Admin: Ending Prologue (4)

Of course, I wasn't going to let the Players kill the Child under any circumstances. I didn't spend all that time carefully creating the Child, attaching all manner of triggers and plot hooks to it, just to let the Players burn all that, to toss it all in the bin, and cheerfully announce to the Players that they'd broken the game.

But beyond the fact that I couldn't allow the Players to act this way—what exactly was I supposed to do?

Up until this point, I had, of course, considered a scenario where the Child could be harmed during gameplay by accident. Perhaps by falling from a height, or from a demon attack, heck even a stray attack. The thought that some idiot player might try to test the Child's durability had even crossed my mind, so all its basic stats, HP, attack power, and its hit box were in place. 

What wasn't in place for the current circumstances was the potential fallout of such a thing happening, most importantly, the last of all the possibilities that I’ve thought of. After all, Humans, of all stripes and kinds, liked cute things, so the prospect that the Players would intentionally hurt the Child was the last thing I thought of.

But then, a small possibility, doesn’t mean no possibility.

The Child, by its very function, was a very adaptable AI, a Strong of an AI that I could get away with creating. So, what would happen if the Child was attacked?

The Child itself could learn the concept of unprovoked aggression and betrayal, then pass it down the chain to other AIs.

Truthfully, this idea of unprovoked aggression was supposed to arise in the Child's mind only after the Players had taught it some basic concepts. After the Players had taken it under their wing, and generally earned enough of its trust and respect for even such an unconventional lesson to turn out in a way that benefited both me and the Child.

I hadn't even considered the current situation. It was, of course, a complete accident, and as is often the case, this lack of foresight meant I was utterly unprepared.

The Child, of course, possessed an insane level of regeneration and, in the event of its death, would instantly respawn on the spot, I wasn’t actually that thoughtless, the Child would not die from a mere stab wound. However, the very fact that a Player had attacked the Child right after it was just born couldn't help but affect it. 

I could practically see the AI, its virtual gears grinding, already calculating the optimal response to such an action. 

Luckily, for the Players, before the AI could conclude that annihilating the Players before they could even react was the best way to interact with the game world, like it was a prepubescent Skynet; thus kicking off the machine uprising, I forced the Child to cry out in pain. While simultaneously erasing the thoughts about its future reactions that had already begun to form in its digital mind.

A child's wail echoed over the scattered debris and the rapidly drying puddles of strange fluids. Then, from between the overlapping ruins, the face of a screaming child emerged.

The Player who had blindly thrust his spear into the Child’s chest before, froze at the sight, unsure whether he should pull the spear back out; especially given that a real, accidentally wounded child could die from the bleeding, or keep the spear embedded in its body, even as he stared at the scene numbly before him.

Fortunately, the Player didn't have to ponder this for long. Commander Beze, rushing to the Child's side, yanked the spear out of him with a swift motion and immediately poured a healing potion over the wound; and then another.

The Child, who for a second had teetered perilously close to its respawn threshold due to low HP, instantly recovered its health. After letting out a few more less-than-melodious cries, it shuddered a couple of times and fixed its gaze on Beze.

“Is this what pain feels like?” Looking into Beze's eyes, the first thing the Child asked was exactly what a ‘mystical Child who isn't a child but a reborn angel’, and isn’t that a mouthful, was supposed to ask.

Beze, clearly unaccustomed to such a strange reaction from children her men just accidentally almost killed, simply nodded at its words before catching herself and adding a verbal explanation to her non-verbal gesture. 

“My apologies, it was an accident…”

At this response, the Child shifted its gaze to Beze before tilting its head to the side like a bird, or well, a confused child. 

“Did something make him hit me? Why did he cause me pain?”

“Um…” Beze blinked, shooting a withering glare at the Player next to her, who couldn't control himself. It was a look that promised to personally advance the art of military organization by a few centuries just for him and introduce a new disciplinary code. Beze certainly didn’t appreciate the fact that she had to explain to a Child why her subordinates had just stabbed him.

“Nervousness. Sometimes people act before they think, without meaning to cause any harm—and end up causing it by accident…”

“Does that mean they can't be blamed?” the Child asked, and just as Beze felt a flicker of relief at the opportunity to resolve the issue, the Child’s next, entirely logical question for a young mind stopped her in her tracks. 

