Roland Five was known as the Hero of the First Wave. Despite his opposition to the title, the name stuck. For him, the first wave wasn’t something that had heroes. If it did, and only if, there were other people there that were far more deserving of that title.

He logged into the game the moment he saw it on his games library. It wasn’t that he was curious or cautious but simply made a mistake. He had heard about a game with a similar name, or not particularly similar but it had been fairly early in the morning, and while was still in development, he had been fairly confused by the various pre-order bundles the company had offered and simply assumed that the one he chose was one that came with early access or beta access. He wanted to learn as much about the game before reviews started to release and things got spoiled. Better still, if he got some good footage then he might make some money by uploading it with his own review. When he entered the game it was obvious that it wasn’t the game he thought, seemingly not even in the same genre, but it looked interesting enough, so he continued playing it anyway.

He selected the adventurer class. From the class description, which could be found by navigating through three menus of the unintuitive class selection system, it seemed to be a fighter variant that focused on combat within the wilderness. The fighter class was essentially a blank slate combat class. It could focus on one weapon, one type of weapon, one size or category of weapons, generalise to any weapon or spread their features so widely as to be bad at everything. They had more alternative class features and ability choices than any other class, but few of them were more complicated than new and creative ways to hit things well.

He chose his abilities points to focus on defence and speed. Increased movement when not wearing leg armour, increased defence from shields and chest armour and increased strike speed from one handed weapons; he forfeited a weapon focus to get those abilities, knowing he could pick one up later once he was more familiar with what was most effective in this particular game. With a sword, shield and chest plate, all made of stone, he spawned in the original camp surrounded by monsters. A message rang through his head telling him that he was the twelfth person to start playing and that he would get a thirty-eight percent increase in experience gained for the next week.

While listening to that message, he was killed. Pain shot through his neck as it was impaled from behind by a two metre tall lizard with a narwhal-like horn. He chocked and panicked, feeling nothing but his head, knowing that he wasn't breathing, seeing his arms flail widely but having no sensation below where his spine was crushed and only pain above it. He wanted to clutch at his neck, as if his hands could cover the hole and he would be fine. As his uncontrolled body slammed flat to the ground, his eyes widened and he tried to in vein to breath. His mouth filled with blood, blood that fell back down his throat and seep from his gaping wound. He had never experienced anything like that. That was obvious, had he died previously, he couldn’t be playing the game. He had played plenty of other games, but none of them had allowed him to experience that; the actual sensation of dying. They would all cut the connection before anything truly bad happened and numb the experience. As his body lay on the ground, like a puppet with its strings cut, his vision blurred and the pain started to numb. With everything fading, he started to feel a twang of fear, it all felt too real, what if he was really dying, his own body wasting away in the capsule. A moment later he found an odd sense of calm about it, a realisation that it didn't matter, that nothing mattered and he could truly be at peace with that. It was the most profound thought, or rather feeling, he had ever had, and that inner peace felt almost addictive. When he finished dying he found himself staring at the main menu once again. He could re-enter if he wanted, face the certain death that would strike without notice and without hesitation; fill him with pains like he had never known. He could also not, leave his pod and go on with his life like he had never tried it in the first place; never again feel that pain or fear. It was obvious that any game where you could die before the first system message had finished was a broken mess. It was also obvious that pain and death were terrible, especially in such a miserable and worthless way. Yet he found himself logging in once more.

As he stood, once again, in the original camp. He could see many more people were logging in and dying. He quickly confirmed his equipment was still with him, and quickly attacked the creature that was busy eating the body that had been him. The horned lizard was still his first opponent. He went to block its attack, preparing to slash out with his sword the moment the shield pushed the horn and exposed the creature's neck, but its horn went through his shield like it was paper, continuing through and into his arm. He was driven backwards, pulling his arm free, and hole in his shield caused cracks throughout it. On the second attempt, he pulled his shield backwards as the blow impacted, like he was catching a ball with soft hands, allowing him to direct the flow. That time the shield held back the attack and he had an opportunity to attack. His blade swung with unmatchable speed, his compressed back expanding to drive his arm like a scorpion's tail, and he sliced across the creatures face, leaving a cut on its scaly cheek from yellow eye to bony chin. The attack was shallow. The attack was far too shallow. It barely even noticed Roland’s attack. It let out a coarse cry and attacked once again. Having gotten the hang of using the shield, he braced the attack easily.

While he was feeling like he might be able to keep it up, kill the creature and win, he felt once gain the cold embrace of death as a slashing cut crushed his heart and everything else is a diagonal line to his hip. The lizard had his complete attention, and he hadn’t noticed the human sized mantis behind him. Death came quicker the second time, as a second blade pierced his brain with ease.

Once again he was at the main menu. Most people that entered the first wave hadn’t tried a second time and, amongst those who did, even fewer went for a third. No one could blame them, it was entirely madness to do so. Roland, however, did press that log in button once more, and without any hesitation. The second time came too quickly and he had only the slightest hint of the bliss he sought. He retained his equipment when he returned, though its condition hadn’t improved. He waited till the mantis wasn’t near the lizard before once again attempting to kill it. He was killed a third time, before he even made it to the lizard, by a snake that was as thick as a football and long enough to warrant that thickness. On his fourth attempt he blocked against any interfering creatures, and was skewered by the lizard. On the fifth he managed to land a cut the lizards tail before he was killed by a burning house-cat, set aflame and left to cook. On the sixth he managed to wound one of its legs but on the seventh his shield finally broke, giving in to the cracks and strain. On the eighth his sword followed his shield. On that same life, he stumbled, literally tripped, on a human body. Since when players died their bodies disappeared, he assumed that it was the body of a non-player character, an NPC. He was lucky. Really lucky; the body was clutching a sharp metal sword and small, round metal shield, both of which were rusted but would serve his purpose.

As he equipped the sword and shield, he turned to find the lizard. With his target in front of him he charged forward to meet it. On the ninth attempted, he retained the metal equipment, an advantage he used to full effect. He yelled out to nearby players, telling them to look for bodies with better weapons. Using what they could find, and repeatedly re-spawning, Roland and a few others eventually cleared the camp. With the bonus experience and with fighting so many creatures that were far too high level for new players to reasonably compete with, he had levelled up a number of times. Once the camp was safe a number of players either returned joined for the first time. They were the second wave, those who didn’t have to go through the cycle of death. They looked at the first wave as raving madmen and dashing heroes, and the first wave looked at him like a leader, Roland who hoisted his iron high and pulled them all forward. Many of the first wave proudly admitted that they would have dropped out if not for Roland. They saw him come back time and time again, dying in the worst ways there were without any hesitation. They couldn't bring themselves to back down after seeing him, felt with instinct that they would live with shame if they backed down while Roland was pushing them forward and bearing their weight. 

Whether he liked it or not, that was the beginning of his nickname. The hero of heroes, Roland had unlocked a title, which floated above his head, beneath his health, special and stamina bars. He unlocked the title of Hero of the First Wave and he had no way to change it, short of getting a higher ranked title to take its place. Not that the title was without benefit. Having that title granted him an experience gain bonus. As he led the push forward, expanding their territory, he gained experience faster than other players, especially with the near suicidal way he pushed. He was the highest level player and the leader of the player army. When momentum of the first push faded, and players started to make camps and towns, his army disbanded. Roland continued to push forward alone. He had been an adventurer. He was a knight. He was favoured by the twelfth world.