Chapter 1: Output Charge.
[Location: Outskirt City]
The sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore echoed faintly in the distance.
Zachariah stood silently beside a body.
A moment ago, that body had been a person.
A living, breathing human being who once had thoughts, dreams, fears, and desires. Someone who had walked this world believing tomorrow would still arrive.
Now? None of that mattered anymore because that person was dead.
Their neck bent at an unnatural angle, twisted far beyond what a human body was meant to endure. The life that once filled their eyes had already faded, leaving behind nothing but a hollow shell.
Zachariah stared at the corpse quietly.
Then his gaze slowly drifted downward.
To his hands.
These same hands were the ones that had snapped the man's neck only minutes ago.
His fingers flexed slightly, as if recalling the sensation of bone cracking under pressure.
Yet… he felt nothing. No guilt. No excitement. No disgust. Nothing at all.
He didn't like looking at their faces. He never understood why. Was something wrong with him? Probably...
His memories drifted back to his childhood. The first time he had seen blood. The first time he had seen someone die. The first ever time he saw a corpse.
Most people would scream. Some would panic. Others would faint. But Zachariah?
He felt nothing. Not fear. Not horror. Just a strange numbness... As if the scene before him was nothing more than a dull, uninteresting event.
Something his mind simply refused to care about. Back then, people thought he was strange. But Zachariah himself didn't really think about it much.
After all, it was pointless, completely and utterly pointless. Thinking about things that didn't feed him. Was absolutely, and utterly pointless...
The past was the past. What mattered now was finishing the job and without another word, Zachariah grabbed the corpse by the leg and began dragging it across the rough ground.
The body scraped along the dirt and rocks as he pulled it toward the shoreline. When he reached the edge of the ocean, he finally stopped.
From his bag, he pulled out a hacksaw, covered by dried blood and red rust.
He then began the process known as dismemberment.
The sound of metal grinding against flesh, and the sound of pooling blood, echoed briefly in the quiet air.
When Zachariah finished, he tossed the headless body toward the water. The ocean would deal with the rest.
Whether someone found it or not didn't really matter. Most of the people he killed were nobodies anyway.
People who lived outside the city. People no one would bother looking for. And not to mention…
He had been killing quite frequently lately. So frequently that the nearby wildlife had begun to notice.
Seagulls and Coconut-Crabs of the beach.
Even the animals from the nearby forest had started appearing near the outskirts of the beach, attracted by the scent of fresh death and rotting corpses.
More specifically Dogs, Cats, and Birds.
Because wasting meat had always seemed foolish to him.
Those animals should be thankful, afterall, he left them with cut open belly.
So they better not waste them.
...
Zachariah wiped the hacksaw clean and shoved it back into his bag.
The severed head was roughly thrown inside the leather sack. Proof of completion. After all. This world, unlike the real world, didn't possessed any techniques that required electricity.
With the sack slung over his shoulder, Zachariah began walking toward the city. The path ahead stretched long and quiet.
As he walked, his thoughts slowly wandered. Back to the moment everything began. Because It happened not too long ago.
Back when Zachariah still lived deep inside the forest. He had come out that day searching for new victims. Instead, he ran into something unexpected.
A traveling merchant caravan. Several wagons lined the dirt road, surrounded by guards and traders moving busily from place to place.
Zachariah had watched them from a distance. Attacking them crossed his mind briefly. But he quickly dismissed the idea.
Killing a single bear in the forest? Easy.
But fighting an entire group of armed merchants and guards?
Impossible, unnecessary and a complete waste of his time. Unnecessary risks were always, and will always be both stupid and suicidal.
Besides...
Massacring an entire caravan would attract too much attention. So instead of attacking, Zachariah decided to do something unusual.
He walked into the camp. The merchants were wary of him, but travelers weren't uncommon along trade routes.
As long as he didn't cause trouble, no one bothered him. He wandered through the wagons casually, observing the goods.
Weapons. Tools. Foods. Waters. Clothes.
Nothing particularly interesting until he saw it.
