Zhang Cheng impatiently finished creating his character. As usual, he imported his own model, made a few small tweaks, quickly randomized a name, and got ready to begin. The whole time, he kept praying that he wouldn’t end up randomly teleported into a military restricted zone like during the beta tests.
After the third closed beta, the developers had lowered the probability of players spawning in those military zones based on player feedback. In the two subsequent betas, the odds were reduced even further, but they were never removed entirely.
So, when the game officially launched and the servers were flooded with players, a small handful of unlucky users once again stepped into the same trap. Complaints flooded the forums, cursing the developers for their cruelty.
[You have been randomly teleported to the City of Knights.]
Zhang Cheng let out a sigh of relief. He’d seen this place mentioned on the forums—one of the better starting zones. That’s because the knight class here had a clear path to the advanced job of Royal Knight.
Before the game launched, the developers had released some promotional materials about different classes. The Knight class, with its flashy skills and role as the only tank in the early game, had attracted a lot of attention.
Knights were well-rounded and powerful. Even in the early stages, they had strong defense and sustainability. Their damage output wasn’t top-tier, but it was more than adequate. Most importantly, they had noble taunt skills that made them practically indispensable in early to mid-game. At that stage, Knights were practically god-tier.
The biggest issue, however, was that advancing as a Knight was notoriously difficult. Of the four advanced jobs available, only Royal Knight had a relatively easy transition path. So while Knights dominated the early and mid-game, their long-term prospects were uncertain.
In contrast, players generally preferred the Warrior class, which had a smoother growth curve.
Warriors started out balanced between offense and defense. At level 60, they could advance to the Martial Artist, effectively becoming tanks. And their future class upgrades were far easier. Compared to Knights, most guides actually recommended Warriors more often.
But Zhang Cheng didn’t care about any of that. His main goal was to find someone—not to worry about the late game. So a class like Knight, which could steadily level up to 99 without much friction, was tailor-made for him.
The screen went black, and after a brief moment of dizziness, Zhang Cheng found himself standing in the City of Knights.
He barely had time to regain his balance before a crowd swarmed around him.
A familiar sight made his heart sink. No way… Did I actually end up in a military zone again?!
“Hey bro, wanna buy a sword? Blue-grade Knight greatsword, usable up to level 40! Just 1 gold!”
“Buddy, I’ve got a full set of level 1 gear—armor and weapons—only 2 gold!”
“Buy mine, buy mine! Same blue-grade greatsword, but I’m selling for just 80 silver!”
“You’re seriously trying to undercut me?! That trash sword of yours is barely even blue grade! Don’t bluff!”
“Pfft, like your sword isn’t just from the blacksmith shop near the city gates!”
Hearing this exchange, Zhang Cheng quickly realized what was going on. His face darkened as he chased off the swarm of scammers.
Unbelievable. The game’s only been live for a day, and these swindlers are already everywhere. Do I look like someone who’s easy to fool? Do I look like a clueless newbie? I’m the kind of guy who reads guides before even logging into a game!
Thanks to the guides he’d read, Zhang Cheng went straight to the map, found the Knight Federation, and followed the navigation arrow toward his destination.
The game had launched just yesterday, so the streets were packed with people. Zhang Cheng couldn’t help but feel like he was back in the real-world morning rush hour.
Zhang Cheng walked along the street, observing the NPCs. Their expressions were vivid and their movements fluid, but it was still obvious they were different from real humans—their eyes were too empty, lifeless.
Their eyeballs moved, but lacked agility. Upon closer inspection, they still looked like inanimate objects. Staring at them for too long even evoked a sense of unease and fear. Isn’t this what they call the Uncanny Valley effect?
Back during the third closed beta, though he’d only played for a few hours due to jail time and Lu Qiuchen’s situation, the guards back then had felt indistinguishable from real people. But now, these NPCs felt completely different from those in the third beta.
Thinking of this, Zhang Cheng pulled up the game forum while walking, trying to find a post he remembered seeing—one by a lucky player who had participated in both closed betas. With a bit of searching, he located the player.
Just as he expected, that player had posted multiple threads expressing dissatisfaction with the official release of Eternal.
“There hasn’t been much change in the environment or lighting, which honestly excites me. I’m happy they preserved that. But what I absolutely cannot accept is that the NPCs in the official version have no soul! No matter how realistic a dead thing looks, it’s still a dead thing. Without a soul, I cannot recognize them as worthy!”
At the end of that post, the player expressed understanding for the game company’s cost-cutting decisions but also regret at the loss of the NPCs. During beta testing, he had already started seeing them as actual humans.
Zhang Cheng was left speechless after reading. This guy’s completely lost it.
He scrolled through the comments and was surprised to see the top reply was from an official account—username “Employee No. 9527”, with a bunny avatar marked with an official certification badge. The comment read:
“If you could enter the Eternal world, what would you do?”
The original poster responded:
“I’d accept it with joy! I’m done with this damned real world!”
The bunny avatar replied again:
“May your dream come true.”
Netizens below were playfully commenting things like “Take me with you, please!”