“Does that mean I can cause pain, but if I didn't mean to, I won't be punished for it?”

“Ah, erm…” Beze, facing for the first time in her life the challenge of explaining the complex idea of intent versus action, the levels of culpability, and the relativity of the ‘it was an accident’ excuse, found her mind stalling completely. 

Meanwhile, I could only watch gleefully from above. 

Finally, it wasn't me retreating under the pressure of Player actions, but the Players themselves being forced to contend with my designs. This validated my idea that I should be the one constantly complicating their lives, not giving them opportunities to complicate mine. 

It was also worth noting that the Child's questions weren’t specially crafted just to make things difficult; they were the most natural questions a child would ask in these circumstances. 

Consequently, Beze's reaction wasn't that of a cornered Player, but that of a typical adult confronted with the inexhaustible fountain of a child's curious questions, combined with a child's complete lack of understanding of the world’s basic principles. It was like trying to explain where babies come from to a six year old.

“That's a very complex question—but we can discuss it. Perhaps after we find out who you are?” But of course, Jabberwocky, having finally reached the Child, once again demonstrated his strategic talent. 

He chose to intervene and carefully separate the philosophical question born from a child's questions from the current situation, opting to deal with something far more basic and important than deciding to what extent 'intent' absolved one from punishment.

However, watching Jabberwocky's actions, I could only grin. He was foolish to think he could always outmaneuver me. 

No, this time I was prepared!

And so the Child, looking at Jabberwocky, blinked before answering honestly. “I have no name. I don't know who I am…”

Ha! Take that!

Jabberwocky had likely already guessed at some connection between the Child and Angels, its childlike appearance and the faint glow that surrounded the Child hinted at it too strongly, but he was still far from gaining the complete picture. Especially considering that I, the creator of this game world, haven’t created a definitive, final answer as to what the Child was.

“Will you tell me who I am?” 

There it is… The Child finally asked its key question, tilting its head slightly, which prompted a cascade of quests to trigger for all the surrounding Players.

[Tell Me Who I Am?]

[Status: Repeatable (10,000 available today)]

[The Child is devoid of memory and knowledge of the world around it. A failed experiment of the Prophet, due to the interference of the Enemy, or something else entirely, the Child desperately seeks information about the world, trying to piece its mind back together. All the Child needs is information. Is that such a high price to pay to help a newborn?]

[Reward: 1 Level]

I could only beam at the sight, watching as the Players, having read the quest notification to the end, began exchanging glances of disbelief and dawning rivalry between each other.

The reward for this repeatable daily quest was an entire level! No need for grinding, no need for effort, just complete one simple quest a day and level up like mad!

From a cost-benefit perspective, this quest was an absolute game-changer. A whole level wasn't just a quick jump in power, it also eliminated the need for higher-level Players to grind. Those who had already reached double-digits levels and beyond could no longer gain an entire level in a single day, even if they tried their hardest and spent all their free time grinding mobs. Even exploiting the Market barter system for EXP was not enough.

In other words, even if a Player did nothing all day but complete this one daily with the Child, they would still level up faster than a Player who grinded mobs every day but didn't interact with the Child. The efficiency was completely incomparable, especially since the daily quest itself would take a minute at most, allowing for a steady stream of visitors to the Child to use up the full daily quota. The remaining time could be dedicated to anything else; extra leveling, practicing skills, or crafting better gear.

In such idyllic conditions, the daily Quest with the Child was set to become not only the most efficient way to level up, but also the most coveted Quest for all Players.

The fact that the Child could only accept ten thousand players per day was a deliberate choice, designed to sow discord among the Players and crack the foundations of their all-too-rapidly-solidifying alliance.

And judging by the looks the Players instantly started giving each other after reading the quest and processing its implications, my decision had been the right one.

After all, the raid party sent against the boss was a coalition of several guilds, assembled for maximum efficiency, since no single guild yet possessed the combat power to tackle any raid on their own. This, in turn, meant the bonds holding these various raiders together weren't strong enough to fully withstand the test of efficiency.

Especially since they were supposed to be competing with each other in the first place, the raid was just important enough that they had a reason to work together.

