Game’s Dogma

Windstrider also fired away with his Divine Zero-Angle Gun, inflicting slowness on the enemies at a fifty per cent chance. Thanks to his support, the beastmen never managed to approach them in one charge, alleviating the pressure on Drako Yau. Idyllic Poet was the main damage dealer in the rear while the others protected her. Three beastmen had already fallen to her magic as they fought while retreating,

Suddenly, the pursuing beastmen paused, then turned around to leave. Windstrider shot them in the back, yet his bullets passed through them as if they were non-existent. Though unsure of the situation, the five felt relieved. The sudden wave of beastmen could easily annihilate ordinary squads; they only survived because they were elites who had good chemistry with one another.

Out of the blue, Greenstone said, “This is the starting location.”

Drako Yau looked around, then nodded and concurred, “I suppose the dungeon will reset once we return here. Windstrider’s shots did nothing just now because the beastmen were resetting too.”

Drako Yau was the most qualified person present to make a judgement. Everyone there knew his true identity, after all. His point of view as a game designer often offered insights that players normally overlooked.

“Let’s not waste time here. We’ll abandon the dungeon, then go clear East, Normal, and Hard until we’re out of runs. We can investigate Hell later.”

While the Eastern server was catching up in levels to their Western counterparts, the gap was still there. They were merely taking advantage of the difference in experience required to level up at lower levels to close the gap. Now that new dungeons were available, the West could take their time investigating while levelling up. Unfortunately for the East, time was not on their side.

Drako Yau was now Level 42 thanks to Oda Nobunaga’s Final Vengeance quest, but he was still several levels behind the top players, so he had to keep levelling up to stay in the contest.

He also had a hunch about the Hell difficulty, but he wasn’t in a rush to clear it. The result settlement took place two months later. All that mattered was that they held the record on that day. 

While his companions had their doubts, they had unconditional trust in him and did as he said. Their day was fully packed, with most of the time spent in the dungeon. As expected of a Level 40 dungeon, the experience earned there was on a different tier compared to wild monsters. Drako Yau was close to reaching Level 43 before they started, and by the end of the day, he already levelled up.

It was a long day for everyone.

By night, the forums were in an uproar. Some complained about the endless battles, others posted questionable dungeon guides… All sorts of content appeared on the forums.

The Dark Elven Village’s inhabitants were naturally dark elves. Born assassins and archers, the pesky elves could lurk so proficiently that ordinary discerning skills didn’t reveal them. Countless squads had fallen prey to their assassination.

The Demon Race Encampment’s speciality was variety and numbers. According to unofficial player reports, at least fifteen different types of monsters were spotted. The diverse composition made it difficult for players to handle, let alone push forwards in the dungeon.

The Undead Tribal Lands was even worse. The monsters weren’t strong, but they were unkillable. Unlike the zombies in John’s dungeons that could be killed with fire or light magic, the undead this time never stayed down. More monsters spawned over time, while the fallen undead would constantly revive, ultimately forming a swarm of monsters that drowned the players.

Lastly, the Beastmen Territory had the strongest monsters, though their numbers were comparatively fewer as well. Still, the beastmen’s coordination made them tough enemies. Other elite squads didn’t retreat like Drako Yau and continued their push once they cleared the first wave. However, the encampments’ layouts were like a maze, and the next wave always arrived without leaving the players any time for a breather.

Such was the general situation with the four dungeons. Most importantly, all players were clueless as to how to deal with the dungeons’ Hell difficulty.

Somewhere in a wasteland, where all life and vegetation ceased to exist, there existed a territory of black and purple. Most players would recognise it as part of the Warring Wastelands, but the huge castle was an unfamiliar one. The fortified city was larger than all three major cities combined, and in the centre stood a spire.

The spire was a crucial structure in the castle. It was a Tower of Imprisonment; sealed within it were all sorts of objects, or people. Atop the tower was a levitating curved moon that resembled the Demonic Towers in the Warring Wastelands, but this one, in particular, was larger and gave off an even more horrendous atmosphere. The eerie moon seemed to conduct painful and desperate screams into the unfortunate ones who landed their eyes on it. The region was as harsh and barren as the deepest layers of Hell, thus it held the name “Ninth Hell City”.

Despite the moon’s terrors, a person was sitting calmly on the spire’s roof, his head lifted towards the moon above. A whoosh could be heard, and another silhouette positioned itself next to the person. Because the spire was a forbidden ground in the city that only two people could enter, the person who arrived first was completely unbothered. He didn’t even spare the newcomer a glance as his eyes remained locked onto the curved moon.

The two had similar appearances, yet the air they gave off differed drastically. The seated person wore a black cloak and had a staid atmosphere of a dominator who conquered the world. The newcomer was more unruly and mischievous, just like a manchild. Both of them had purple skin—the same colour as the moon above their heads.

“The Dominator unveiled the four places. Those… Hah, players will be entering soon,” said the mischievous man with a giggle. He laid carefreely under the moon as if its terrorising aura didn’t affect him at all. He made a mocking snicker before mentioning the word “players” as well.

“Time’s almost up,” stated the seated man in a thundering voice. “A gift or a disaster, only time will tell.”

“Ha! It has nothing to do with us even if it’s a disaster! All I know is that we, the demon race, have been trapped for far too long!”

Drako Yau would recognise that the purple man was Phantasma Violet, who almost killed him in one palm strike. However, Phantasma Violet now wore a murderous look instead of his usual ridiculing face.

“Phantasma Violet, you’re still too immature.”

Phantasma Violet glanced at his brother with an unconcerned face and refuted, “Daemon Violet, don’t put on an act before me. I wonder who’ll win if we fight? I’m not so sure.”

“Call me big brother,” Daemon Violet said with a frown.

Phantasma Violet appeared oblivious to his brother’s words. He set his sights on the moon above and declared in a complicated voice, “This time, the god race shall die!” He then turned to gaze into the distance, recalling the toy which he had been nurturing.

He must’ve grown a fair bit. Is it finally time to crush the toy?

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