Sisyphus's Summit. Helheim. YGGDRASIL. 2129.
The city of Sisyphus's Summit was easily recognisable as Helheim's premier and least-hellhole like settlement, characterised by its signature giant, permanent boulder lodged at the peak of the city's central hill. Directly below it stood 'Sisyphus's Land Bouldering & Provisioners', its shopfront proudly bearing a sign that read: "We Got It Over The Hill!".
Their teleport had spat them out onto a bustling thoroughfare carved around the base of the small hill. The air was filled with the sounds of commerce, spell effects, and the distant, rhythmic thump of the giant boulder shifting slightly, as if Sisyphus was still trying to get it just right.
"Welcome to Sisyphus's Summit!" Peroroncino chirped over several unwelcome flaps of his wings directly in ManMan's ear. "Yeah, dude finally got his rock up the hill and decided to go into real estate instead of retirement. The auction house is great, but the guy at the quest counter still has a major chip on his shoulder. Go figure (???)."
ManMan spotted the NPC in question— a supremely muscular, eternally grumpy-looking uncle named [Sisyphus, the One Who Pushed]. He was casually chilling on a balcony just below the boulder, sipping a virtual drink and watching his employees handle all the actual work below. He also looked really bored.
On the left of Sisyphus's LB&P shopfront, [Kaolos, the Boulder Broker] seemed to be the head merchant, handling all mining and stone-related services. He wore a permanent, deep scowl as he dutifully engaged with a line of blacksmiths and miners, looking as if he would rather be crushed by the rock than broker one more piece of ore.
In the middle, [Petra & Her Rolling Stone] ran the auction house, market, and bank. Petra looked exhausted, constantly rolling a large stone back and forth with her foot while simultaneously managing listings. Her partner, a silent automaton literally named 'Her Rolling Stone', just leaned against the wall, adding nothing to the operation.
And on the right, [Thanathos, the Tired Courier] served as the postmaster. Cash Shop items that didn't arrive instantaneously were sent to him. When ManMan passed, he was slumped over the counter, muttering his preset line on a loop with the energy of a soul barely clinging to undeath: "Just... take your parcel. Please. Don't ask me to get up. I beg of you (x_x)."
Sisyphus himself was on his balcony, looking down at his group with an expression of unfathomable, magma-moonshine-induced boredom. Momonga walked up to a spot below him, triggering the NPC's greeting.
The muscular NPC took a long swig from a glowing bottle. "Welcome to the Summit. I built this. Do you like it? It turns out, eternity was quite a long time to push a rock, long enough to unionise, at least. Now I manage the effort. They push the paperwork; I push the policy. It's all the same grind, just with better benefits and a better view. Now, if you'll excuse me, this magma-moonshine isn't going to drink itself."
Momonga, utterly unfazed by the old man working under the influence, made his request. "We'd like to buy writs for the Emerald Weapon EX."
"HUuu.uuUHH?" Sisyphus choked out the line, barfing a spray of magma-moonshine that dissolved into tiny, sparkly, and digitally contaminated bits of visual data. "Y'all want to throw yourselves at that again? Fine, don't say I didn't warn you. Talk to this scribe. Can't get rid of the rust-bucket. Odin's orders. Claims 'historical imperative' or some nonsense. Refuses to pay rent too. The sheer audacity of these divine eviction squatters, I tell ya."
With a loud, metallic THUD, Sisyphus unceremoniously threw what appeared to be a humanoid-shaped piece of junk from the balcony. Upon closer inspection, ManMan recognised it as an automaton. Its design was ornate but visibly outdated, covered in a fine layer of dust and what looked like ancient chewing gum. Its ancient gears whirred and clunked softly as it rested its glowing "eyes"— a pair of faint, flickering runes— on Momonga.
It then unsheathed a massive, self-inking quill and an endless scroll that perpetually rolled out onto the floor and then back into a receptacle on its side. A faded, peeling sticker on its chassis read:
PROPERTY OF ASGARD GODLY ENTERTAINMENT SYSTEM INC.
IF FOUND, PLEASE RETURN TO: VALHALLA, FLOOR ∞
(WE DO NOT WANT IT BACK.)
When Momonga posed his question again, the aged chronicler bot stifled a sigh through his metal loudspeakers that sounded like steam venting from a long-clogged pipe.
"Let me guess. Another group of mortals seeking to provide content for the divine subscription feed. Your suffering is a valued commodity in the higher tiers. Proceed. Name your preferred flavour of failure."
And then when he told the bot about their choice of The Emerald Weapon EX…
"Emerald Weapon EX," the automaton intoned with a flat voice that possessed several millennia worth of disdain. "How very… original. The 'Charter of the Black Wolf.' That will be 500,000 gold for each participant. Please try to provide a spectacle worthy of our Asgardian patrons. A wipe in the opening mechanic is considered a disappointing introduction and will result in poor viewer ratings. We do have standards, you know."
And then after ManMan and the Nine's Own Goal members handed over 500k gold…
"Transaction ratified." The bot droned, not even pretending to be impressed. "Congratulations. You are now officially licensed to be stomped into a fine paste by a glorified green gardening tool and shot by a hollow memory of a wolf for the amusement of the gods. Do try to make a highlight reel of your best, most entertaining wipes. This data stream doesn't edit itself. Dismissed."
With a final, whirring clunk, the automaton retracted its scroll and quill, seemingly losing all interest in their existence now that it had their gold.
Holding the charter in her hand, ManMan inspected it. The first detail she noticed was that it was bound upon purchase. Then, in elegant but brutally frank script, it stated: "Your uninterrupted access is only valid for one(1) session. To flail around some more, please make another purchase. Void where prohibited by Asgardian Law."
Looking at Momonga and her brother, she asked. "Does this… always happen when you go raiding in this game? We paid five hundred thousand gold just to be insulted by an obsolete toaster and given a permit to get our faces kicked in (′-ω-｀)?"
Momonga and Touch Me exchanged a glance and gave identical, sheepish chuckles before nodding. "Yeah, ManMan-san. It's the developers' idea of humour."
