Game Era – Lost Odyssey

“It’s Flying Cat Sis!” The crowd gasped as they recognized the girl, their voices brimming with awe and admiration. The black-clad girl ignored their greetings, her piercing gaze fixed on Xia Feng. “You beat Dumas? The All-Around King of Riders, Dumas?”

“That’s right!”

“Which event?”

“The Nine-Event All-Around!” Xia Feng flashed a faint smile. “Strictly by official competition rules. That’s why Dumas won’t be at this Extreme Olympics—I’ll be taking his place.”

The girl stared deeply at Xia Feng for a few seconds before letting out a sigh. “I was gonna say that’s impossible, but your eyes tell me it’s true! Beating Dumas has been my lifelong dream, and this year I was more prepared than ever. Too bad he’s not showing up. Guess I’ll have to beat you instead—only then can I prove I’m the best extreme rider. Remember my name: Jasina!”

“Nice to meet you.” Xia Feng grinned, extending his right hand. “I’m Xia Feng. Hope we can be close friends.”

Jasina ignored his outstretched hand, kicking off with a glide that sent her a few steps away. With a burst of speed, she darted off like a startled swan, her sharp voice echoing back, “See you on the field. Don’t lose too badly!”

Xia Feng watched her retreating figure with appreciation, suddenly noticing how the curve of her legs and the sway of her hips in that tight black outfit made her gliding motion undeniably sexy. Only when she was out of sight did he reluctantly pull his gaze away, realizing the other competitors’ eyes were also glued to Jasina’s back. Catching Xia Feng’s amused glance, they awkwardly averted their stares. The burly man who’d blocked his path earlier cleared his throat and muttered, “We’ll never believe you beat the great Dumas, but we don’t dare doubt Flying Cat Sis either. So, we’ll let the aquamarine amulet thing slide for now. But here’s a friendly warning: any extreme fan who sees you wearing that on your chest will punch your nose crooked without hesitation. Watch yourself. If you can’t prove you’re the best rider out there, you’ll regret what you said today!”

With that, he stepped aside. Xia Feng gave an understanding smile and sauntered through the crowd, continuing his lazy stroll down the long, straight street under their complicated stares.

Three days later, the Nine-Event All-Around Extreme Competition kicked off as scheduled. The unexpected absence of Dumas, the three-time consecutive champion and All-Around King of Riders, left global audiences deeply disappointed. Everyone assumed Jasina—the Extreme Queen nicknamed “Flying Cat,” Dumas’s fiercest challenger from the last games—would dominate and easily claim the title. But to everyone’s shock, this near-unbeatable queen faced a fierce challenge right from the start by an unknown contender. From off-road motorbikes to water jet racing, extreme rollerblading, stunt biking, street skateboarding, gearless waterskiing, and high-altitude rappelling, their scores seesawed back and forth. By the penultimate event, “rock climbing,” the gap between them was less than a single point.

Rock climbing wasn’t typically a woman’s forte, especially in terms of strength and explosiveness, where men had a natural edge. Competing together wasn’t exactly fair to women, but after computers calculated the average physical disparity and adjusted scores to compensate, the unfairness was minimized. For Jasina, a rock-climbing expert, this event was actually her strength—a fact well-known to all.

Luo City lacked cliffs for climbing, and setting the event in remote mountains wouldn’t satisfy the live audience’s needs. So, the Extreme Olympics’ rock climbing event traditionally used iconic urban buildings. This time, the target was Luo City’s tallest structure—the Federal TV Tower.

Nearly 400 meters high, the Federal TV Tower’s four walls were clad in smooth blue glass, unclimbable to the average person. But that didn’t faze the pros. At the sound of the starting gun, twelve finalists began scaling the glass walls like spiders—no tools, no safety gear—racing toward the 400-meter summit. Using only the tiny protruding studs securing the glass or the minuscule gaps between panels, they inched upward with fingers and toes. Their agility defied imagination, rivaling even the most adept climbing apes. Hundreds of thousands of spectators held their breath, eyes locked on the twelve riders, hearts pounding as they ascended, feeling as if their own pulses might leap from their throats. This was the irresistible allure of extreme sports, captivating billions worldwide.

