Gamers Are Fierce-Chapter 666 - 664: Shuttle (5K)

!!!

A chill, like a torrent of ice water laden with ten-thousand-year-old glaciers, washed over the travelers from the Different World.

They had anticipated countless scenarios, meticulously preparing how to flatter, feign ignorance, negotiate, and bargain. All this, to secure the greatest possible benefits for themselves and their backing organizations within these fleeting three minutes.

But never in their wildest dreams had they imagined hearing the word "players" from the lips of a native of this Different World, a character from a digital realm.

It feels like being stripped of our armor, our deepest, most hidden secrets laid bare for all to see.

The corner of Sunset Gold Smelter's mouth twitched. His instincts screamed at him to teleport out of this instance immediately, but his reason urged him to stay. Whatever Gandalf—or this being impersonating Gandalf—is, he (or it) surely knows some monumental secret and likely harbors no ill will. Communication seems possible. If he intended harm, he could have ambushed us, catching all four players completely off guard—this is, after all, their home turf.

As his thoughts raced, Sunset Gold Smelter was startled to find that his three companions also hadn't chosen to teleport away; they all stood their ground, likely sharing his mindset.

[Increase Resistance]

[Endure Elemental Damage]

[Mental Protection]

[Dimensional Cat]

...

The Witch was chugging a Magic Potion—GLUG, GLUG, GLUG—while casting various buffing and precautionary Spells, wary of a sudden attack.

A pure white cross pattern once again reflected in the pupils of the Dusk Knight, and a complex and intricate Divine Mark appeared beneath his feet.

Li Ang, however, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the picture of nonchalance, showing no hint of panic or urgency.

Wait a minute.

All eyes fixed on Li Ang's feet. Despite his composed demeanor—as if he wouldn't bat an eye if Mount Tai crumbled before him—a multitude of vines had sprouted beneath him. They wove themselves into a long carpet that, like an airport's moving walkway, swiftly carried him backward, emitting a BEEP-BOOP~ BEEP-BOOP~ sound as it glided.

"Why are you all looking at me?" Li Ang asked, a puzzled expression on his face. "You guys chat. I'll just watch from over here."

Thanks to this interlude, any attempt at maintaining a solemn atmosphere crumbled.

Gandalf's eye twitched. With visibly diminished enthusiasm, he sighed, leaning on his Magic Wand as he and Yuri descended the invisible staircase.

The two figures from Central City, maintaining their distance, addressed the interdimensional travelers indifferently. "You're players, aren't you? To be precise, players chosen by the Slaughter Game."

The interdimensional travelers exchanged glances. The Witch took a deep breath, neither confirming nor denying. "How did you two... know?"

"You've been too careless," Gandalf shook his head, "thinking the System would mask your actions, allowing you to recklessly use extraordinary powers from another world. You assumed the natives in this scenario were blind fools, incapable of noticing anomalies. Don't forget, this is a digital world, and the characters you're portraying are based on real entities here. Unusual behavior might fool low-level data constructs, but not powerhouses at this world's apex who can freely browse its data streams."

Noticing the travelers' stunned and doubtful expressions, Gandalf offered a slight smile. "Relax, we mean you no harm. If we did, you would have been erased during the competition."

With that, Gandalf waved his Magic Wand toward the flat ground beside him. Without any visible energy fluctuations or Special Effects, the earth at the wand's tip abruptly split open. Millions of tons of incandescent magma, wreathed in superheated steam, erupted from the planet's depths, spewing towards the heavens.

The ground trembled violently. Smoke and dust choked the air, thick with the acrid stench of sulfur, proving to the players that this apocalyptic volcanic eruption was no mere Special Effect.

What followed was even more astonishing.

As the molten rock reached its zenith and began to plummet, Gandalf tapped the ground with his Magic Wand again. A streak of frigid light shot from its tip, racing across the earth and into the heart of the magma flow.

Instantly, the searing lava, thousands of degrees hot, began to freeze solid from the bottom up. In the blink of an eye, the towering magma fountain transformed into a colossal ice pillar radiating an intense chill.

The players were profoundly shaken. They saw clearly this wasn't some flashy display of Special Effects but raw power, perfectly combined with an incredible efficiency in Energy manipulation.

Having demonstrated their power, it was time to talk.

