Might of Players

---Logan's POV---

"Chronicles of Aeltia uploaded two promotional images?"

I was both shocked and delighted. It turned out that even the game company knew how to properly promote a serious game.

Previously, without even a promotional video, they had boldly announced a beta test—it was downright absurd.

With a "since I'm here, I might as well check it out" attitude, I decisively clicked on the blurry images in the pop-up window.

"Alright, show me what you've wasted your marketing budget on," I muttered, settling into my chair.

The first image depicted a gray-toned wasteland. Dark gray gravel swirled in the air, and the plants on the ground hunched over like old women, their branches twisted.

Under the crooked patches of grass, the skeletons of unidentified creatures lay exposed, weathered by the wind and desolation.

"What an impressive realistic art style!"

In most games, no matter how much they boast about realism, a wind-swept scene always relies on auxiliary lines or post-production. But this promotional image was completely different.

I zoomed in to the maximum, and even the sand grains occupying just a couple of pixels in the background were distinct from each other.

"Hold on... these aren't just generic particle effects. Each grain is uniquely rendered?"

It was just like a real photograph. This was the essence of a virtual reality game.

A fully immersive second world.

Moreover, the black plants in the foreground each had their unique shape. On the foundation of harmonious color tones, I carefully counted—there were seven or eight different types of original plants.

I analyzed the promotional image repeatedly and found it increasingly captivating. It was clearly just a landscape shot without any characters or special buildings. Yet it managed to convey, at first glance, that this world carried a supernatural power.

It felt like a fantastical and bloody alternate world draped in a thin veil, vague yet alluring, making people itch with curiosity.

"This must be a boss map in the game—damn, bones everywhere, that's intriguing."

I immediately clicked on the second image.

Compared to the barren wasteland of the first image, this one included a character.

A knight clad in silver-white armor stood at the center of the image, his sharp gaze mixed with confusion. In his hand, he held a muddy, broken hoe. Beside him was half of a shattered altar covered in white runes, and next to that was a mountain of monster and human corpses.

"A knight with a broken hoe... Now that's environmental storytelling done right," I murmured, taking notes.

I couldn't help but praise, "Whoever designed this image must be a master. The armor's weathering patterns actually match the environment. Someone really thought this through."

This image was full of contradictions. A knight in ornate armor holding a near-broken axe. A sacred altar destroyed, with corpses piled up beside it.

Just looking at it made me want to know more.

Why was the knight there? What had he encountered? What was the altar's purpose? Was the ritual on the altar successful?

My excitement burned brightly.

The Chronicles of Aeltia webpage might have been poorly made, but its promotional images were rich with details.

Suddenly, I regained faith in the game. Maybe the game company had just funneled all the money for building the website into the game's development. After all, virtual reality games were notoriously expensive to make.

I suddenly remembered that I had quit the site too quickly during the day and hadn't even read the game description. These two images reignited my interest.

I quickly closed the images and clicked on the game description, which had been reduced to three ellipses.

"Who designed this UI?" I grumbled, clicking through the pages. "Basic functionality is literally in the name—basic. How do you mess that up?"

Other games at least displayed a few lines of their descriptions—but not Chronicles of Aeltia, whose description was entirely collapsed. If I didn't already know about the game's extensive marketing campaigns, I might have thought the site was built by a novice programmer.

After reading the brief three-line description, my excitement was doused with a bucket of cold water, instantly calming me down.

I was incredulous: "You're telling me this is the description for a game?"

I let out a dry laugh, scrolling through the text. "Great, they've just crammed in every genre they could think of."

"Hardcore sandbox construction multiplayer online MMORPG card roguelike farming city-building management game. What's next, are they going to add dating sim and battle royale too? Did they just throw darts at a genre board?"

The description had so many problems that I didn't even know where to start complaining. It seemed like they had just copied every existing game genre to attract players. If I hadn't played these types of games before, I wouldn't have been able to parse that sentence at all!

As for the actual game content, there was just one line: "It's roughly a Western fantasy magical world with a slightly backward feudal setting."

"%#@!"

I was so stunned I couldn't even speak. "Which game uses 'roughly' to describe its world-building?!"

The images showed triple-A quality. The website looked like it was made in an hour. Either they spent their entire budget on two images, or something was very wrong here.

The scam-alert bells, honed by years of avoiding online fraud, rang wildly in my mind. It felt like the description was being deliberately vague to hide something.

But knowing that hype-driven trash games were all about deception, I wasn't surprised.

I scratched my head, glancing between the description and the two promotional images, visibly torn. My rational side told me that the difference in style between the promotional images and the description was too big to ignore—it was clearly a reskinned cash-grab online game.

