for us out there … we can't afford to get injured, so we … have to be very careful.”

Carl sighed.

“I can't take them to black wolves' den. The last thing I'd want is to get them killed and ruin my reputation. But if they survived a dire wolf … nah, Fleeting Time said it's pointless to go there. Unless …”

“Say, if you didn't have to worry about your well-being, how many gray wolves could you kill?”

“As many as the arrows I carry.” Theodore shrugged. “I use poison, Master Lionheart. So does Bonecracker.”

Seeing a glimmer of hope for the first time, the huntsman stood by with bated breath.

“Gah … oh well, one last run”

“Alright, listen. I have very little time. If you want me to go to the gray wolves' den with you, we can only go at full speed. No dilly-dallying, no holding back, and no panicking. You five stick together at all times. I'll slaughter everything that gets close, and you shoot as many as you can before they flee. Does that work?”

“Y-yes, Master Lionheart!” Theodore jumped for joy.

“Will everyone be able to keep up if we run all the time?”

“This …” The huntsman hesitated. “I think so …”

“And one more thing – what's your success rate when skinning?”

“100%, Master Lionheart,” Theodore stated with puzzlement.

Carl froze.

“Okay. Let's go get your comrades.”

…

Red Brook Inn, provincial capital city of Geneva, Immortal Frontier.

As an affordable eatery and wine bar, this tavern in the north-eastern district saw constant traffic. Very few, however, were players. As of now, there were none present.

Every NPC, being the staff or customers, was fleshed out by the AI overmind from the collective evolutionary cycle of the world represented in the tutorial. Since the start of the demo, each one was also commandeered by its own agent, a strand of computing power in the fabric of an enormous quantum supercomputer. Then, they were all weaved together by highly optimized through machine learning algorithms, to create a cohesive society – very rudimentary, but genuine enough to fool a cursory glance.

These programs were all employed to create a backdrop for the players to get immersed in. Run by behavioral software, they mirrored human interactions at the fundamental level. It was possible to form very complex and multi-dependent relationships with them, setting off butterfly effects throughout the game.

For all intents and purposes – they were fictional people. So well developed in fact, that there wasn't a lack of loonies advocating for their rights, campaigning in all the social media and uniting in their delusion. For now they were still a small minority, but Cybercore had their share of scuffles with them nonetheless. After all, being a visible faction, it was enough to be used as a pawn in the bigger game, between the depraved seeking the dissolution of moral norms and those who yet maintained their sanity.

As programs, they naturally had their limits. They were fortified by numerous contingencies, preventing their rampant consumption of computing power when faced with players. This manifested most prominently in their ignorance. Whenever the players broke character and the algorithms couldn't make a connection, they would simply disregard it, thus protecting the immersion as well.

Currently, four particular AI agents were interacting with each other at a dining table. They were building lore for Carl's immediate benefit.

“Toothy is such a naive fool. Always has been, always will be,” a stocky, unshaven brute with a crooked nose mocked before downing his mug like a caveman.

“Leave him be, Bub, he's commiserating with Rusty. The man will have trouble feeding his family now,” a white-haired elder with a long beard pacified quietly.

“Ha! It's Rusty's own fault for messing up,” the simpleton known as Bub continued his tirade.

“If it wasn't for Rusty, we wouldn't have gotten away scot free, Bub,” a man in his fifties with protruding ears reminded.

“Don't forget, Bonecracker, that I killed the dire wolf.” Bub glowered. “And if Sunny did a better job, he could have covered for Rusty in time.”

The fourth man, slightly paunchy, well armored and perpetually covered in sweat, scowled at the remark, but said nothing.

“These blasted immortals! Now we can't even earn a decent living because of them!” Bub ranted between emptying his drink.

“Well, it's adapt or die, survival of the fittest,” Bonecracker rationalized.

“Fittest?! The merchants are making a fortune, and look at us! Honest work doesn't pay, I've been telling you, but you were stubborn. You listened to Toothy's promises instead, and what did it get you? You almost died and have nothing to show for it!” Bub derided. “And now that knucklehead thinks he can make it all right by finding an immortal Beast Slayer. What lunacy!”

“Well, it might be nearly impossible, but on the off-chance it works, our troubles might just get resolved. We need one man, and he is one man,” the elder of the group speculated. “Give Toothy a credit for his efforts, at least.”

“You have all lost your minds from spending time with him already, even you Father Petro.” Bub shook his head. “Toothy has no idea what's good for him, he never did. I can only pray he doesn't by some stroke of luck find the Beast Slayer. That man would chew us raw and spit out bones. To immortals, we're worth less than the air they breathe,” he concluded by hammering his fist into the table.

“Lads, are you done? Please return to your rooms or go outside. We have customers waiting for a table,” a big innkeeper, even bigger than Bub, requested politely.

“We're going, we're going,” Bub grumbled, and everyone slowly got up to return upstairs.

At this moment, a thin middle-aged man blasted past the door from the street.

“Guys! You won't believe this! I found him!”

While the four balked, the whole bar turned to investigate the ruckus.

“Don't just stand there!” Toothy chuckled genially. “Gather your stuff, he's taking us to the gray wolves' den!”

“What do you mean, when?”

“Right now! He's right behind me!”

Bub, who was initially shocked speechless, burst out with hearty laughter.

“Oh, Toothy, you poor sod. You brought the first immortal who told you he's a Beast Slayer, didn't you?”

“N-no, he's the real deal …”

“Ha! Let's see then, where is he?”

“Right here.” An unassuming figure walked in casually through the open door when everyone was focused on Toothy.

Silence descended upon the diner, as all eyes scanned the newcomer with untamed curiosity.

“Are these four your comrades?” a noble voice demanded courteously.

“Yes, Master Lionheart! That's Father Petro, that's Sunny, that's Bub, and that's Bonecracker,” Toothy introduced happily.

“Good.” The immortal nodded. “I can only spare some time for a quick hunt, so if you're interested, then let's go,” he commanded.

“Come on guys, let's go!” Toothy jumped with enthusiasm, beaming like a little child that just received a gift.

The four looked at each other dubiously, and just as Bub was about to say something, the other three scrambled for the stairs.

“Hmm?”

“They're only going to get their gear, Master Lionheart,” Toothy explained deferentially. “Bub, you're not coming?”

The burly man grinned from ear to ear.

“How could I miss this chance to watch a legend in action? I'll be right back.”

Once he got to the stairs, the others were already running down with their meager possessions.

“Is this all the arrows you have?” the Beast Slayer asked with bewilderment. Toothy and Bonecracker, both archers, exchanged startled glances.

“Very well. Here's a Gold Crown. Buy as many as you can, then meet me at the first portal. Don't make me wait too long.” The immortal called Lionheart handed Toothy a gold coin, then turned around.

“Master Lionheart!” the terror-stricken huntsman exclaimed. “That's … over a hundred arrows …”

“So? Was your previous claim for show?”

“I– … but you said … a quick hunt?”

“It will be. And if I'm not covered in blood from head to toe by the end of it, I will not be satisfied.”

With this, the mysterious immortal left.

The whole crowd stared greedily at the gold coin in Toothy's hand – a denomination they hardly ever handled. But nobody dared make a move. They were all under the impression of the grand man they just witnessed. Someone commented in the deathly quiet hall.

“What a monster!”