"As you've guessed, we are also players," Gandalf said with a kind smile. The player nickname "Oroin" materialized above his head, while "Yuri" hovered above his companion's.

Player nicknames cannot be faked; upon seeing one, the System instills an intuitive certainty in other players: This is genuinely their nickname.

Yet, the Witch's expression didn't soften.

Instead, her internal alarms blared. Her concealed fingers danced, casting several more protective Spells as thoughts churned in her mind. Gandalf and Yuri, suddenly revealed as players... this inexplicably isolated sandbox world... the mission name, High-dimensional Hacking...

"No need to be tense," Gandalf said, ignoring the Witch's concealed hostility, and smiled gently. "Are you all perhaps thinking that I intend to imprison or harm you? That I plan to strip you of your player status and transfer it to my data subordinates?"

The players remained silent. Gandalf chuckled, then asked mildly, "May I inquire as to the name of your current mission?"

This seemed like a question they could answer. The Witch, brows furrowed, stated the mission name in a grave voice.

"'High-dimensional Hacking'..." Gandalf lowered his gaze, murmuring, "A truly apt pun. The first layer of meaning refers to players from a higher-dimensional otherworld invading a lower dimension. The second is that a lower-dimensional being can kill a player to gain player status and complete their ascension. As for the third and fourth meanings... Heh."

He shook his head and spoke calmly, "I could indeed kill all of you, provided the four of you were morally depraved, slaughter-addicted, and brutally cruel individuals. However, judging by Comrade Yuri's assessment, you are not."

The grim-faced, bald middle-aged man beside him gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Seeing the wary expressions, Gandalf smiled reassuringly. "Don't be nervous; Yuri hasn't mentally interfered with you. If the System intended for players from different worlds to interact, it would explicitly state so. The absence of such a notification implies the System doesn't foresee such an encounter during this mission. Besides, mind-reading isn't limited to direct Spiritual Energy brain invasion. Micro-expressions, the slight tremor of fingers, movements of the head, eyes, neck, hands, elbows, arms, body, hips... all these physical actions betray subconscious thoughts and emotions. Keen observation is also a form of the Mind Reading Technique."

"...What are you trying to say?" the Witch asked cautiously, frowning slightly. "You're not planning to give us an online lecture on micro-expression psychology, are you?"

"What I want to convey is quite simple," Gandalf said with a benevolent expression. "Go back and tell the others in your world: at all costs, win the second phase of the Slaughter Game—the Battle for the Gates."

"What?" Sunset Gold Smelter exclaimed in astonishment. "How did you know..."

Before he could finish, their time was up. The four players vanished.

Gandalf gazed at the spot where the players had disappeared, his eyes gradually sharpening. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

"They haven't reached level twenty yet," Yuri stepped forward, his voice calm and steady. "If they had, they would understand the specific protocols for when players from two different worlds meet."

"Are you worried they aren't strong enough for their words to carry weight in their world?" Gandalf shook his head. "They might not be the absolute strongest from their world, but they're not far from it. That young man with Divinity is quite interesting. And as for the little Witch... she has a very particular aura..."

"Special?" Yuri frowned. "Are you referring to..."

"A Jumper." A sharp, hoarse voice, low like a bird's caw, emanated from the empty air beside them. "That little Witch knows a Jumper, one like me."

Where the voice originated, the air rippled like water. A rotund, blue figure tumbled out of the void, landing with a PLOP on the ground.

It was a creature resembling a penguin, about a meter tall. It stood on two feet, possessing a long beak, short feathers—blue on its back and white on its chest. A red-and-white checkered bowtie was tied around its neck, and it clutched a short black cane in its right, fin-like limb. Its eyes sparkled with intelligence, though its overall appearance was somewhat comical.

Yuri and Gandalf showed no disrespect, bowing their heads. "Mr. Archille," they said reverently.

"Hmm." The penguin, Archille, nodded slightly. "The third meaning of High-dimensional Hacking pertains to the original intent of this world's creators, their purpose for building the server. To contend with planar wars, they specifically constructed a lower-dimensional data world as an experiment: to see if beings possessing free will and player status could emerge within it. If successful, they could then descend to this data plane by 'dimensionally reducing' themselves, hunt these special data entities with player status, and continuously harvest and plunder player qualifications.

"Unfortunately, the creators of this world perished in a great planar war ten thousand years ago, leaving behind only an entire server planet.