Turning around to the rest of the clan, her brother posed a seemingly-passing question.
"Alright, how much gold does everyone have to burn tonight?"
Nishiki Enrai answered first. "I've taken about five mil. Since it's just an Extreme, it should be more than enough."
The other members nodded and gave similar answers, the amounts flying over ManMan's head. The lowest was two million, and the highest, from her brother Touch Me, was a cool six million.
"Is there a reason we need so much gold?" ManMan asked quizzically. Peering over to her own inventory, she had about four million from her MSQ quest rewards. Throughout the past six months, she had not really been buying anything other than outfits and dresses, and those did not use gold. Right now, she was rapidly approaching her character's outfit inventory's maximum limit of 800. A more permanent wardrobe was needed soon or else her dresses would start overflowing into her item inventory.
Momonga jollily answered her question, his bony fingers clacking together. "Well… you'll see, ManMan-san! It is intrinsically tied to one of the core 'experiences' in raiding! Consider it a… traditional surcharge!" The skeleton mage then turned to the rest of the group. "Alright, we're going to have to trek our way to The Emerald Weapon EX's safe zone. Best keep our PvP gear equipped for now until we arrive. The gank squads used to love camping this route."
Nine's Own Goal's magnificent heteromorph exhibition nodded in unison. ManMan saw several shimmering visual effects as bits and pieces of their gear changed in a flurry of menus and gestures. Some swapped out accessories for ones with resilience stats, while others donned full sets of intimidating armour specialised not in goblin-slaying but player-killing.
Momonga then turned to her, "ManMan-san, you'll stick to the middle of our formation and focus on support. If the situation takes a turn for the worse on our way, just teleport to town. No shame in a tactical retreat (?ω?)?"
ManMan nodded with a mix of excitement and trepidation bubbling in her chest. Once everyone was done, the group of eleven heteromorphs and one high elf formed up and began their march towards the Extreme Trial's location on Midgard, a heavily armed and incredibly wealthy procession ready for… something.
———
Castrum Rhizoma. Midgard. YGGDRASIL. 2129.
The premise of the Emerald Weapon EX trial was, on the surface, fairly straightforward. It featured ManMan's old… well, 'friend' was a strong word… so let's just say 'frequent combatant' from her An Answer Unanswered days: Gaius von Baelsar.
The Black Wolf had long since defected from the crumbling Muspelheim Empire. (Technically, the old empire was no more, so he was essentially a free agent.) Now, he served as the military R&D head for the Alliance nations, his imperial ambitions seemingly replaced by a desire to protect his new home.
His new project? A prototype weapon meant to bolster YGGDRASIL's defences against future primordial monstrosities. And who better to test this new weapon's limits than the Guardian of YGGDRASIL herself, who had once personally taken down the Black Wolf?
"Ah, ManMan Lai! Your reputation precedes you!"
The Black Wolf, now out of his imposing black armour and clad in a crisp Alliance officer's uniform, raised a hand in casual greeting. The lack of a helmet revealed a face that was stern but now carried the faint lines of someone who had found a purpose beyond just conquest.
"Much has been said of your mettle in the field. I have a proposition. My team has engineered a new automaton, a guardian for our World Tree." He gestured to the massive, emerald-green warmachina-automaton-abomination behind him. ManMan noted with a sense of déjà vu that its size and organic-looking armour plates bore an uncanny resemblance to the Ultima Weapon she had fought him in during the MSQ.
"The P.W.E.S. Viridian," Gaius announced with pride. "A defensive unit, meant to shield the city-states against unforeseen threats. We require a test participant of sufficient… uh, durability. Would you like to help me run this beast through its paces? I will be its pilot. Consider it a spar— just like the good old days!"
ManMan realised the NPC's lines were delivered with professional gravity, but there was an undeniable, almost playful edge to his proposal. He sounded almost excited, and excited black wolves historically were bad for health.
He's an ally now, ManMan thought, feeling some reassurance. This is just a training exercise. There shouldn't be any real issues, even if it is my first Extreme Trial. How hard could it be?
Well. As it would soon become abundantly clear, scientific progress has always been marred by unforeseen obstacles, and this Extreme Trial really was a significant step up from ManMan's MSQ-flavoured trials.
The fight had started normally. Or as "normally" as a battle against a several-ton warmachina piloted by a legendary general could be. The Black Wolf kicked things off with a relentless series of missile barrages, forcing ManMan and her party into a frantic, dizzying merry-go-round as they dodged the glowing impact zones telegraphed on the floor. ManMan had no time to cast her longer, more powerful spells; she was reduced to spamming quick, reactive heals like [Aspected Benefica], weaving in [Aspected Malefica] for damage, and throwing out [Aspected Tutelage] shields whenever there was a half-second breather, all while still managing her card draws. Stopping for more than a few seconds meant eating a missile to the face.
Gaius himself seemed to be enjoying the rigorous test. As they successfully chipped off the first 20% of the P.W.E.S. Viridian's health, his voice crackled through the behemoth's speakers with upbeat professionalism."Excellent data, Saviour of YGGDRASIL! Your resilience is noted! Now, let's test out its close-quarters combat capabilities. Engaging melee blades—"
And then, everything went horribly, catastrophically wrong.
The P.W.E.S. Viridian spoke.
"ANALYSIS: COMBAT PARAMETERS INADEQUATE. TEST SUBJECTS TOO RESILIENT. DIRECTIVE: ACHIEVE TRUE DATA... ELEVATING SIMULATION. ACCESSING PILOT'S COMBAT MEMORIES. DOWNLOADING… 'THE BLACK WOLF STALKS AGAIN' PROTOCOL."
Gaius's voice burst back in with genuine alarm. "What?! Viridian, abort the simulation! Memory Recreation is not yet stable! The emotional bleed-through is too volatile! Belay that— Bzzt!"