Could make a good video series. 'Inside Gaming's Biggest Mystery' has a nice ring to it. I paused, considering. But if it's a scam, do I want my name anywhere near this?

But emotionally… I really liked the game's artistic style in the images!

"Forget it, since I'm here anyway, reserving a spot isn't a big deal. It's just a beta test—I might not even get selected!"

I clicked on the reservation page. The page was just as crude as the homepage. There were only a few fields asking for player information, following the standard beta-test routine.

Then came a payment portal for the 10 dollars beta-test fee. Only those who paid would secure their reservation.

I froze mid-action. "You're kidding me. They're already trying to milk players for money?"

"Ten dollars for a full-dive VR headset? That's not just suspicious, that's impossible." I pulled up a calculator. Even the manufacturing cost would be... No, this can't be legitimate.

I could understand why virtual reality games required player payments. After all, this era-defining technology demanded extremely high technical expertise. And everyone knew that high-tech products required massive funding. Just the brainwave-detecting game headsets alone were astronomically expensive.

Game companies wouldn't give them away for free.

But. Wasn't this price a bit too low? Who had ever heard of a full-dive gaming headset for just 10 dollars? Even top-tier VR companies like Skyrain hadn't perfected such black-tech devices, and yet here it was for a two-digit price?

"Anyone who believes this is a fool!"

I cursed, angrily closing the page. I almost wanted to slap the hopeful version of myself from half an hour ago. The company might as well have written "scam" across their foreheads.

I turned off the lights and climbed into bed.

---

The next day, after waking up, I gathered materials and created the third installment of my Netherworld Revolution roasting video. Thanks to Chronicles of Aeltia stealing the spotlight, people no longer hated Netherworld Revolution as much.

Checking my analytics, I nodded with satisfaction.

As a result, the data for my third video was cut in half. That's the nature of hot topics. Once the initial frenzy fades, they die down as quickly as the tide.

I, however, remained optimistic.

Even though the third Netherworld Revolution video's data dropped, the revenue was still double my previous gameplay videos. Moreover, I had gained tens of thousands of new followers through the videos—it was already a win!

In my free time, I couldn't help but think about Chronicles of Aeltia again.

Browsing through comment sections, it seemed that the game's marketing bots were still rampant. But after visiting the official site, many people had realized what kind of scam it was and couldn't be bothered to engage anymore.

Those images though... I still want to know who made them.

Having nothing better to do, I decided to waste three precious minutes and visited the official website of Chronicles of Aeltia again.

The website looked even more refined this time. What kind of game dev updated their website this frequently?

To be honest, the speed at which the website updated felt almost like watching a cyber pet-simulation game evolve.

I still liked the two promotional images of the game. As a content creator, I'd seen my fair share of game assets. However, after that initial daze of excitement the night before, my passion had dimmed significantly.

"It's probably just photos from some film set. Nowadays, what game could achieve 100% photorealistic visuals anyway?"

After glancing at the site, I closed the webpage without a second thought.

A few hours later.

I opened the Chronicles of Aeltia website again, then closed it.

And again, a few hours after that. Open, close.

Open, close.

In the middle of the night, unable to sleep, I got up again.

With a messy bedhead and a blank expression, I grumbled to myself, "Unbelievable. Logan, you're definitely going to fall hard for some VR game trap sooner or later!"

Let's be logical about this. Unique assets, impossible pricing, sketchy website... I checked my bank balance. Then again, what's ten dollars compared to a potential viral video?

Cursing myself under my breath, I decisively turned on my computer, filled out the beta test application, and scanned the code to pay.

Seeing the popup notification [Preorder Successful: 3 Participants], I let out a long sigh of relief.

This was because Chronicles of Aeltia had included a wide-angle promotional image.

During the day, I had specifically researched whether any film crews had used similar terrains for shooting fantasy movies or series.

I confirmed that I couldn't find any scenes that matched the promotional images from Chronicles of Aeltia. After all, when people think of fantasy worlds, it's always about vibrant landscapes filled with swords and sorcery.

Who would bother filming a desolate gray wasteland without dramatic battlefields or unique terrain?

I comforted myself, thinking at least the two promotional images must have been created by the game company. They did show some effort.

At only 10 dollars, it wasn't too expensive.

Since my recent video earnings were decent, sparing a bit of money for a beta test slot wasn't an issue.

Initially, I thought I was the only fool doing this.

But knowing there were two other fools just as impulsive, who also paid the 10 dollar registration fee, made me feel less like a sucker.

Finally, after taking another glance at the registration deadline—just one day away—I went to bed in high spirits.

Either this became 'I Exposed Gaming's Biggest Scam' or 'I Discovered Gaming's Next Revolution.' Win-win.

And for once, I had a good dream that night.