"As for the fourth meaning of High-dimensional Hacking... well, it's that game characters within the isolated sandbox can, through a ritual (namely, the Death Race), select champions. These champions are then transmitted into bodies constructed in a higher-dimensional reality using standard creation templates, thereby gaining freedom and achieving ascension."

Archille paused, then grumbled, seemingly to himself, "The primary issue is that this data world's foundational architecture hasn't been updated or maintained for far too long. Meanwhile, the server's Meme-Sensing Receiver Array continuously absorbs cultural artifacts from other planets in this plane, making the data world increasingly convoluted and burdensome. Even I can't export all of Central City's data entities to a higher-dimensional reality in one go. I can only utilize the creators' pre-set transport channels, slightly modified into the 'Death Chariot' mode, to transfer a small batch of data each time.

"Considering the data world's time flows one hundred times faster than in the Mortal Realm, the server planet outside, including Ash and Brock, should now have... one hundred thirty-four people?"

The penguin tilted its head, trying to recall the approximate population on the server planet's surface, then decisively gave up. "Tch, never mind. Ah, yes, that young man bearing the Divine Mark—he took the Minor Master Ball, didn't he?"

Gandalf nodded. "He did."

"Excellent." The penguin raised a flipper, adjusted its bowtie, and murmured, "Mario's bones, the Minor Master Ball, Isaac's Tears, the Nano-biochem Suit, the Trinocular Night Vision, P.R.L. 412... Yes, these items for anchored Jumps should suffice."

Gandalf asked, "Are you leaving then?"

"Indeed. I shall use these items, these anchors for Jumping, to visit Earth in the C-137 Crystal Wall System." The penguin tossed its cane into the air and caught it deftly. "My brethren in the gestalt consciousness inform me that particular planet has historically produced many Jumpers like us—beings who traverse Crystal Wall Systems and even between planes. We have contacted them before. I will go to observe their potential value. When the time is right, I will engage with the planet's dominant species. Hopefully, this time, they will be prepared to participate in the coming planar war."

When she opened her eyes again, the default desktop of a Windows 10 laptop greeted her.

The Witch inhaled sharply and shot up from her chair, but her legs buckled, and she staggered backward, nearly toppling over.

The side effects of her disrupted Magic Power hadn't subsided; her limbs felt like lead, and a piercing pain throbbed in her head, as if countless tiny axes, saws, and chisels were furiously at work inside her skull.

"Careful now." A gentle voice spoke. With a soft THUMP, a plush sofa materialized behind the Witch, neatly breaking her fall.

The one who had summoned the sofa was a man in a brown trench coat. He sat on a wooden pew in the church, possessing short black hair and an ordinary, gentle face etched with fine wrinkles. It was hard to tell if he was handsome or plain, middle-aged or elderly—though he leaned towards the latter.

This was none other than the Witch's mentor, the founder of the Syndicate, known simply as "the Professor."

They were in a deserted church on the outskirts of London. The Witch's companion, Meow Meow Head, was perched on a wooden pew beside the Professor, observing the Witch's discomfort with unconcealed schadenfreude. The cat-like being contentedly licked the fur on its forelimbs, exactly like a real grey-and-white kitten.

"Feeling any better?" the Professor asked, snapping his fingers. The stained-glass window at the church's forefront shimmered, and warm, soothing sunlight enveloped the Witch, visibly easing the pain on her face.

"Whew..." The Witch let out a long sigh and nodded gratefully at her Professor.

Normally, the Professor, known for his unpredictable appearances, wouldn't show up merely for a student's scenario. The Witch certainly hadn't expected him to teleport to London and seek her and Meow Meow Head out at their church rendezvous after she'd reported the mission's name and objectives to the Syndicate.

"Tell me everything that happened during High-dimensional Hacking," the Professor spoke gently. "Do not leave out a single detail."

"Yes, Professor." The Witch nodded and began her lengthy account.

「An hour later.」

The Professor's brow furrowed slightly. "So, you're saying that in 2077, humanity invented neural-interface technology, triggering a boom in immersive game development. Countless games were updated and hosted on city-scale servers that integrated all of society's network resources for public play. As eras shifted and trends changed, older games faded into obscurity, sinking to the depths of these server infrastructures. Within these forgotten game worlds, some characters gradually developed self-awareness. Consequently, the server's antivirus programs flagged them as anomalous data and shunted them into isolated sandboxes. This eventually led to the birth of Central City. And the denizens of this city, you say, organized a competition called the Death Race, a 'fair' contest for a chance to return to their 'hometowns'?"