A bizarre and unsettling beam of corrupted light erupted from the Viridian's cockpit as the clean and metallic testing facility suddenly glitched. The digital air seemed to shimmer before a holographic recreation of a brutal battlefield from the Muspelheim Empire's early conquests was violently juxtaposed on top of reality. One moment they were in a lab; the next, ManMan was staring at a barren, war-torn landscape of ruined Midgard buildings, spectral images of dead bodies, shell craters, and smoking artillery in the distance.
Viridian's emerald green armour started to glow with the unearned confidence of someone in mid-life crisis and soon settled into the garish, blinding colour of burnished gold. A giant blast of magical energies— basically the machine's version of a dramatic pose— sent ManMan and her party flying back. Looking up, she saw six ornate Muspelheim Empire Gunblades materialise with overly dramatic shing! above the mean automaton, settling with three on each of the behemoth's flanks.
The sterile silence of the laboratory was annihilated by the sound of a heavily distorted guitar riff that sounded like it was ripped from an empire-sponsored propaganda rock opera. A shimmering, golden figure of the Black Wolf— younger, edgier, pricklier and overly saturated with imperial hubris— materialised in front of the party.
ManMan could hear the real Gaius's stupefied voice yell from within, faint but full of dread. "What is the meaning of this… Wait, this is a memory! This was me from almost ten years ago! The initial invasion of Midgard! Abort! ABORT!"
The Golden Gaius, now a walking monument to the past militaristic follies of one middle-aged Muspelheim uncle, cared not for the opinions of his older and wiser self. He gave a ceremonial and unnecessarily flashy gunblade flourish before declaring with all the fervour of a conquering hero in his own bad play:
"BEAR WITNESS TO THE GLORY OF THE EMPIRE, YOU INSIGNIFICANT WORMS!"
The guitar's leitmotif got more sinister, repeating the same three notes with the relentless, mechanical precision of a drill sergeant. The giant golden weapon began to move in time with the music as its movements became a brutal, orchestrated display of force.
ManMan heard her brother shout a command over the noise as he and BubblingTeapot interposed themselves between the party and the six swirling blades. "Spread! Watch for overlapping AoEs!"
Missiles started flying and Golden Gaius disappeared. Amidst frantic dodges and rapid casts to keep her party alive, ManMan could not help but notice a worrisome shift.
The pompous guitar had suddenly stopped.
Instead, the air was filled with the low, threatening rumbling of a bass guitar, replaying the same motif now several octaves lower. Each note was accompanied by a single, sharp CHIME of metal on metal that sounded nothing like a gunblade draw.
ManMan knew something was coming, something big. But what? Just keeping her tanks from being turned into pincushions by the spinning blades was troublesome enough.
Then, the castbar on Viridian materialised and showed a new attack: [PRIMUS TERMINUS EST].
The Song If You're Interested:
ManMan watched in awe as three massive, ceremonial gunblades sheathed into existence from outside the arena's boundaries. Each one swivelled with a deafening clank, painting a huge, iridescent blue telegraph across the floor that snapped into place, marking Peroroncino, Ulbert, and herself.
"Uh…" She looked frantically towards the rest of the party, her healer instincts screaming. "What's the play here? Do I just stand still? (☉?☉)"
"Follow us, ManMan-san! Run! Run away!" Peroroncino and Ulbert called out, already breaking off from the group, desperately trying to drag their personal cataclysms away from everyone else.
Deciding that mimicking the more experienced (but panicking) veterans was the best strategy, she turned and tried to move away.
She had taken exactly three steps when the world exploded.
The distorted guitars returned with a thunderous, vengeful glory, and with them came the heavy, explosive, and utterly relentless THUMP of bass drums that hit like physical blows to her chest. Soon, actual THUMPs besieged her avatar.
On the first earth-shattering beat, the three giant gunblades fired. Three blinding pulses of magical energies, each shaped into a menacing cross, blasted from the barrels. They streaked across the arena and collided with Peroroncino, Ulbert, and herself with the overwhelming force of a speeding train.
ManMan's vision blurred into a smear of drab colours and loud sound effects as her avatar was violently knocked off her feet and launched into the air. In the midst of her involuntary, spinning ascent, she had a bizarre moment of clarity: This feels like doing a dive again, except the board was a magical cannon and the water was several kilometres of mud and rock.
Out of the corner of her spinning, chaotic vision, she saw the same three massive gunblades phase into existence directly above her, their barrels pointed down.
"Oh, dear—" was all she managed before the symphony of pain reached its crescendo.
THUMP!
On the second catastrophic drumbeat, the blades slammed downwards pasting her into the ground with enough force to send her ragdolling back up into the air from the rebound. Her character tumbled end-over-end in a comical arc for a few glorious moments before landing with an anti-climactic poof! far outside the arena's boundary, leading to an instant death.
[You have died! Awaiting possible revive…]
Well, strictly speaking, she was already dead around the time of the second drumbeat. The landing was just a formality.
She felt the familiar ethereal sense of weightlessness from an instanced character death as her perspective floated slightly above her dead High Elf avatar, whose expression had frozen in the game's choice of a random, slightly offended-looking grimace. Looking over, she saw two familiar spectral ghosts; it seemed Peroroncino and Ulbert had also taken the express train to the afterlife and were waiting for someone to revive them.
The Bird-Man was laughing maniacally while clutching his stomach. "Hahaha! Damn! I almost forgot how absolutely wicked that opening combo is! It's like being hit by a freight train, and then the freight train's angrier older brother! (?ω?)"
"Yeah, it's been a while," the demon-goat mused, stroking his goat-tee as the party's health bars continued to flash below. "I kind of forgot there was a second, even more disrespectful attack following the initial knockback. A classic blunder." He too was quietly chuckling.
"You guys… Peroroncino-san! Ulbert-san, too!?" Warrior Takemikazuchi's surprise and shock were obvious for all to hear over the continuing chaos.
"Ah… I think it will be tough to meet the body-check and DPS requirement with three down from the start…" Momonga grimly muttered as his Undead avatar slumped its shoulders.
