Sunlight enveloped the cobbled streets of Fwerah in gold as Ezekiel crossed the threshold back into the village. His destination was clear: Lance's Smithy.
This time as well, there was no hesitation—he made a beeline for the now familiar alleyway, iron sword slung at his waist, boots tapping against the stone with the quiet assurance of someone who had just cheated death and won.
The smithy sat between a baker's shop and a closed-down forge, its facade worn by age but clearly cared for. A large wooden sign carved with a hammer and anvil swayed gently in the breeze.
As Ezekiel pushed open the heavy door, a somewhat nostalgic scent of scorched metal, leather oil, and faint charcoal smoke greeted him.
Inside, the smithy was a mixture of old charm and practical chaos. Rows of iron swords and spears lined one wall, gleaming in the filtered light that streamed in from the high windows.
Shields of various shapes leaned on wooden racks, while daggers, small axes, and hammers were displayed under thick glass counters.
The walls were hung with tools of the trade—tongs, mallets, chisels—each one worn from use but expertly maintained.
The far end of the room glowed orange from the steady fire of the forge, its bellows sighing softly like a beast in slumber. It wasn't an extraordinarily big space, but it didn't feel cramped either.
Behind the counter sat a burly man with short ginger hair and a beard the color of rust, his forearms roped with muscle. He was hunched over an old, worn-looking dagger, squinting at it through a magnifying lens attached to a headband.
Standing across from him at the counter was a player—a tall Indian teenager, with slicked-back hair and a relaxed posture. His username floated subtly above his head in green: BigBadWolf. The guy tapped his fingers patiently against the counter, waiting for the blacksmith to finish his assessment.
And he wasn't the only one waiting. Five more players moved about the space, three men and two women, browsing the weapons with animated whispers. All of them wore the same standard cloth gear Ezekiel still had on—white tunic, brown pants, leather boots—identical starting sets.
But as Ezekiel stepped inside, the quiet hum of conversation cut off like a wire snapped.
Every head turned toward him.
The group's expressions flickered—from curiosity to disbelief, then finally to something close to awe.
Ezekiel instinctively tensed. His eyes sharpened, scanning the group as his system interface kicked in.
As per ReLife's basic scan protocol, he could only see the levels of players and NPCs lower than himself. And sure enough, the teen waiting at the counter was Level 3, while the rest of the group hovered at Level 2.
They, on the other hand, saw nothing when they glanced at him. Which meant he was above their level.
Their reactions made sense.
One of them—a tall, pale-skinned Caucasian boy with a messy mop of dark blond hair and an open, guileless face—stepped forward. The name floating above his head was Galesberg. He looked no older than eighteen, his boots scuffed from travel, eyes wide with a blend of admiration and excitement.
"Hey! Sorry to just... y'know, approach you out of nowhere," he began in fluent, accent-neutral English—translated instantly by ReLife's Global Language Protocol. "But, dude, how did you level up so fast? We're still figuring out which quest givers are even worth talking to, and here you are, geared up and glowing."
The others nodded behind him, their curious expressions unreadable but polite. One of the girls—a sharp-eyed Hispanic girl with long curls tied in a ponytail and a faint scar above her eyebrow—leaned against a rack of short swords. Her username read FaeCarmen. Her gaze, though friendly, was scrutinizing.
Beside her, another girl, MazeBread—short, athletic, and bronze-skinned with freckles—grinned awkwardly and poked at a spiked mace, whispering to the guy next to her, a Vietnamese boy with glasses and the game username: RoachTen.
The last party member, a taller, broad-shouldered Latino guy, TeaOnIce, stood back quietly, watching Ezekiel the way one watches an unexpected thundercloud.
The atmosphere was tense, though not hostile. Ezekiel's eyes scanned each of them quickly, noting their postures, spacing, equipment.
High schoolers, most likely. Probably joined the game as a group. In ReLife, while the starting village would always be random for a player, if a group wanted to start at the same starting village, they could definitely do it.
All they had to do was link up their accounts prior to entering the game. But it was only a one-time beginner privilege, so players couldn't use it as a loophole to travel between villages and towns without paying the appropriate fee.
Ezekiel didn't respond to Galesburg, merely studying the party with a calm, distant expression.
That was enough to send a chill down their spines.