A helmet. White, Smooth, and oddly shaped. Unlike any helmet he had ever seen before. The front completely covered the eyes, almost like a mask. It was a virtual helmet.
Something that doesn't exist in their world yet. Something everyone, not even Zachariah recognized, as the appearance is that of advanced technology.
But the strangest part was its condition. It was covered in dried mud, as if someone had simply thrown it away.
Zachariah picked it up. It felt strangely light.
"Where did this come from?" he asked one of the merchants. The merchant shrugged.
"Found it on the side of the road."
"Looked expensive, so we kept it."
Zachariah stared at it for a moment longer. Something about it caught his interest.
"I'll buy it."
The merchant smirked.
"With what money?"
Zachariah paused.
Right.
Money.
He didn't have any.
After a short silence, the merchant finally offered a solution.
"Work with us until the next town. Earn some coin."
"Then you can buy it."
Zachariah thought about it, then nodded in acceptance.
And just like that. Everything changed.
Somehow… Some way… That simple decision led him here. Now he owed money to the wrong type of people.
And because of that debt. He had become a freelance assassin for the Yakuza. Killing people. Collecting proof. Paying off what he owed. Life had taken a strange turn.
But Zachariah didn't mind. Because he still felt nothing. So after showing proof. He went home.
A rented place, cheap, made of wood, affordable, a bed made of wool, a wool blanket, a wool pillow, and a wool bodypillow. A very nice place all things considered.
After all, in this world, without any electricity, of course, air-conditioning wouldn't exist. So this place was nice. Even if he still prefers the house, back in the forest.
He lay on the bed, his body relaxing, before picking up the virtual reality helmet beside him to experience a place like that of a whole another different world.
[Connection Complete. Entering The Gameworld]
He opened his eyes, in the middle of the town, turning to look at the leaderboard behind him, he saw only him.
Utterly alone. At level 9. It had been at least a week and almost half since he started playing.
From what little information he can gathered. Being the highest on the leaderboard meant you level up automatically in a day.
So by that logic, second place will take double that time to reach another level.
He sighed in annoyance before going to the tavern to do commissions on rewarding quests.
When he arrived, the receptionist, a woman in her 30s by the name of Beatrice, greeted him with a nod, being seemingly familiar with him.
Zachariah in return, greeted her the same way, before going to the notice board, full of quests.
Many relating to animal-attacks, hunting, escorting, plants-gathering, chores. This town was quite the peaceful place, being only plagued by regular people problems.
Around him, was many other people interacting with eachothers over missions, either small polite greetings or rude bickerings.
Suddenly, someone burst through the entrance, everyone, including Zachariah, turned to see who possessed such audacity to tried and cause a ruckus in a place full of adventurers.
"This Is An Urgent Emergency!"
Said the mayor assistant, huffing and puffing as he came all the way from the office.
"A huge wave of goblins has been spotted approaching this village. Begin the preparation immediately!"
The looks of everybody change from annoyance to grimace.
And every adventurer in the tavern expressed determination. Most prepared to war, and yet, there are a small numbers of them, ready to escape at a moment notice.
Around him, many adventurers began whispering to eachother. Some gripped their weapons tightly. Others slowly shifted closer to the exit.
Zachariah noticed. He always notices.
If they fled, if they simply runaway, people would call those deserters, a bunch of lowlife cowards.
And if cowards died in battle… No one would bother blaming the one who killed them.
The thought left him quietly satisfied as he started mentally marking those who are most likely of ditching their comrades.
His face carried the same distant expression it always did. Something people often mistook for either shock or surprise.
In reality, the brutally honest truth was much more simple, because it was simply how Zachariah always looked.
But in his heart, is something, and that something is not exactly sadistism.
But that of brutalism he would be allowed to proform onto these cowards.
There's no hunger for justification to himself, only socially so he wouldn't be caught so soon.
There's only hunger for blood, the people he can either easily murder, or struggle against.
...
Bonus:
...
"Damn. Maybe I should've just pick those merchants and their bodyguards off, one by one."
...
"Next time, maybe I'll think ahead alittle more."
"Yes."
"I Will Think..."
...
Chapter 2: Output Release.