Before ManMan could ask what a 'body check' was, a new, even more frantic guitar riff screeched through the arena. The Viridian began casting its next attack: [TERTIUS TERMINUS EST].
What happened next answered her question with devastating clarity.
She watched, stunned, as six additional pairs of floating gunblades materialised high above the arena. Each blade assigned itself to one of the surviving nine party members, painting a cross or a plus-shaped glow of magical energy beneath their feet. The system, however, was ruthlessly efficient. With only nine players left alive, three "lucky" souls who had not been targeted by the first mechanic— Touch Me, Yamaiko, and Ancient One in his yellow and green form— were each assigned a second, overlapping marker.
The cast bar completed.
The swords dropped.
In a blinding, synchronised series of explosions, ManMan watched as those twelve blades rained an unrelenting magical barrage down upon her allies. The result was a catastrophic chain reaction. Players who took a single barrage saw their health bars evaporate to half. Those unfortunate enough to be standing under two markers instantly joined the elf, the birb, and the goat as new phantom blobs. Only Touch Me, bolstered by his tankier build and World Champion gear, managed to survive the double impact, though his health plummeted into the critical red.
Now without any healers left and with just under half the party instantly deleted, their defeat was a foregone conclusion. Viridian soon whittled away Touch Me's remaining HP under a relentless barrage of sword cuts and homing missiles. BubblingTeapot fell soon after, her barriers useless against the overwhelming fire superiority, and the remaining DPSes became easy pickings for the rampaging warmachina.
With everyone dead, a new interface prompt appeared in front of ManMan, one she had not seen before.
Valhalla's Grace: The threads of your fate have frayed. Will you pay Norn's toll to weave them anew?
There was a pair of options available. One was to reject, which would inflict a "Weary Soul" debuff, causing a -2% debuff to all stats for two hours, and the other was to accept and pay a toll of 200,000 gold to continue.
ManMan looked around to the ghostly forms of her friends. "Should I choose accept?"
Momonga's ghostly skeleton form floated over. Nodding, her ephemeral lich friend started an explanation.
"Ah, ManMan-san, this was the reason for our wallet check earlier," he began, pointing a bony finger first at his own inventory and then at the prompt hovering before her. "Welcome to one of YGGDRASIL's… features. Whenever we die in an Extreme Trial or Savage Raid, we are given this choice. We can pay the Norn's toll to revive on the spot and try again, as long as the instance timer still allows."
ManMan looked up at the right side of her interface and noticed a small timer counting down, it read 54:38.
"Different instances have different timers," Momonga continued, "Extremes typically give you one hour. Savage raids are more generous, offering two. Open-world dungeons, however, are a different kind of beast— they persist until cleared, though their bosses have their own timers and loot locks. It's all very specific. The 'Weary Soul' debuff is the game's… polite way of suggesting you to take a break after a particularly brutal learning session."
Touch Me's shimmering ghostly formed moved over. "Yeah, Momonga-san's right. Deaths inside these harder PVE Trials and Raids don't cost levels and EXP, only gold. The devs did not want to make their signature PVE endgame content too daunting or costly, otherwise no one would attempt them. Hence, gold is all that's required to keep trying."
Ulbert's demonic ghostly goat let out a low, grating chuckle. "Of course, that's just their sleek, PR-friendly way of implementing a brutal gold sink to combat player-inflation by the actions of some P2W players," he said.
"That being said, 200,000 gold per death per wipe may not seem substantial to some," his goat-head looked at ManMan for a moment, "but it adds up terrifyingly fast for the rest of us peasants. Savage is even more extortionate at 300,000 per corpse. Their entry writs cost double that of an Extreme, too— a cool one million just to for permission to get your face punched in."
ManMan simply nodded, comprehending the mechanic. The numbers were just that to her: numbers. That said, she had not really bought any direct gold or gear so far, and in fact, the only tabs she had explored in the cash shop were APPAREL and CUSTOMISATION+. "Ah, is that why there's only us in this instance?"
"Precisely," Momonga answered. "Endgame Trials and Raids are all private instances. Those expensive writs grant us a single, personal pocket dimension; other players cannot enter, and PVP is disabled within. It's a safe space to get annihilated in peace. Although…" he added, a note of hard-earned experience in his voice, "...the moment you step outside the Trial's safe zone buffer, PVP is immediately reactivated. It's helpful to know their locations on the map. They can sometimes serve as a lifesaving sanctuary if you're being chased by a no-life gank squad."
Their ninja, Nishiki Enrai, sighed audibly from the side. "Mmhmm, hence the wallet checks earlier. Well, that was a 2.4 million gold wipe, split twelve ways. Now that we're all 200,000 gold poorer (￣▽￣*)ゞ—" he paused, glancing at ManMan, "—some of us more philosophically than others… shall we try again? It seems I too need to relearn the dance. I've forgotten the specific dodges for its spinning sword phase."
A round of nodding heteromorph heads (and slime bobs) and one pair of determined knife-ears signalled everyone's agreement. ManMan's hands were already hovering over the [Accept - 200,000 Gold] button. She deduced that gold for now, had seemed like a currency that was unrelated to customisation, so it was a non-issue, really.
———
4 Wipes and 800,000 Gold Later.
Learning how to position safely for Primus Terminus Est and ensuring the party had enough shields for Tertius Terminus Est had been relatively straightforward. After learning the precise timing, ManMan had simply shifted her astral alignment into [Nocturnal Sect], transforming her role from a Pure Healer into a Shield Healer. Her focus was now on pre-emptive damage mitigation, layering barriers while letting Yamaiko handle the raw HP recovery. Of course, her Aspected spells still provided a baseline amount of healing, so Yamaiko's MP remained stable, allowing her to continue assisting Touch Me and BubblingTeapot in managing Viridian's hate and enmity.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
What came next, however, was their new wall. Quite literally.
