Chapter Four: A World Where Human Life Is Worth Less Than a Chicken

From a very early age, I knew there were many people in this world. But what I didn't expect was just how many there truly were!

Before leaving the city, I had already braced myself for a fierce battle. Our clash with the mother hens had made one thing clear: our fighting strength could hardly be called formidable. The thought of confronting a pack of vicious, ill-tempered wild dogs, far more savage than any hen, left me with a sense of dread.

Yet, when I stood at the city gate and looked out, I realized my fears had been utterly unfounded.

At some point, the world outside the city had been overrun by all manner of space-faring adventurers. They came from different races, with distinct features and wielding diverse weapons, yet all were engaged in roughly the same pursuits.

“Cluck, cluck, cluck…” a few rousing chicken cries rang out from the base of the nearby city wall, startling me so much that my hands shook, nearly sending me into a frenzied fit of chicken-foot dance. Shameful as it is to admit, the traumatizing ordeal of being besieged by those crazed hens had left a significant psychological scar. Now, even the sight of roasted chicken lying peacefully before me conjured terrifying visions of countless furious talons flailing wildly at my eyes.

But this time, the tables had turned—the fearsome assailants had become the victims, and it was not some unlucky soul like us who suffered, but a flock of fearless hens themselves. A burly dwarf warrior, wielding a massive hammer, charged into the flock with a wild battle cry. His short, stocky frame was instantly swallowed by a flurry of feathers and the shrieks of hens. For a long while, we saw no sign of him, only the repeated rise and fall of a gigantic warhammer at the center of the carnage, each blow bursting forth a spray of blood.

Had he been fighting alone, I wager the valiant dwarf would have fled before ten rounds had passed. Brave as he was, he was still no match for that frenzied flock. But behind him, a gnome mage, even smaller than he, provided powerful support. Clad in a robe—though, for him, it was “long” only in the most relative sense, as one of my sleeves would have dwarfed it—he gripped a staff about the size of a fire poker, chanting with intense concentration. In a moment, a jet of searing flames shot from his hands, roasting a hen that had the misfortune of facing away from him into a crisp.

As I marveled at their formidable teamwork, the air suddenly shimmered, and a shadowy figure flitted forth from the void. With her left hand, she seized a hen by the throat, while her right, brandishing a dagger, sliced with lightning speed—a blood fountain shot from the hen’s neck, its soul flashing as white light into the killer’s body.

The perpetrator of this slaughter was a female elf. Her dagger and sinister technique left no doubt as to her profession: a rogue, one who walks in darkness, a hunter of freedom and gold.

“Hey, stop messing around here! This is our monster farming spot!” Having dispatched the hens, the dwarf shouted at the elven rogue, not bothering to mask his hostility. The gnome mage followed suit, eyeing the rogue warily.

Faced with such animosity, the elven rogue cast a sidelong, haughty glance at them, her slender fingers flicking the lavender hair from her cheeks. She spoke with the noble elegance unique to her kind:

“Nonsense! Who the hell says this is your spot? What gives you the right? You think those hens would agree if you asked them? I’m taking this spot now—get lost as far as you can!”

It was my first real taste of so-called “elven elegance”—so starkly different from the legends that it left an indelible impression. The sight of this willowy, graceful elf woman referring to herself in such crass terms upended everything I thought I knew about the world. I could almost hear the sound of my world shattering, as everything I’d just begun to understand crumbled into chaos.

Tempers flared, and the two sides drew their weapons. The dwarf, hammer in hand, charged at the elf rogue. Behind him, the gnome mage began chanting a spell, a chilling blue light gathering in his hands. Outnumbered, the situation seemed dire for the rogue.

But just as the dwarf closed in, the rogue flicked her hand, scattering a dazzling spray of magical powder. The flash was so sudden that neither her opponents nor us onlookers were prepared; we were all blinded at once. As we squeezed our eyes shut, the dwarf’s anguished scream rang out.

When we could see again, the dwarf lay dead. A gruesome wound slashed across his throat, still pumping thick blood. The gnome mage, seeing the danger, scrambled away on all fours, shouting incoherent threats: “You classless noob! Camping the chicken spot at level five—go take your skills to the White Dragon’s Lair if you’re so tough! Don’t run, just wait till my main gets here—I’ll make you delete your account!” And so on. Remarkably, his short legs carried him away fast enough that the elf rogue, for all her pursuit, could not catch him.

“Looks like…” After witnessing this murder, Bull Million, trembling, suggested, “…it’s too dangerous here. Boss, maybe we should look elsewhere.”

“What… what were they doing?” The deadly conflict had erupted so abruptly that I couldn’t understand it. But Bull Million, a born spacefarer who had already journeyed far, surely had the answer.

“They’re… fighting over chickens…” he replied.

“Fighting over chickens?” I cried in disbelief. “All that for a few hens? She killed a man for that?”

“Shh, quiet…” By now, the elf rogue had returned to her chicken-haunted spot, evidently frustrated by her failed pursuit. Seeing her gleaming dagger, Bull Million displayed a timidity entirely at odds with his stature and name, tugging me away from the scene.

