Chapter 10: The Miserable Players

At the same time, the mechanical voice of the system’s announcement echoed in every player’s mind, leaving them all utterly bewildered. No matter how privileged or influential they were in reality, no matter how powerful their families, whether their fathers held sway like Li Gang himself—at this moment, every face was painted with shock.

“What? The first boss kill is already completed?”

“Heavens, the game just started—how did he manage that?”

“That beast was so strong, and our starting stats are all the same!”

“I feel like I’m playing a different game entirely.”

“Is this guy even human?”

Exclamations burst forth from the players, all stunned by this global announcement—especially those scions of powerful families, whether gifted with intelligence or cunning. Two hours had barely passed since the grand opening of "King of the Seas," and the information released by the officials, as well as the interface greeting every player at login, had already left everyone awestruck.

Many had prepared meticulously, studying every scrap of available data before logging in, all determined to carve out their own legend and rise above the masses.

And they soon discovered something else.

This full-immersion online game was nothing like traditional games; its settings and gameplay marked a leap across eras. Though the real world had survived the apocalypse and rebuilt its cities, with humanity regaining its foothold on Earth, the old elite families still harbored stubborn scions. Lacking the talent to become gene warriors, they turned to online games for spiritual solace, and so the realm of virtual worlds was born anew.

But nothing compared to this full-immersion experience.

From the moment they logged in, the difference was glaring.

It was all too real—so real, in fact, that none of them could believe they were in a game world at all.

Nearly two hours had passed.

Many players, armed with the system’s beginner wooden swords, had eagerly charged out of the novice village to slay monsters and gain an early advantage. Especially the ambitious ones, those with grand designs, rushed toward the seemingly harmless beasts outside the village—the so-called "Fang Rabbits."

And then... they were instantly killed!

Yes, the players were instantly slain by the Fang Rabbits.

Just as Tang Shen had appraised, the Fang Rabbit was a creature to be revered; not a word of exaggeration in that description. The system’s evaluation was spot-on: for an ordinary player, the Fang Rabbit truly was a lofty, unattainable existence.

A beast with just 1 point of power was vastly stronger than a newly arrived player.

Here, the monsters lived and breathed, unlike in ordinary online games where they were governed by hatred values—if you hadn’t provoked them, they’d simply stand there, waiting for you to chop at them.

Dream on! Here, players were skewered by the Fang Rabbit’s fangs before they could even draw near.

Those dagger-sharp teeth would instantly pierce a player’s vitals—instant death!

Just as Tang Shen had predicted, the Fang Rabbits chased players mercilessly across the fields, slaughtering them one-sidedly.

The scene was unbearable—cries of anguish and lamentation filled the air.

One had to know, in this full-immersion game, pain was synchronized at one hundred percent, and combat was not merely a matter of losing health points; it was a true simulation.

Blood flowed as it would in reality; if a chunk of flesh was bitten off, it was truly gone, and the blood—bright red—continued to spill.

Until death.

Even after dying, your corpse would still be at the mercy of the beasts. If it was a herbivore, you might be lucky; if it was a carnivore, congratulations—you wouldn’t even have a body to bury.

In an instant, a wave of terror swept the players. This was no longer a game—it was suicide on repeat.

The more cautious players, relieved by their restraint, watched the carnage in speechless dismay.

So, when the game’s announcement sounded, they were all dumbfounded. With such terrifying monsters, how could anyone possibly kill one?

They weren’t gene warriors—just fresh-faced newcomers to the world.

...

In a novice village.

A chubby player was being chased by a Fang Rabbit. Although slower by far, every time the creature’s deadly fangs were about to reach him, he would dodge at the last moment with a surprisingly nimble maneuver, weaving erratically, changing direction, stopping and starting, circling endlessly.

Suddenly, the system’s global announcement echoed in his ears. His steps faltered, his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, disbelief written all over his face.

Someone had already slain a beast?

How in the world could a novice accomplish that right after entering the game?

What a cosmic joke!

If it could be done, would he still be running for his life? If not for the footwork his father had relentlessly drilled into him, he would have died long ago. As for the beginner’s wooden sword, he’d already thrown that useless thing away.

He bitterly regretted his eagerness to hunt monsters without even calling a friend along—though, in truth, they’d have all died together.

But that split second of hesitation gave the Fang Rabbit its chance.

With a sickening sound, the rabbit’s massive incisors stabbed into an unspeakable part of the player’s body.

A wretched scream erupted from his lips—so harrowing it sent a chill through the nearby survivors, who turned and fled in terror.

He collapsed to the ground, curled up like a lamb awaiting slaughter.

But the Fang Rabbit would not let him go. Having been toyed with for so long—when all it wanted was to eat its fruit in peace—this vile fellow had the nerve to poke its rear with a wooden sword. Thankfully, it was only wood; had it been iron, it would’ve been far worse.

Driven to madness, the Fang Rabbit would not rest until it had finished him off.

Again and again, the rabbit’s foul-smelling teeth drove into his back, stabbing relentlessly.

When at last he fell silent, sprawled lifeless in a pool of blood, the Fang Rabbit strutted away with a peculiar, splayed gait.

The chubby player—perished.

...

He was not alone; many players met similar fates, whole parties wiped out, dying with tears in their eyes, secretly committing Tang Shen’s name to memory.

Some swore to take vengeance should they ever cross paths, while the shrewder ones pondered how to befriend him, at least to learn the secret of slaying these beasts.

A few, who had not yet begun monster hunting, were invigorated by the announcement, regretting they hadn’t sought out a beast sooner—perhaps the chance to show off could have been theirs.

With renewed enthusiasm, they gripped their system-issued “divine” beginner swords and, filled with ambition and excitement, imagined that the next chance to shine might be theirs. At the very least, they could claim second place—after all, who would admit to being lesser than the first? Surely they too were destined for greatness, main character mode activated.

A thousand miles traveled, all in vain—a humble offering, yet heartfelt.