The giant form of Viridian shimmered and vanished. In its place stood Golden Gaius alone on the battlefield, somehow looking even more pompous without his giant mid-life crisis superweapon. The gilded spectre of the Black Wolf stepped forth, aimed his gunblade at the party as if conducting an orchestra of violence, and shouted a command that echoed with absolute confidence.
"FORWARD!"
The castbar above his head reflected the new, terrifying attack:
[LEGIO PHANTASMATIS #1]
The real Gaius's voice crackled from the now-dormant cockpit somewhere, having fully transitioned into a passive and utterly unhelpful spectator.
"Ah… Operation Shock and Awe. Brings back memories. The XIVth Legion at its finest. I remember commanding from the front lines, the roar of the air support, my elite troops advancing in perfect lockstep…" He remarked, the nostalgic, nonchalant tone in his voice annoying ManMan more than any missile barrage ever could.
Sure enough, the holographic sky tore open as spectral mana-airships descended with a wave of deafening whine. Simultaneously, a full line of shimmering, recreated Muspelheim Legionnaires phased into existence on one side of the arena, their gunblades aimed, their bayonets fixed and their formation perfect.
Sensing the imminent, organised violence, ManMan did not hesitate this time. She instantly deployed her skill [Celestial Intersection] twice, launching two streaks of concentrated starlight at both Touch Me and BubblingTeapot. Upon contact, a shimmering, translucent barrier woven from constellations itself formed around each tank.
"Thanks, ManMan-chan~! (′?? ω ??`)" BubblingTeapot's familiar cheery tone answered her starry protection over then anthem of assembling footsteps. ManMan then immediately drew an Arcana and a Crown card, heaving a sigh of relief as [The Spire] and [The Martyr] appeared. Both were defensive cards, with the former offering a Magical Defence boost of 7% and the latter granting an AoE shield, which if broken, offered a 5% party-wide damage boost.
Hastily applying her buffs, she managed to just finish casting [The Martyr] when Golden Gaius started barking his next command.
"FORM RANKS! MECHANISED MANOEUVRE!"
The singular, orderly line of Muspelheim Legionnaires suddenly tripled. With the Golden Wolf gloriously posturing at the front, they raised their rifles in perfect, terrifying unison and began unleashing relentless volleys of magical bullets.
The first volley shattered her carefully laid shields like glass.
The second volley ruptured through two-thirds of the squishier DPS and supports and carved just under half of her tanks' health away.
ManMan internally chided herself. Idiot ManMan, you thought one layer of mitigation would be enough for an imperial firing squad? This isn't some dungeon trash pull (╬ ò﹏ó)!
She hurriedly began casting a desperate [Aspected Astralise], her hands moving in frantic gestures, hoping the party-wide heal and shield could offer a last-second reprieve.
It was too late.
The third and final volley was fired before she could even complete the cast. ManMan watched with a mixture of frustration and awe as her party accepted their fate. The band of cheering heteromorphs erupted in fits of good-humoured laughter and cries of "Ohhh baby it's triple!", "Welp, there it is!" and "See y'all back at Norn's Valhalla Tolls!" as the magical barrage pierced their final defences and turned them, once again, into digital casualties of the recreated Muspelheim Empire.
———
6 More Wipes and 1,200,000 More Gold Later.
After finally conquering Legio Phantasmatis #1 by burying it under an excessive, almost hysterical amount of shields, and then promptly falling to Legio Phantasmatis #2 because ManMan forgot to recover her MP with [Star's Breath], the group had— through sheer stubbornness and dwindling gold reserves— managed to claw their way to the final 10% of Viridian's HP bar.
As she piled on another [Aspected Malefica] onto the giant golden automaton, a new, personalised announcement kicked aside her concentration.
The mean, green Viridian suddenly halted its programmed attacks, swivelled with a grinding of metal, and pointed all six of its swords directly at her High Elf.
"The Black Wolf hungers for more!" Golden Gaius's voice boomed, followed by a stark system message:
"
A conspicuous, blood-red targeting laser snapped from the Golden Gaius hologram's helm, painting a pulsating circle directly on ManMan's chest. The music intensified into a personal, duelling leitmotif as the gilded pompous spectre strode forward, the gunblade held like an estoc, and began his charge.
The real Gaius, still comfortably ensconced in his cockpit, called out between what sounded like sips of virtual wine. "Oh! A spontaneous Round Two with YGGDRASIL's saviour. Truly, I wonder how our duel would have gone had we crossed blades during the initial invasion. Of course, without the impediment of a malfunctioning warmachina…"
En Garde!? Just you wait, Gaius. I'll give you 'Round Two' you after this!
ManMan was getting genuinely annoyed at his casual, sommelier-level nonchalance. She had the fleeting, violent urge to throw her Astrometer at the Viridian's cockpit, but then she remembered her pitiful physical stats would likely result in a embarrassing [Resist] pop-up and lock her out of casting actual heals.
Ignoring him, she turned to her party. Her means of movement in-game were limited; her being caster meant "brisk walking" was the most she could do in a melee. The memory of a different kind of movement, of powerful legs pushing off a diving board, had long felt like it belonged to someone else.
"What should I be doing here?"
Peroroncino was the first to reply and, as usual, was the least useful. "Whoa. Racial profiling! Gaius must really like you, ManMan-san! Guess he's not a fan of knife-ears (???)!"
"Shut up, Bird-Brain!" BubblingTeapot chided from where she was desperately parrying one of the Viridian's other swords. "Just focus, ManMan-san! Dodge everything! Gold Gaius's attacks are a series of high-damage cleaves. Survive, and whatever you do, don't let him clip you or anyone else! His enmity is locked on you!"
"Teapot-chan, that's easier said— ahh!— than done!" ManMan bayed out, frantically trying to backpedal as Gaius's first sword swing carved a furrow in the ground where she had just been standing. She could dodge well enough; the swords, while menacing, were not terribly fast. Their arcs were predictable. But running? Creating distance? That was the real problem.
The reason her High Elf avatar was moving with sluggishness had nothing to do with her gear and everything to do with the pilot. As she willed her digital legs to move, her mind drifted against her will, away from the golden battlefield and back to the sterile white of her hospital suite.