Within ten minutes, the climbers started to spread out. Leading the pack was a fit girl in black tights, followed closely by an agile man in red, number three on his back. A few extreme fans watching through binoculars narrated the action to friends over the phone: “Flying Cat Sis is in front, with rookie number three, Xia Feng, right behind her—the darkest horse of this competition. But I don’t think he’s a match for her in climbing. Place another five hundred bucks on Flying Cat Sis for me!”

Their confidence in her wasn’t misplaced. While the other eleven moved like spiders, Jasina was a nimble cat, practically bounding up the glass wall, noticeably faster than the rest.

While hundreds of thousands gathered around the Federal TV Tower, their hearts racing with the climbers’ daring feats, another global event was unfolding on the opposite side of Luo City. Its quiet starkly contrasted the fiery energy of the competition.

In a cold, empty hall with sparse exhibit stands, even the professional smiles of the hostesses felt devoid of warmth. Only a red banner hanging in the center brought a touch of life, boldly proclaiming: Welcome to the Annual Virtual Gear Auction of “Real Illusion”!

The auction hall was sparsely populated with a dozen or so attendees flipping through pamphlets on their tables—gear, magic, and cheat codes from the “Real Illusion” game. Once priceless, these items now had shockingly low starting bids.

Old auctioneer Peter glanced at his watch. It was nearly time to start, but the room remained half-empty. He grumbled to his assistant under his breath, “Damn it! ‘Real Illusion’ is about to scrap all magic, treasures, and cheat codes—everything supernatural. Who’d buy this stuff now? And it’s just our luck the lunatic sports fest is happening at the same time. Don’t expect to sell much today.”

The young assistant smiled knowingly. He knew the old man’s disdain for the Extreme Olympics, always calling it the “lunatic sports fest,” and kept his own love for it under wraps. Playing along, he said, “Those rich players are to blame. They only auction this high-end stuff after they’re bored of it, sticking us with the mess. Look at these rare gems—‘Necromancy,’ ‘Blade of Darkness,’ ‘Sky Eye’—a year ago, they were priceless, fetching millions each. Now the starting bid’s just a hundred grand, less than a tenth, and still no takers. If they’d sold before Cloud Universe dropped that bombshell, they might’ve cashed out big. But for players who drop millions on gear, maybe they don’t care.”

“You’re wrong,” Peter said, heading to the podium. “The original owners were the real ultra-rich elite. They got wind of this through back channels and offloaded everything quietly. The ones who bought in were die-hard fans, not so rich, who sank everything into their dream gear—only to learn ‘Real Illusion’ is scrapping all supernatural settings soon, making it worthless. It’s like the stock market: the super-rich always have the info edge, and the average joes take the hit.”

“They could sue the game company!” the assistant said, puzzled.

“Sue?” Peter snorted. “The company only refunds the original price, but these items were hyped to a hundred times that on the market. Even with compensation, the losses are brutal. Better to sell cheap here to casual players who want a taste of premium gear than take the company’s pitiful payout. We’re just doing what we can to cut their losses.”

With that, Peter stepped onto the stage. Instantly, his demeanor shifted—face blank, he scanned the sparse crowd with a solemn gaze, delivered a perfunctory welcome, and began the routine.

“First item: ‘Cold Ward Bead,’ starting at one thousand yuan.” He paused, staring at the audience, who stared back woodenly, as if watching a dull clown. After a few seconds, he continued calmly, “Alright, I’ll count down. Nine hundred? Eight hundred? Seven hundred? Six hundred? Five hundred? Four hundred? Three hundred! That’s the floor! Three hundred once, twice, three times! No bids? Fine, ‘Cold Ward Bead’ passes!”

After a dozen items flopped, sweat beaded on Peter’s forehead—a first in his decades-long career. He’d thought the reserve prices were rock-bottom, yet still no takers. Feeling like a failure, he glanced at the remaining list—higher starting bids ahead—and his confidence waned, his dry voice tinged with resignation. “Next, ‘Blade of Darkness,’ starting at one hundred thousand! I’ll count down from there.”

Just as he prepared to lower the price, a sign shot up in a corner of the hall. Peter blinked hard, confirming it, then croaked excitedly, “Number eighteen! Are you bidding the starting price for ‘Blade of Darkness’? One hundred thousand?”