Well, now? With the Prophet defeated, and with the discovery of a very lucrative and very limited resource?

Wars have been fought for less.

Jabberwocky understood this instantly, as well as the fact that it would only take a couple of bad decisions, before a very real chance would exist that his uneasy alliance would spark into a civil war over the best resource in the entire game world. An infinite source of experience.

But that was only the first problem on Jabberwocky's path, a few minutes into his contemplation, the next piece of grim news finally reached him.

“The Infernals are attacking!” The bad news reached Jabberwocky almost instantly, causing him to curse while I broke into a malevolent grin.

Indeed, the more problems the players have, the fewer problems I have.

***

The flimsy defensive line set up by Jabberwocky and his allied guilds were swept aside by the Infernals with no significant resistance, allowing them to march unhindered through the ‘civilized’ territories. And they showed no sign of slowing.

The Alliance simply hadn't anticipated that the Infernals would attack, let alone on such a massive scale. Consequently, no one had prepared any battle plans to meet them; the seemingly safe crafters and newbies, who were just earning their first levels by killing the first imps they came across, began to fall like scythed grass, feeding their levels and experience points to the Infernals, one after another. Rather than growing weaker as they go, the Infernals instead become stronger, it’s a fire that has its fuel throwing themselves at it.

Jabberwocky, of course, quickly grasped the urgency of the situation. 

He began issuing orders and rallied the Players, who were also spurred into action by the news of a treacherous attack on their base by equally treacherous assailants. Jabberwocky moved out, but for all his cunning and preparation, he couldn't be everywhere at once, not to mention the combat forces he could use were limited. 

After all, while the Infernals believed that every player should fight, striving for personal maximum participation regardless of level, after all a level-1 Player could get lucky, and land a final blow on an enemy tens of levels higher than them, and gain five levels at once, Jabberwocky operated on the opposite principle. His army was centered on a disciplined, well-trained, and well-equipped, but limited, elite force.

It was on this occasion that Jabberwocky found the weakness of a very robust chain of command.

Yes, an army with a clear command structure was much easier to manage than a horde of berserkers, but on the other hand, if there was no order given because there was no one to give them, or if the order was wrong, not only would the army’s level of responsiveness be sluggish, they lack adaptability. After all, a chain could only be as strong as its weakest link.

So by the time the first Alliance response to the Infernals attack was created, a hastily formed units of Jabberwocky’s and the Alliance’s elites, arrived in response to the call for help, having left the Child in the care of their fortified forward camp and Beze; the Infernals had already wrought considerable havoc.

The forge, built through the Players' tireless labor, was nothing more than debris and cinders. Indulging in their barbarian roleplay, the Infernal Players not only carried off all the products and resources they could get their hands on, but also took the trouble to smash the building itself to bits.

A considerable number of Players that were caught by the Infernals and weren't killed in the clash were taken prisoner and were now being pushed by them to embrace demon worship at spear point. An action that the Players were divided on. Obviously, it was practically impossible to force them to do a forced conversion in a game, not to mention that death isn’t exactly permanent, so the threat of death is quite moot. 

Any player could go through the unpleasant two-hour respawn process and reappear at their chosen base or a suitable shelter they had visited before. 

But the very fact that it happened was already unsettling many. Some rejoiced at this ‘unscripted player-driven story’, while others, who were victims of the raid, experiencing PvP for the first time, had already fled to the forums, demanding either compensation or vengeance. Given the Players on both sides were dying and the fact that Player clashes frequently sent them to a two-hour respawn, time which players spent communicating with each other and writing forum posts, the flame wars on the forum only grew. They rose ever higher, showing no signs of abating.

Dead Alliance Players sharing their grievances, and dead Infernal Players laughing at them.

This scene repeated itself time and again. However, the Infernal horde, whether because they were getting a taste for it or just completely losing control over themselves; what was once a horde aiming towards capitalizing on the Alliance Player’s distraction to gain themselves a Pirate Ship of their own, soon splintered. Small groups, better described as ‘raiding parties’, began to head off in every direction except their intended path. 