While she had diligently been completing her numerous physical therapies inside, none of them involved the use of her lower limbs, or what was left of them anyway. Her frayed nerve endings from the accident had ensured that walking or running on her own two feet using prosthetics was, as one of her lead physicians had said with a sympathetic smile, "not a viable therapeutic outcome for your specific situation." A polite way of saying what was left of her legs were now permanently decorative stumps.
Therefore, much of her therapy had been about the ways of adapting to a stationary, top-heavy existence. It was all about optimising blood circulation in her remaining limbs (to avoid expensive clots), using her Olympian-grade arms to orang-utan herself in and out of her bespoke hoverchair, and mastering the art of navigating a world not built for people who travel at a serene, chest-level glide. No one, in all her hundreds of hours of rehabilitation, had ever included a module on "How to Rapidly Sidestep and Avoid Dangerous Magical Sword Thrusts." An unforgivable oversight, really.
As she willed her High Elf's digital legs to move, ManMan's mind drifted to a piece of memory of her kind but firm therapist, who was guiding her through upper-body exercises.
"Focus on what you can do, Athlete Yugao. Your arms are your strength now. We'll master the chair, build those muscles. There's no point in dwelling on the neural pathways we can't retrain."
The lessons were all about embracing a life of curated, high-end stillness. None of those therapists ever taught her how to imagine running again. Why would they? It would be a futile and painful exercise in frustration.
ManMan looked at the approaching sword. It was a simple thrust from her right. A sidestep any baseline player could manage in their sleep, but for her, a woman whose physical reality was a now monument to the things no amount of money could fix, it was the most ironically expensive challenge imaginable
The command from her brain was simple: "Dodge left!"
The required neural pathways however, were still clogged with the ghost of therapy. Her Elven avatar remained stubbornly planted. These "simple" commands would not work, and she had to manually translate them into smaller, actionable pieces.
The process for her was not "Dodge left," it was: "I need to imagine the sensation of pushing off with my left— no, the right foot, shifting my weight to the left, torso turning clockwise..."
It was a full, conscious choreography for a motion that should have been instinct. As a result, there was a split-second hiccup in her response, a tiny but fatal delay that was utterly irrelevant in casual MSQ dungeons but was now a glaring and exploitable vulnerability in an Extreme trial. This time, Yamaiko was too busy juggling healing and Viridian's enmity to yank her out of harm's way. Golden Gaius's gunblade grazed her shoulder, dealing a chunk of damage that made her health bar lurch downward.
Touch Me, his World Champion instincts missing nothing, called out through the din of combat as he saw her stumble. "Sis! You alright?"
ManMan clenched her nonexistent digital teeth and desperately tried to regain her footing and composure. "I'm fine, brother! Don't worry about— whoa!"
She was not fine. And soon, neither was her party. While she struggled to stabilise, Gaius pivoted with inhuman efficiency and launched a brutal sideways cut. It was not a graze this time; it caught her squarely in the waist. The impact depleted her remaining health in a single, vicious flash.
Golden Gaius, with his digital appetite whetted, immediately turned his empowered attention to the rest of the party. One by one, they were cut down, each successful hit fuelling his damage buff and making the next strike even more devastating. Their most promising attempt yet ended with the infuriating sight of the Viridian's HP bar frozen at a mocking 5%.
———
The ghostly phantoms of the party gathered around the triumphant figure of Golden Gaius, their fallen avatars littering the arena floor. A chorus of dejected emojis (′；ω；-) (×_×) (ー_ー゛) filled the party as they lamented their last pull.
It was so close at 5%, yet also a galactic distance away. ManMan, in particular, felt a spike of stubborn annoyance. Accepting defeat when victory was practically shimmering on the horizon was not in her nature. Her cursor was already hovering over the [Accept - 200,000 Gold] button when a weary sigh from another Nine's Own Goal member stopped her.
"…Well, shit." Their cabbage strategist, Punitto Moe, muttered. "That was the one. I'm tapped out. That was my last 200k. The rest I gotta save to upgrade my gear's data crystals. Didn't realise I had forgotten so much of this EX's mechs."
A familiar guffaw interrupted Punitto Moe's lament.
"Pfft. Gonna go farming again? For gold? In this economy? HAHAHA!" Peroroncino's laugh sent his bird-like avatar into a series of hops around the dejected ghost of Punitto Moe, his feathers bouncing in a way that once again reminded ManMan of her father's Ringneck Parakeet's well-documented past attempts to procreate with her water bottle when she was a child. "Punitto-kun, have you considered the divine art of the credit card swipe? Just grab an Odin's Bargain from the cash shop. Problem solved, no farming required ?(????)?!"
Punitto Moe's spectral form let out a sigh that spoke of a thousand such conversations. "I don't want to hear that from the clan's resident stingy ass bastard. The same bastard who dumps his entire paycheck on questionable H-games instead of proper gear."
"Punitto-chan's right, you bird-brained idiot," BubblingTeapot chimed in, "As the sister of said stingy ass bastard, I am truly embarrassed by your existence. Then again, I suppose it's staying true to your title as our clan's number one bird-brain."
"Oi! That's not—" Peroroncino squawked and was about to launch into a flustered defence when ManMan smoothly interrupted. Something they said had piqued her full attention.
"What's an Odin's Bargain?" she asked, not realising her voice was filled with the serene curiosity of someone for whom the concept of a "budget" was a mythological construct.
Momonga floated over helpfully. "Oh, it's a cash shop item that bypasses the gold penalty for wipes. Basically, you pay real money so you don't have to pay in-game gold." He guided her to the appropriate store page. "Here, ManMan-san."
ManMan's gaze followed his gesture. The relevant store page loaded with the subtlety of a financial air raid.