Zhang Cheng frowned as he read. Something about this feels off…Thinking about what might have happened to Lu Qiuchen, a chill ran down his spine. Could there really be something wrong with this game?
Logically, he remained skeptical about the possibility of Lu Qiuchen having been transported into the game.
If something like that had really happened, it would completely shatter his worldview. Zhang Cheng had entered the game to search for Lu Qiuchen partly as a way of comforting himself—giving himself a reason to keep pursuing the truth.
In the past two years, he’d uncovered nothing substantial regarding the conspiracy around the gaming pods. Even after spending more than six months at the company, he hadn’t found any suspicious individuals.
Using his employee status to his advantage, he’d reviewed internal incident records—but found no clues. The company’s explanations and post-incident handling all seemed logical. The whole thing did appear to be an accident.
Over the years, in the quiet of the night, Zhang Cheng had wondered countless times whether it was just his instincts misleading him—that maybe it really was just an accident. But no matter how much he reasoned with himself, he couldn’t believe it.
Now, though, he felt like he’d caught a lead.
Could it be that Eternal World Corporation really found a way to send people into the game world?
After marking the post author as a favorite, Zhang Cheng decided that tomorrow, he’d go to the company and look up the forum operator records—he wanted to know who was behind that “Employee No. 9527” account.
*****
Lu Qiuchen stared silently at the task interface in front of her.
“Dear special player ‘Cecilia’, you have been selected as the final boss of Chapter 1 of the main storyline. Please cooperate with β to complete the scenario.”
She had already been through enough shocks today—nothing could surprise her anymore.
Task Interface: If the player refuses, β will temporarily take over your body for proxy operation. β bears no responsibility for any actions taken during proxy control, nor for any resulting consequences. The player assumes full liability.
“System, you bleep-bleep-bleep—bleep-bleep-bleep-bleep—!”
“Detected signs of resistance. If the player continues this behavior, β will initiate proxy control in fifteen seconds.”
New text appeared midair as if projected directly onto her retina.
Lu Qiuchen shut up. At this point, all she dared to do was talk back—actual resistance was off the table.
Unlike before, when she’d treated this place as the real world, the current situation had made it clear: she was just a string of code residing in a game.
She also had a fairly good understanding of the intelligent systems used in modern games—these systems were often granted administrator-level privileges.
If any software or code was deemed malware or a virus by the system, depending on the threat level, it could be quarantined or deleted without human approval.
Even though the system had just called her a special player, until Lu Qiuchen could draw a clear conclusion, she didn’t dare to gamble on whether she was considered a legitimate part of the system or a bug.
Fine, if I’ve been assigned the role of boss, then I’ll be the boss. Shouldn’t be a big deal, right? It’s not like I’ll die just for trying. If dying is guaranteed, then who would ever cooperate?
Something clicked in her mind, and she quickly opened her skill panel and scrolled all the way down. At the very bottom were two greyed-out passive skills, which made her already numb heart ache all over again.
Revival – Passive Skill:
When the player’s HP reaches 0, revival is possible at the bound resurrection point. Cooldown: 12 hours. If HP reaches 0 during cooldown, revival occurs immediately once cooldown completes.
<- Currently Unavailable! ->
Existence Maintenance – Passive Skill:
If the player goes offline while HP > 0, the character remains at their current location. The system will engage proxy control. During this period, the character cannot be targeted or attacked by other players. Minimum HP > 0.
<- Currently Unavailable! ->
Seeing both skills grayed out, Lu Qiuchen was on the verge of losing it.
“System!”
“Dear special player ‘Cecilia’, I am β. You may pose your questions mentally.” The system responded promptly, and this time the voice came directly from within her mind—soft and soothing, a gentle female voice that made one feel at ease.
Lu Qiuchen froze. So I can really summon the system like this? Then I want to log out.
“Player data missing. Unable to log out in current state. You may pose other questions.” The system answered calmly.
I knew it would be like this, Lu Qiuchen thought bitterly. ‘Why did I enter the game and become the boss?’ she asked mentally.
The system instantly replied: “Insufficient permissions. Unable to answer. You may pose other questions.”
If that couldn’t be answered, then the most urgent task was to understand her current condition. She asked why her resurrection skills were disabled.
“The player is currently in a special state. Resurrection skills are unavailable. But don’t worry—death within the main storyline will not cause damage to a player whose role is ‘boss.’”
Lu Qiuchen blinked in surprise. Why does this Beta system sound… a little emotional?
“Insufficient permissions. Unable to answer. You may pose other questions.”
“Query: my full personal information,” Lu Qiuchen thought, just to test it out.
“Nickname: Cecilia; Level… Age: 861 days; Player type: Special Player; Region: Earth, Asia + &QbC5!-&%Tb5c——————”
The system’s voice gradually devolved into a distorted mess of static and buzzing, then faded away completely.
Lu Qiuchen was stunned. All I did was ask a basic question—did I break the system or something?
A few seconds later, the voice returned:
“Information updated. Region: Eternal World, Dragon Isle.”
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