We retreated until we were well out of earshot. Only then did Bull Million, with great caution, whisper to me, “Don’t mess with that person—we definitely can’t beat that freak. Since she’s claimed this spot, let’s try our luck somewhere else.”

His attitude only deepened my confusion. I couldn’t fathom why this beautiful elf, with her rough, masculine voice, was so obsessed with leveling up that she’d kill for it. I understood the desire to become stronger—but was level everything? Look at the native merchants peddling their wares in town: ever since I could remember, they’d been stuck at level one or two, yet seemed perfectly content with their peaceful, uneventful lives.

One thing was certain: this was a world fraught with danger. Here, even hens could kill you with ease. Worse still, some people would just as readily take your life—for a few hens.

“It’s too much…” Bull Million huddled, arms crossed, stealing a fearful glance at the elf and sighing. He shook his massive bovine head, the timid expression twisting his powerful features into something almost comical. “…A man’s life isn’t even worth a chicken here…”

I could not agree more.

…

Such scenes played out everywhere. Further afield, the spacefarers, driven by a feverish lust for adventure and battle, hunted their prey with wild abandon. Whether it was fragile chickens, ducks, wild rabbits, bats, or more formidable creatures like wildcats, vipers, or dogs, all were doomed to be surrounded and slaughtered. The moment any beast showed itself, it was set upon by hunters many times its number, then burned, frozen, slashed, chopped, hammered, or shot to death—by every conceivable means. Even in death, their torment wasn’t over, as complaints like “Let me get a hit in!” or “Damn, missed it again!” rang out.

When I was a city gate guard, no matter how many people I assigned dog-hunting tasks, they always completed them. I’d imagined a vast horde of wild dogs lurking outside the city, and had even worried they might someday break through and wreak havoc. But seeing the scene before me, I realized my fears were baseless. Here, humans, elves, dwarves—these so-called “intelligent races”—displayed a bloodlust that would shame the fiercest beasts. It was a wonder the wild dogs hadn’t yet been hunted to extinction.

We pressed deeper into the forest, and the animals grew stronger: from level-three and -four wildcats and dogs to level-six and -seven “Frenzied Wild Dogs,” “Venomous Black Snakes,” and even greater beasts. As expected, the number of hunters thinned out accordingly.

We took care to avoid the more dangerous creatures. During this, Bull Million reaped a decent harvest. As an “alchemist,” he gathered many wild herbs, and during our breaks, brewed a few potions to restore health. I couldn’t help but feel jealous when I saw that even gathering and making potions increased his soul power. When he finished his twenty-fifth healing potion, a bright green light danced over him—he’d leveled up.

This convinced me of the importance of learning a trade.

As we struggled to find a suitable prey, a sturdy wild dog entered our sights. It was a brown beast, a bit bigger than the typical wild dog, but with mottled, scruffy fur and unsightly bald patches—it looked rather listless. Compared to names like “Frenzied,” “Enraged,” or “Hungry,” this one’s name was almost metaphysical—neither imposing nor distinctive: simply “Large Wild Dog,” by virtue of its size.

At level five, it was too much for either of us alone, but together, we stood a good chance. Not wanting to alert nearby predators, Bull Million and I stealthily followed it until we reached a clearing.

“This is the one,” I said, drawing my sword and fixing my eyes on the beast.

“It’s a bit too high-level… shouldn’t we look for something easier?” Bull Million eyed the animal anxiously, his fierce-looking face betraying not a hint of courage.

“Or maybe we can check by the city gate—maybe find two lone… hens?” he suggested hesitantly.

“Don’t mention ‘hens’ to me again!” His suggestion brought back memories of whirling feathers. Forcing down a wave of goosebumps (why goosebumps?), I put on my sternest face and refused him in no uncertain terms.

“Well, maybe roosters? Chicks? Little roosters?” he babbled on.

“Can’t you think of anything but chickens?”

“But there’s nothing else low-level near the gate…” he defended himself. “I just want to be safe.”

I shot him a scornful sideways glance. He blushed and shrugged awkwardly.

“Alright, alright, forget I said anything! We’ll do it your way. Just… don’t say I didn’t warn you—my gut tells me this is risky.”

With a simple plan, I drew my sword and charged. My appearance caught the dog’s attention. It crouched low, bared its fangs, and fixed me with a ferocious glare, a low growl rumbling in its throat. When I closed to within five paces, it leapt straight at my face.

Its explosive power caught me off guard. I twisted left, dodged its claws, and slashed at its back. As we passed, my right shoulder went cold, then burned with pain—a wound that cost me nearly a quarter of my health. The beast’s own lifebar flickered with a mere “-9” above its head.

Without delay, I chugged a healing potion and braced for the next attack. The beast was even faster than I expected—its fangs were suddenly at my throat. I blocked with my sword, pushing it aside. By chance, this triggered my “Parry” skill, costing me ten stamina but reducing the dog’s health by fifteen. Even so, its claws raked my chest, wounding me further.