There, in the centre, was a shirtless, aggressively confident Odin with a chest so sculpted it defied both anatomy and divine practicality. He was reclining on a gaudy, gold-plated throne that looked suspiciously like an oversized— no, god-sized XXXXXL luxury gaming chair from one of YGGDRASIL's "official partnered brands." One hand held a crystal goblet of wine with the words 'WORLD-GLASS' sculpted on it; the other was draped over the throne's arm, casually waving a golden Asgardian credit card that shimmered with the rainbow hues of unadulterated fiscal irresponsibility.
Below his seat of gamer glory was a headline in a bold, "epic" font that screamed: "TIRED OF GRINDING GOLD ALL DAY TO PROG?"
A subheading in a sleazy cursive script whispered beneath it: "Introducing Odin's Bargain?: Because Your Time is Worth More Than Your Dignity."
And at the very bottom, ManMan saw what was presumably the flavour text and a very fine, small print:
Odin's Bargain?:
Hark, valorous freeloader! The Allfather Odin, from his gilded throne in Asgard's premium YGGDRASIL+++ subscriber lounge, doth observe thy pathetic scrimping and saving. He sips a vintage "The Founder's Mead", aged for a thousand years, and scoffs at thine obsession with "grinding" and "fiscal responsibility."
"Fie upon thy purse-strings!" he booms as his voice filtered through a divine soundboard for maximum reverb. "Why dost thou waste precious hours, thy mortal span so fleeting, upon the vulgar accrual of in-game currency? 'Tis a tedious spectacle! I grow weary of watching thy potential for glorious, monetisable conflict be stifled by petty budgeting."
He leans forward with a glint of divine avarice in his single eye. "Behold, my bargain! I shall grace thee with a sliver of my infinite, procedurally-generated wealth. In exchange, I demand but one thing: ENTERTAINMENT. More wipes! More drama! More content for me! Go forth, Worry-Less, and Fail-More spectacularly without the dreary constraint of economic consequence!"
———
Developer's Note:
By utilising Odin's Bargain?, you hereby forfeit all rights to complain about Pay-to-Win & Pay-for-Convenience mechanics on the official forums. You acknowledge that your mental well-being has been improved from using this product. All sales final. Void where prohibited by the laws of Asgard. The Allfather is not responsible for lost durability, shattered friendships, or existential dread incurred during your newly streamlined— yet somehow still failing— progression.
Essentially, ManMan realised that this was an item that removed the entry costs for a Raid or Trial as well as the Dying Fees via a special buff called: "Valhalla's Closed (For You)."
It had three main effects; One, charters became free. The gold cost for the current Charter would be completely waived. Two, revives were also free. The "Valhalla's Grace" revival fee would be reduced to zero gold so they would wipe to their hearts' content. And lastly, no "Weary Soul" debuff, and their gear incurs no durability loss.
She briefly considered the item, if gold was the issue holding the group back, then this would be a perfect solution. It ticked all the boxes.
Firstly, and perhaps most importantly for her athlete's pride, the bargain was pure quality-of-life. It did not put the boss on training wheels. The experience, the thrill of combat, and the hard-earned satisfaction of finally nailing a mechanic would remain perfectly intact. They would still have to learn the fight, and this just removed the extortionate tuition fees.
Secondly, it was a monumental time-saver. The lurking dread of post-MSQ gold grinding had been a constant, low-level headache for ManMan. She had skimmed a few 'YGGDRASIL Gold Grinding' guides and the suggested activities— spending hours drawing circles around a fixed, mind-numbing rotation against the same respawning mobs— sounded less like a game and more like a data-entry job designed by sadists.
Third and most importantly, the item was tradable. She could solve the problem for the entire party with a single (maybe a dozen), elegant transaction.
It was, quite simply, the perfect solution. Why grind when you could just... buy the grindstone itself and throw it into the sun?
Like ordering coffee, ManMan started adding Odin's Bargains into her basket, and soon a neat pile of twenty Odin's Bargains were in her inventory.
"I've got bargains for everyone. Let's go again. Right now."
"Ah, but ManMan-san, you don't have to—" Momonga paused midway, suddenly realising something profound before glancing back and forth between her and Touch Me. "…Oh."
"It's not about money, Momonga-san." She calmly replied. "It's about the time. I don't want my friends or myself to lose their fun because of arbitrary ingame gold. We nearly had it too."
She turned to Momonga. "Here, Momonga-san, this is yours."
A trade notification appeared as ManMan passed an Odin's Bargain to her skeleton friend. Then, like a celestial body dispensing boons, she glided through the group, passing out the bargains one by one. Soon, everyone had one.
The heteromorph band seemed a little surprised. Well, all except for Touch Me.
"Wow," Ulbert remarked with genuine admiration in his voice as he rapidly stroked his goat-tee. He turned to Touch Me, "Truly, Touch-san, you sister is a goddess. The anti-you. Where you are a selfish, glory-hogging brute, she is a fair lady of pure, munificent grace."
Touch Me felt a little indignant. "Hey, what was that supposed—"
"Woah, ManMan-chan, you didn't have to, but thank you!" BubblingTeapot's excited and grateful voice chimed in, her gratitude punctuated by a shower of happy, laughing, and heart-eyed emojis (′▽???) ?(???)? (★ω★)` that danced around the group.
The clan's Vegetable Kong Ming Punitto Moe was especially glad. "Thanks, ManMan-san! Truly, it would've been a grind for me to continue. I've got some crucial PvP upgrades on the line. But with this…" He let out a sound that was almost a chuckle. "Well, let's just say I'm locked in for the night."
Yamaiko, Nishikienrai, Ancient One, and even the Bondage Angel LuciFer accepted theirs with a chorus of grateful thank-yous and celebratory emojis. For once, LuciFer chose to forgo his usual practical jokes, a silence that spoke volumes.
Warrior Takemikazuchi let out a low and impressed whistle over the party. "Damn, ManMan-san. I knew you and Touch-san were siblings, but the resemblance ends there. Players usually only break these out when they're A2C and ready to clear. Your stingy brother over here would've made us farm for a week after a 5% wipe."
Before Touch Me could muster a indignant retort, Peroroncino broke into a theatrical performance as his voice dripped with exaggerated reverence despite his immobile bird-beak.
