The Boss King actually disguised himself as a novice village chief?!
Chapter 323 - 277: Hospitable Villagers

Chapter 323: Chapter 277: Hospitable Villagers

[Grape Planter from Fox Hole, lv4]

[Health: 60/110]

[Grape Picker from Fox Hole, lv5]

[Health: 100/150]

[Aphid Remover from Fox Hole, lv3]

[Health: 60/90]

There indeed were people inside the Porcupine Tavern, and there were even more than a dozen of them standing.

They were indeed having a gathering, but they might not be as friendly as one would imagine.

The moment they heard the door being pushed open, everyone simultaneously turned to look at him.

The instantaneous return of their gazes caused I Have an Early Eight’s heart to stop suddenly.

The moment their eyes landed on him, he found his throat dry and itchy.

"Gulp"

It wasn’t until he swallowed his saliva that he felt slightly better and more alert.

He forced a smile and said, "Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your gathering."

As I Have an Early Eight slowly backed out of the tavern’s door and attempted to close it with him,

the dozen villagers had already opened their blood-filled mouths, bristling with hundreds of teeth, and roared as they lunged at him.

"Ah! Fuck!!!"

The silence of Fox Hole was finally broken.

The villagers, who were shy, fearful of strangers, and unwilling to interact during the day, became warmly hospitable at night.

Eagerly, they chased the outsiders, armed with sickles, pitchforks, scissors, axes, and other tools, delivering their most sincere greetings.

Ashes exploded, and light flickered.

This scene had begun to play out in various areas of Fox Hole.

I Have an Early Eight resurrected in a random area of Fox Hole, and it seemed there was no absolutely safe place in this Newbie Village.

Or it might be judged that every place was safe, only that he happened to be in a different camp than the locals, who happened to be hostile toward him.

Being dismembered on his first attempt at the game,

even though he had completely turned off pain sensations, the sight of being chopped up into pieces made it hard not to feel physically nauseous.

From then on, he had material for nightmares, ordinary death was utterly uninteresting, the least horrifying thought was being chopped up and dumped into the river in concrete blocks.

Wait, can he only play this game while sleeping? Then it’s fine, he won’t actually have nightmares.

I Have an Early Eight resurrected in a narrow alley.

It was so tight that at most two people could walk shoulder to shoulder, and it was pitch black.

However, after holding his breath and blinking hard to adjust, he could vaguely make out the surroundings.

He had already fully employed his real-world survival instincts in the game.

When things weren’t clear, he would squint, and then discover he really could see a bit clearer; when throwing things, he would instinctively follow a perfect trajectory that struck exactly as he intended, and so on.

This was a game that completely adhered to the behavioral logic of real-world humans.

How realistic a game felt depended not only on its graphics but more importantly on its logic of movement and activity. Most of the time, he would forget that he was even playing a game.

It was equally pitch black behind him, only forward or backward were options.

The Undead also playing in Fox Hole sent a message: "The villagers here are really enthusiastic, aren’t they?"

I Have an Early Eight also lamented: "Yeah, they completely ignore us during the day, but at night, they change completely."

"Be careful, I feel like something went wrong with this Newbie Village."

So far, the Undead hadn’t even figured out what the current main storyline of the game was because no matter where you looked from, continuing to play could be considered the main storyline. Even skipping this storyline for another would still lead to countless intersections with other main stories on the journey ahead.

It seemed as though even without the involvement of the Undead, these stories would continue to quietly evolve away from the main player’s perspective.

This sensation was utterly miraculous.

They felt like tiny ants caught up in an era.

By now, they couldn’t even control their own experiences in Newbie Village.

"Be careful," he cautioned.

I Have an Early Eight closed the chat window.

In such a narrow area, the pitchfork was impractical, so all he could do was pray that he wouldn’t encounter an enemy and be forced into a confrontation on a tight path.

Luckily, as he continued forward, nothing leapt out at him.

Just as I Have an Early Eight was about to peek out, a strong beam of light suddenly splashed in from ahead, the swirling ashes shimmering like condensed blotchy stars under the firelight.

Sensing something amiss, he crouched and surged forward.

A sharp whoosh skimming just above his scalp struck the wall with a loud clang.

Taking advantage of crouching, in a burst, I Have an Early Eight also turned to see who was attacking him.

It was still the Grape Picker from the vineyard.

Like the other villagers he had encountered before, they were not high level but invariably enthusiastic.

Because of his forward charge, he had to discard the pitchfork he was holding, and with no suitable weapon in hand, his only choice was to quickly target an individual and lunge to embrace them.

The villager clutched in his arms was light, flying into the air with a shoulder bump from I Have an Early Eight. The villager’s skinny, shriveled body was like a torn bag being lifted, then violently slammed to the ground.

Seizing the chance, he grabbed the sickle from the villager’s hand, and with a strength advantage, successfully wrested it away.

His reflexes swift, he pressed the sickle against the opponent’s neck, and with a bodily force, he viciously sliced upward.

Blood spilled, but no blood sprayed; the gaunt, frail body seemed empty, the blood merely staining the neck red.

Yet in that instant, I Have an Early Eight felt a slight disturbance behind him.

He was under attack! His health sharply decreased.

He rolled forward instinctively, dodging the second strike from the attacker.

The crude, dull cleaver didn’t hit the Undead but instead struck the still-twitching villager.

Guts spilled open, this time gushing out a good deal of blood.

So much so, it was abnormal—as if the villager’s stomach held a massive blood bag that the cleaver had just burst, splashing blood all over his face.

"Ptui!" I Have an Early Eight quickly raised his arm to wipe his mouth, having accidentally ingested some.

The taste was oddly tangy, mixed with a sweet and sour flavor.

Taking advantage of the moment the cleaver got stuck in the corpse’s bones. He lifted the sickle above his head, dashed behind the villager in a few steps, and hacked down with all his might.

The tip of the sickle, like Talons, drilled a large hole in the back of the bowed villager’s head.

Such eerily realistic interactions could also bring new troubles.

The sickle was now lodged in the skull, unremovable, and the intense pain made the villager even more ferocious.

I Have an Early Eight had no choice but to let go and bent down to pick up the pitchfork he had accidentally dropped earlier.

With the pitchfork in hand, his attack was as fierce as a dragon!

A final stab successfully eliminated the opponent.

Two limp bodies lay on the ground, and I Have an Early Eight picked up the bone cleaver that was bound and fixed with fabric strips.

Though crudely made, the weapon was somewhat stronger and more durable than the pitchfork.

He swung the bone cleaver through the air twice, the whooshing sound of the swings bolstering his confidence immensely.

Besides this, he also obtained a hat.

Now, I Have an Early Eight, from the appearance alone, didn’t look much different from a Fox Hole villager, but he himself didn’t understand why these villagers could always spot him instantly, which was somewhat different from the strategies he had read online before.

What followed was a merciless slaughter as he advanced.

In dealing with the Fox Hole villagers, he gradually became adept.

He could swiftly move behind an opponent and with a surprise attack, strike down the enemy in a single move.

He occasionally got injured, but most were not fatal.

Moans and howls came from afar, and I Have an Early Eight hurried toward the direction only to discover there was a familiar face.

It was the Old Hunter, Charles, whom he had parted with at nightfall.

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