As it prepared a third assault, a massive weapon whistled through the air and struck it broadside. With a yelp, it tumbled away—revealing, at last, the towering figure of my only companion: Bull Million, the minotaur warrior with the extravagant name.

Though his blow had been effective, Bull Million seemed wholly unprepared for battle—his face pale, body tense, eyes twitching, legs visibly trembling.

Before he recovered, the dog lunged at him. With a panicked shriek, he dove behind a tree, but left his tail exposed. The wild dog seized the opportunity, biting down hard.

“Ah…” I could scarcely believe such a shrill wail could come from such a brawny form. His falsetto was enough to make the scalp crawl—like a rooster with its throat slit, or a boar being castrated.

He danced in place, clutching his tail, tears streaming down his face in a display of exquisite suffering. His movements were wild and contorted, brimming with primal energy—if not for the pained foam at his lips, I might have thought he was performing some totemic minotaur ritual.

Seizing the moment, I kicked the dog aside, freeing my friend from his agony. He squatted on the ground, rubbing his tail and wailing, “…Now I know what it means to be ‘dogged by your tail’!”

“What were you doing? Why dodge?” I called, half-angry, half-amused, as I faced the dog’s renewed assault.

“It’s my first time fighting such a high-level beast…” Bull Million had managed to stand, but his tail still throbbed. He hobbled over, insisting, “Besides, it’s so fierce—being nervous is normal, right? You think you can just click twice and it’s done, like with a mouse?”

After these puzzling words, he glanced again at his battered tail and grumbled, “Besides, I’ve never even had one before—how was I to know it sticks out like that?”

With that, Bull Million rejoined the fray.

Never had one before? What did he mean? I glanced at his tail—surely a minotaur’s natural appendage? But the dog’s next attack left no time for pondering.

So far, all had gone as planned. With my armor, I had higher defense, so I blocked the dog’s aggression while Bull Million, a level higher and far stronger, struck from behind. This had the added benefit of keeping the dog off-balance, greatly improving Bull Million’s dismal accuracy.

By now, the healing potion I’d drunk was taking effect. I felt my wounds healing, the pain fading.

The wild dog, half its health gone, snarled in distress, now trapped between us. Each time it attacked, one defended while the other struck from behind; when it switched targets, the roles reversed. Soon, its life bar was little more than a sliver.

Just as we were about to claim our first kill, disaster struck.

We’d chosen this clearing precisely to avoid attracting other beasts—none were within thirty paces. Yet suddenly, we found ourselves surrounded by three level-six “Enraged Wildcats.” They appeared without warning, as if conjured from thin air. I caught a glimpse of their forms shimmering into being—could even wild beasts, lacking intelligence, slip the bonds of time and space as “spacefarers”?

The wildcats, perhaps just arrived from another realm, seemed unsteady—their bodies slightly translucent, not fully solid, and they hesitated to attack. That gave us a chance.

“Run!” I kicked the wild dog aside, grabbed Bull Million, and fled. He glanced back at the dying dog, but followed without hesitation. As we ran, I gulped another healing potion, topping up my battered health.

Soon, the “Enraged Wildcats,” along with the wild dog, gave chase. I didn’t know what made the cats so angry, but it was clear their fury was now for us. They were so close I could feel their hot, murderous breath on my back.

Barely twenty steps in, Bull Million cried out in pain. Worried, I glanced back—and was instantly clawed across the back, the wet sound of flesh tearing in my ears. I rolled, slashing with my sword, but the wildcat leapt high, deftly dodging.

Bull Million was in dire straits. His size had drawn all three predators—two wildcats and the wild dog—to him, and now he was surrounded. His life bar shrank rapidly—if not for his minotaur resilience, he’d have been finished already. Even so, he couldn’t last much longer.

In a desperate move, he stomped the ground, unleashing a shockwave that sent the beasts staggering, giving him just enough time to break free and rush to my side. As he ran, he deftly pulled four healing potions from his pack and downed them all at once, then belched a foul yellow mist.

“Ugh, disgusting—why do these taste like kitchen slop? Couldn’t those idiot programmers have made them taste like Pepsi?” he griped as his life bar surged back to full.

Soon enough, my armor was shredded, and Bull Million’s backside was a mess of wounds. Though we had stockpiled potions, they couldn’t last forever—and the taste was so vile I feared I’d die of poisoning before the beasts got me.

Just when all hope seemed lost, a sharp, icy wind sliced past my cheek and thudded into the tree behind me, leaving a metallic tang in the air. It was an ordinary arrow, its head deeply embedded in the wood, the fletching still quivering.

Looking toward the source, I saw a tall figure. He held a longbow in his left hand, lightly grasped a branch with his right, and balanced on a stone, exuding a calm, elegant air. Sunlight streamed behind him, casting his shadow long across the ground. The breeze lifted his hair, revealing a pair of pointed elven ears.

“Hey…” the lone elf standing in the sunset called out to us in a hoarse but magnetic voice, “…need a hand?”