He looked to be only a few years older than them—but there was a gravity in his presence. A quiet intensity that didn't match the default innocence of most new players.
It wasn't the sword or the level—it was the way he carried himself. Steady. Watchful. Like someone who had lived long enough to no longer be surprised by the worst the world had to offer.
Sensing the awkward silence, the boy at the counter—BigBadWolf—called out to his friend.
"Brandon, quit pestering the guy. Everyone plays the game their own way, man. Not everyone wants to party up or talk."
"Yeah," FaeCarmen added gently, sending Ezekiel an apologetic glance. "Gale's just... overly friendly sometimes."
Galesberg—Brandon—raised his hands in surrender, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."
Ezekiel blinked, surprised. For a moment, he'd expected annoyance or cockiness. But these kids were just being genuine.
He exhaled and softened slightly. "Don't worry about it."
A beat passed. Then he added, casually, "I found a good grinding spot just past the East Gate. That's all."
Not a lie. Just... incomplete.
At once, interest lit their faces like fireworks. Galesberg opened his mouth again—then shut it, catching the silent warning glance from FaeCarmen.
Ezekiel didn't elaborate. But he was amused.
Just then, a heavy clank echoed from the counter.
The blacksmith finally set the dagger down and looked up at BigBadWolf.
"This," he said, voice gravelly and thick with a Northern drawl, "is no ordinary weapon. You've brought me a damaged Gold-tier antique."
BigBadWolf's jaw dropped. His friends gasped.
The man continued, rubbing his chin. "It's old, chipped, but still holds a unique enchantment. I can't restore this for you, boy—not here. But take it to the Auction House. Speak with the chief manager. He'll know what to do."
The group stood frozen for a second—then, as if prompted, each of them blinked.
{Quest Received: Ancient Blade Restoration}
Their faces lit up with excitement. But then all their eyes simultaneously turned to Ezekiel again, hesitation back in their gazes. Would he try to join? Steal the quest?
But Ezekiel merely smiled and waved a hand. "Relax. I've got my own business to handle."
Relief washed over them like a wave. Galesberg let out a breathy laugh. FaeCarmen beamed.
"We'll see you around then," she said.
"Thanks, man," BigBadWolf added, holding up the dagger reverently.
The party exited quickly, their voices carrying outside the door—laughing, speculating about their new quest.
Ezekiel watched them go.
Good kids.
The VR world was one full of people obsessed with self-interest. Opportunistic players were the standard for games like ReLife, and he was ready for that.
But once in a while, one might find people just looking to have fun. That was worth appreciating.
Now alone in the shop, Ezekiel finally stepped up to the counter.
The blacksmith turned his full attention to him.
"How can I help you, Adventurer?"
Ezekiel glanced at the name above the man's head.
{Lance the Blacksmith}
He smiled faintly and pulled out all thirteen pristine wolf hides from his inventory. They materialized on the counter in neatly stacked rolls of silver-gray fur, soft and shimmering.
Lance's eyes went wide. "Well, I'll be damned…"
Ezekiel met his gaze. "Your daughter asked me to lend you a hand. You shouldn't keep her waiting every day."
Lance's jaw worked for a second before he recovered. "You… You've done more than I could've asked for. Thank you, brave one. Please—accept this as a token of my family's gratitude."
A cascade of chimes echoed in his mind. Notifications burst across his vision.
{Quest Complete: Ariel's Dilemma (Pseudo-Epic)}
{Calculating Completion Rank…}
{Rank: EX-Grade Achieved!}
{Reward Bonus: +300%}
{You have gained 12,000 EXP!}
{Level Up! Level 5 Reached!}
{3 Free Stat Points Available}
{13 Pristine Wolf Hides Submitted}
{13 Free Stat Points Acquired}
{Permanent Stat Bonus Acquired: Charm +5 | Luck +3}
{Item Acquired: Dhamra's Locket (Platinum)}
{Item Acquired: Wolf Armor Set (Bronze)}
Ezekiel stared for a long moment, blinking.
He'd expected some EXP, the locket and the free stat points equivalent to the amount of hides he submitted. But this?
It was overwhelming—but he felt something close to pride rise in his chest. He hadn't felt that in a long, long time.
He opened his status screen, a quiet smile forming at the corner of his lips.
This journey... just got a whole lot smoother.