"That's correct."

"Hmm... there's a problem," the Professor mused. "I wonder if you've noticed it."

The Witch, feeling a little flustered, fiddled with her fingers. "Err, what problem?"

"Motivation," the Professor stated calmly. "The contestants lack it. According to your account, Central City houses data entities exiled for gaining free will. Why would they want to return to their 'original worlds'? Those worlds are populated merely by simplistic game characters, capable only of spouting a few thousand pre-programmed lines of dialogue provided by the System. They aren't the kith and kin these self-aware beings imagine. Sentient beings with self-awareness and mindless automatons are fundamentally different. Returning would only bring them more anguish."

The Witch was taken aback. She had fleetingly considered this, but not deeply. "Well, isn't it normal for odd things to happen in a digital world?"

"No. All worlds, even digital ones, operate according to fixed principles," the Professor said casually. "Moreover, from a game designer's standpoint, smaller-scale games are neither suited nor require being built as open worlds. Zelda needs but a single continent; King of Fighters, just one city. Shooter games often require only a handful of maps. If what that 'guide' told you is accurate, then all resources within a sandbox environment should be dedicated to the player's entertainment, not to constructing a fully realistic world. There would be no compelling reason for game characters to slaughter each other for a chance to return to what you described as a 'broken world.' Unless..."

"Unless what?" the Witch asked, her gaze drifting to Meow Meow Head, who had curled up on the pew and fallen fast asleep.

The Professor smiled. "Unless... the guide lied to you. Or perhaps, she herself was fed misinformation. This entire 'death game' or 'Ascension Ceremony' serves an entirely different purpose."

The Witch frowned in thought. "Then what about Gandalf and Yuri? Are they players who naturally emerged in the digital world? Or data entities who won a Death Race and earned their player status? Or perhaps, data that killed real-world players in past Death Races and seized their status?"

"All are possibilities," the Professor conceded with a nod. "However, I lean towards a different hypothesis. The entire digital world, including the Death Race, is being manipulated by some unseen entity. Their motives are unknown. You may have simply stumbled into their domain. Or, to venture a more unsettling guess, you might have been exploited by this entity without your knowledge."

"So, this relates to the 'Battle for the Gates' Gandalf mentioned?" The Witch, her brow deeply furrowed, looked up at the Professor. "Professor, do you know something about this...?"

But the spot where the man in the trench coat had been sitting was empty. Only a faint breeze remained, gently ruffling the fur at the tip of the sleeping Meow Meow Head's ear, causing it to twitch.

"Tch, not this again." With her hands on her hips, the Witch pouted. Seeing Meow Meow Head sleeping so soundly, she tiptoed forward, her mischievous hands reaching for the long, fluffy fur on the cat's ears. A cat Mage's ear fur is a rare and expensive spellcasting material, after all...

"MREOWWW! You wretched Witch, what have you done?!" Meow Meow Head shrieked.

"OW, OW, OW! Let go! It's just one strand of fur, don't bite my hand off! Blast it, didn't I cast a sleep Spell and a pain endurance Spell on you? How are you even awake?!"

"Hmph! Did you really think I wouldn't anticipate your schemes? I layered myself with over a dozen Protective Magic barriers before meeting you. Your paltry sleep Spell is useless..."

"Haha, feeling sleepy now, are we? I knew what you'd try! Can your precious Protective Magic withstand the Sleep Drug Powder I sprinkled on your paw earlier? Go on, take a nap!"

"Naive! I anticipated you anticipating I'd think that! I used the subtle breeze from the Professor's teleportation to redirect all that powder straight to *your* nose!"

"*You're* the naive one! I anticipated that you would anticipate my anticipation of your actions! That powder was merely a diversion! The real trap is the Imprisonment Formation beneath the pew you're sitting on! Our little chat bought me just enough time to activate it and bind you here. Now, be a good kitty and hand over that ear fur!"

And so, in a quiet church on the outskirts of London, the human Mage and the cat Mage continued their gleeful, never-ending game of "I anticipated your anticipation of my anticipation..."