---Viktor's POV---

After two days and nights of travel, hindered by monsters and pursuing enemies along the way, I finally arrived with Edgar at the Great Oak Forest.

"Another patrol of church knights to the east," I muttered, scanning the horizon. "They're getting predictable."

Since the Divine War six hundred years ago, the gods had perished, and the world's laws had become chaotic.

Monsters with immense power and driven by pure instinct emerged, gradually encroaching on the territories of various races.

The Great Oak Forest, a sprawling wilderness of forests, marshes, and hills stretching a thousand miles, was one such area completely overtaken by monsters.

In response, the Kingdom of Yoan and the Principality of Elise built towering walls around the forest to fend off the occasional "rampages" of the monsters.

As for the forest's interior, it had become an untamed wilderness, entered only by adventurers and the occasional naïve noble.

Only in such places could one find unclaimed magical energy nodes.

After another half day of searching, Edgar finally found a location on the forest's outskirts that met my requirements.

In the dim forest stood dozens of dilapidated houses, made of wood and mud. Trees growing through collapsed walls, dry wells filled with dirt, streets buried under layers of earth…

This was a city that had been completely destroyed by a magic surge.

Hundreds of years ago, the Great Oak Forest was much smaller than it is now.

As monsters expanded their range of activity and unchecked trees spread outward, the towns in their path were inevitably "swallowed."

About four centuries ago, I had been here.

Back then, it was a bustling town, not even considered a border city of the Kingdom of Yoan.

I vaguely recalled the town being called Honeyvale Town.

The name came from the fruit trees in the Wolcen Mountains. Every autumn, ripe fruit would fall into the Duskwind River, and by the time the river flowed to Honeyvale Town, its waters were sweet.

Lying on Edgar's back, I looked around and nodded approvingly.

Not bad. A river, fields, endless trees—perfect for a player starting area.

Moreover, the flow of magic nearby was calm, a clear sign that a magic node was close by.

"The magic node's proximity is ideal," I noted. "Strong enough for stability, weak enough to avoid attention."

"And the ruins there?" Edgar asked.

"Free building materials. One person's apocalyptic wasteland is another's resource-rich starting area."

This would also help solve my injury problem.

Rubbing my chin, I mused, "But the houses here are a bit rundown, though. We'd have to tear them down and rebuild…"

"Oh well, they don't actually sleep in Aeltia. A little inconvenience isn't a big deal."

I seemed quite satisfied.

Edgar, carrying me on his back, sighed in exasperation.

"You do realize you're heavier than a cart of iron ore?"

"I'll take that as a compliment to my bone density. Premium quality, you—"

"Now that we've found the magic node, can you walk on your own?"

I looked at him, shocked. "You're telling a severely injured patient who's this close to death to walk on their own? Have some compassion! Unbelievable! The former Knight of Dawn, now a heretic, is this heartless!"

A vein popped on Edgar's forehead. "You should really be aware of your own weight."

Though skeletal, I had bones enhanced by alchemical modification, denser than mithril. Carrying me was like carrying ten fully armored knights.

After hauling me for two days, he had already gone above and beyond.

Not to mention, he knew undead well enough to realize that, near a magic node, my injuries could at least be temporarily stabilized. And without pain receptors, undead could absolutely walk on their own.

Realizing I couldn't talk my way out of it, my soul fire flickered in slight disappointment.

The convenient transport service had reached its expiration.

Slowly, I climbed down and began exploring Honeyvale Town with him.

The town had been in ruins for quite some time. Every house we passed was more than halfway destroyed. Any building with even one intact wall was considered well-preserved. The only structure still standing with a roof was the church at the town center.

When I saw the weathered yet still sacred-looking church, I clicked my tongue.

"Want to bet how many villagers starved to pay for those gold-leaf decorations?"

Edgar frowned. "Some matters shouldn't be joked about."

"Who's joking? I was here when they built it."

Edgar didn't respond.

He had grown up in the Radiant Church and knew all too well the lengths to which devout followers would go. It wasn't uncommon for them to bankrupt themselves with donations just to add one more golden spire to a church.

I stretched lazily.

"Ah, nothing says 'holy ground' quite like the smell of four-century-old sanctity."

"Your irreverence knows no bounds, does it?"

"Years of persecution tends to have that effect. Let's go see which lucky god managed to gather such loyal followers—ones who'd rather die fighting monsters than let them enter their church."

Creaaak—

The long-sealed doors opened, sending down a cloud of dust.

At the center of the hall stood an ivory-white goddess statue, illuminated by a kaleidoscope of light streaming through a broken stained glass window above.

I stared in surprise at the symbol in the statue's hand.

"Oh, an old acquaintance."

Edgar's expression darkened. "The God of Light..."