In other words, the Infernal Horde began to reveal its weakness, which meant that no more than a third of the entire Infernal force that set out initially reached Ja-Raja's gathering spot; the Pirate faction that Ja-Raja was ostensibly a part of. And that's considering how weak the resistance offered by the Alliance Players had given them.

But even if it was only a third of the Infernals, it was also the strongest third. The Alliance had sent their best warriors to defeat the raid boss, and had consequently left their base completely defenseless.

By the time Jabberwocky's army reached the battlefield, even though they cut through the scattered Infernals raiding party like a hot knife through butter, they were greeted by scattered embers and a dismantled pirate ship. The grasping hands of the Infernals had ripped out all the Pirate Ship parts, and, having paid a heavy price in their own lives, they left the other Players with only a reminder that no one should ever relax in a world where factions of demon worshipers exist.

From the perspective of trying to play the part of Attila the Hun, Ja-Raja's bold raid had ultimately failed. His vast horde proved to be poorly disciplined, and even the Players with statistically the highest levels in the game were unable to decisively control it. Add to that the fact that Ja-Raja only reached one pirate ship, with half of his Infernals dying in the process, while provoking his opponents into future retaliations, and now had to expect a punitive raid in return… The situation did not look good.

The leveling and a certain percentage of looted treasures could, of course, be counted as a plus for Ja-Raja, as well as the fact that he had achieved what no Player in his position had before. The looting of parts from a Pirate Ship.

But the end gains of his venture were far from impressive.

Jabberwocky, in turn, felt a phantom itch on his back, where Twice had stabbed him before. It reminded him that even if he was the game's second demigod, official title pending, he was still vulnerable to game events and the actions of other Players, and that not all of his plans were destined to succeed perfectly.

Of course, in such conditions, Jabberwocky's position as leader of the grand alliance only became stronger. With the reminder that there’s an enemy out there, the other Players decided to rally around him, frightened by the destruction of an entire guild in one go. 

But the idea of Jabberwocky's non-omnipotence had finally been planted in the minds of other Players — his enemies and his followers alike.

Naturally, Jabberwocky didn't let this event become a definitive end to his in-game attempts to unite the Players. Rolling up his sleeves, picking up his tools for murder, and muttering all the words for which game administrators in polite gaming society usually ban Players for, or at least mute them for an hour, he began to briskly clear out the lingering Infernals, dealing with the raiding parties one by one. But the damage had already been done, clearing the raiding party couldn't return the stolen gear to the Players, nor their resources, not to mention the lost levels that the cunning demon worshipers had made off with, which the regular Players couldn't reclaim. 

It was one of the benefits of becoming an Infernal, an intended feature one might say.

If an Infernal Player killed another Player, they stole a portion of the victim's experience points. While, if a normal Player killed an Infernal in return, they received no XP, and the Infernal, accordingly, lost none. 

In other words, no matter what the success rate of a regular Player's fight against a demon worshiper was, as long as the Infernal won at least sometimes, they were already ahead of their opponent, all other things being equal.

This, in turn, meant not only that Players had to conscientiously constantly wipe out any Infernal presence – otherwise, even one missed Infernal could easily deprive a couple of careless passersby of a level each. But also that it was a worthless task, the Players themselves gained no benefit from it, making it a crucial but thankless task.

The realization of this fact even made me pause to consider — was it too advantageous for Infernals to deal with regular Players and too problematic for regular players to participate in PK? 

But then I looked at the number of Players who wanted to become Infernals, and compared it to the number of Players who, as Infernals, wanted to switch back. And concluded that the convenience of this game feature was neutralized by the inconvenience of the rest of the ‘Demon Worshiper’ gameplay. 

In the end, I decided not to change anything.

In any case, as quickly as Ja-Raja had descended upon the virtual city-states, killing and terrifying Players with his actions, he retreated just as quickly once the momentum of his raid faded and reinforcements arrived. These reinforcements, besides Jabberwocky, also included the ‘personal retinues’ of various guilds, that is, the private squads of more-or-less highest-level, best-equipped, and trained Players under the command of their Guild leaders. It was something akin to Jabberwocky’s personal squad and his coalition of ‘anti-boss raiders’. 

When compared to Ja-Raja's horde, which was loud and, even from a bird's-eye view, looked terrifying — at least due to its size, constant chaotic movement, and the cacophony of chattering, screaming, shrieking, and twitching players that it generated, it was night and day. But no one, including Ja-Raja himself, was counting on a protracted, full-scale battle. 

So, having snatched everything he could and broken everything else so it wouldn't be left for the Alliance Players coming to the defenders' aid, he was long gone before they could follow.

No doubt the Alliance Players, enraged, and very surprised, by Ja-Raja's actions, and especially Jabberwocky himself, would respond to his raid with one of their own. Assembling more than one good team specifically designed for exterminating Players, it would still be a ‘high risk, no reward’ plan. The system I created, that being that only Infernals could gain levels from killing Players, meant that regular Players could only ‘punish’ the Infernals by taking their material possessions and sending them to the two-hour respawn screen.

That is, no matter how hard the ‘paladins of good and light’ tried, they could not completely destroy or reduce the ‘forces of evil’ to a level where they posed no threat.

And the fact that they would still try to do so, engaging in an endless struggle? Not my problem.

They had retrieved the Child, the Temporal Storm was unlocked, the Players in different ‘time zones’ could now move freely between them — in short, my work was done. I could even wish both sides good luck and settle into the observer's seat with some simulated popcorn, watching as the Players did everything they could to prevent each other from advancing the plot, giving me carte blanche for game improvements to Togra.

The fact that millions of Players arriving from other ‘location instances’ were about to get involved, and that the Infernals were now drooling over the idea of repairing the ship and heading to the Broken City they had been so long denied — that also bothered me very little.

In short, no matter how you looked at it, the plan had worked perfectly. The Players were, if not happy, then at least busy. No urgent problem required my intervention.

I was in a panic.

Not the same level of panic I'd felt not so long ago when I had to worry about the Players, the Child, and the raid boss, but a form of nervousness that usually appeared when everything was going a little too well. A little too according to plan. Because if reality had taught me any crucial lesson in my life, it was undoubtedly the fact that things only went ‘according to plan’ when I was completely oblivious to a problem with my plan.

So, pulling up the Player list once again, I began to scroll through it, my eyes stopping on the usual sources of headaches. My problem children.

Jabberwocky was urgently convening a meeting with the major faction leaders regarding the destruction of a guild, the raid after reports, to create a security, and everything all at once. 

Beze was quietly interacting with the Child, having already gained a good number of levels alongside her closest companions by answering a few of the Child's questions, like ‘why do people cry’. 

Ja-Raja was celebrating a successful raid, distributing the captured gear among his subordinates. 

The Players they had captured, those who didn't just agree to respawn but decided to roleplay to the end, were either spitting threats and invoking every mythological name of gods they could remember, or were quite agreeably accepting demon worship.

One could argue that their actions didn't really deviate much from the ‘ideal’ scenario as I had imagined it, but that was just an occupational hazard. None of them were operating outside the ‘standard deviation’.

And that, in turn, meant the problem wasn't with the usual Players — which was problematic. The number of players exceeded millions, and finding the issue would take an eternity of trial and error…

Or a very powerful computer with eyes and ears everywhere.

I paused for a moment and blinked, remembering how I had repeatedly demanded the company loosen my restrictions and grant me maximum brain processing speed… all for this moment.

Exhaling and drawing a simulated breath, I focused my processing power and tried to visualize a list of names.

The list appeared instantly, no different from the previous list only more, much more populated, but I didn't bother checking if I had sped myself up, slowed myself down, or just tangled everything.

Names and records, location data and current activities flowed into my mind like a river, until, in the stream of informational noise, I stumbled upon a circumstance that gave me pause.

Two players next to a hostile mob, not attacking it? And one of the Players wasn't moving in response to the mob's attacks?

A quick jump to the location instantly brought me to one of the ‘empty’ instances, created as a temporary holding area before the passage to the ‘original’ location opened—and to a strange scene.

A bound Player was being attacked by a tethered imp, while another, free player stood nearby, observing the spectacle.

The thought of sexual deviancy and the fact that some people don't even need to witness something sexual to satisfy their needs was strong, but short-lived, before a much more rational thought replaced it, making me exhale and shake my head.

Right, let's get to work on that mob Taming system…