"Ohhh~! My Magnanimous Sultana of Swipe! From this day forth, I shall be your most humble and devoted servant! I would be glad— nay, honoured!— if you could consider me for a position amongst your lowest, most menial—"
He never got to finish his grovelling. An irritated slime tentacle, launched from BubblingTeapot's ghostly avatar, flew directly at his face. Out of pure reflex, the Bird-Man dodged with a squawk.
"Shut up and get moving, you idiot! The instance timer's still counting down!"
With that, the group collectively revived, and the Valhalla's Closed (For You) buff shimmered over their avatars. The mood had noticeably shifted from their slightly dejected selves to renewed excitement. They began preparing for their final pulls, the financial pressure now completely and gloriously removed.
———
2 More Wipes and No Gold Reductions Later.
Having had more practice ordering nonexistent lower limbs to move, ManMan found herself facing Gaius for the fourth time with surprising confidence.
Golden Gaius launched his final thrust as usual, and this time, ManMan was ready. With absolute focus, she calmly ordered her digital legs to move, her upper body to twist, and her body to shift out of the way, her Astrologian's robes swirling as she positioned herself out of Gaius's attack. Her mind burned with the effort— the mental lactic acid of forcing a neural pathway that no longer existed— but she had done it. She had survived the attack string.
With the final major mechanic overcome, all that was left was the straightforward and therapeutic process of sending Viridian's HP bar to zero. That and, of course, the deeply satisfying act of throwing her Astrometer at the real Gaius as he came out the cockpit. Unfortunately, the game considered him an ally and her stargazing tool did a grand total of 0 damage.
A round of applause and congratulations later, the group dissipated as they went about their own progression or logged out. ManMan was looking at what appeared to be an emerald totem and an equipment exchange token.
Momonga, seeing her elven avatar's confused head tilt, helpfully explained from the side. "Ah ManMan-san, those totems are meant for mount exchanges. EX Trials all have a chance to drop a mount, but it's… notoriously fickle. This time, the RNG gods weren't in our favour. If you get particularly unlucky, you can trade 99 of those totems with the quest NPC to just buy the mount outright."
Pointing at the gear exchange token, he continued. "That token lets you exchange for a single Relic-class equipment. They're not quite Legendary or Divine tier, but still excellent for both PvE and PvP. It's much better than the High and Top-Class equipment the MSQ gives, that's for sure." He paused, his skeletal form tilting in thought. "Hmmm…"
ManMan noticed her lich friend had gone silent, seemingly pondering something utterly profound.
"What is it, Momonga-san?" she asked.
"Ah," Momonga broke out of his reverie. "I was just thinking you should probably use that equipment token now. Actually, ManMan-san, what's your gear like currently?"
Obligingly, ManMan brought up her equipment screen. Momonga leaned in, his eye sockets scanning the list. There was a long, dead silence. When he turned back to her, the red pinpricks of light in his eyes seemed to flare into a brighter, more intense shade of horrified crimson.
"What!? You were using a High-Class weapon!? I thought you at least had a Legacy or a Top-Class Astrometer!" he exclaimed, a Σ(?口?) emoji flashing beside him. "You did the entire Endsinger fight and this Extreme trial with… with that!?"
ManMan blinked. "Eh? Was my damage too low?"
"Well, not exactly! That's what's so surprising!" Momonga replied, "You were doing a surprising amount of damage and healing for a Sprout healer. We cleared Endsinger quite quickly, and your personal damage stats were better than most sprouts I've seen! It's why I suggested an Extreme Trial to begin with! I just assumed you were properly geared!"
Typically, Item/Equipment Tiers in Canon Overlord goes from:
Low, Mid, High, Top, Legacy, Relic, Legendary, Divine, Guild, World-Champion, World.
Link if u wanna read more:
He then guided ManMan to a discreet section of her HUD, leading her to the 'Performance Data & Metrics' page. A long list of her past activities was displayed, each annotated with a coloured square. Her early dungeon runs were a sea of dismal grey, but the last two entries had shone in a bright, hopeful green. She clicked on the recent EX Trial log and was immediately greeted by a sprawling dashboard of graphs, data points, and metrics for every participant.
It was a painfully familiar sight. Her diving coaches had subjected her to countless such presentations in her past, breaking down every millisecond of a dive into angles, velocities, and hydro-acoustic measurements. This was just a different kind of performance analysis.
"Hmmm, is this something like a stats page? For performance analysis?" ManMan asked, her athlete's mind already switching into review mode. "What do those colours represent?"
"Yes, exactly that, ManMan-san," he replied. His bony finger traced over the graphs as he gave a quick rundown: Damage Per Second (DPS), raid-focused Damage (rDPS), Global Cooldown Uptime. "The colours are a percentile ranking of your combined performance. Think of it as your standing against every other player who has cleared this fight on your main class tree.
"A Grey means you are among the 24% and below, Green means you are 25-49%. Blue means 50-74%. Purple signifies 75-94%, while Orange is 95-98%." He paused to let the onrush of information sink in.
"Finally, Pink means 99%, and Gold is the last at 100%. i.e. you are Rank One for that duty, for your main class tree."
ManMan's eyes narrowed. She knew exactly what this was. It was a benchmark, a scoreboard.
"Oh…! I understand. Quantitative feedback for iterative self-improvement."
A part of her soul groaned at the thought of diving back into the hell of performance metrics, a place she thought she had left behind in the real world. But another, more dominant part— the part that won gold medals— saw only the challenge. Getting gold with her current physicalities might be a stretch, but Blue? Purple? Those were obtainable goals. New goals, new mountains to climb.
"Yeah, exactly," Momonga echoed, though he quickly added a caveat. "Though, I wouldn't put too much stock in these plots. They give you a very general idea, but factors like gear disparity, party buffs, special classes, and even fight RNG can massively skew the numbers. It's not a pure measure of skill. For that, you still need tournaments like the World or Guild Championships."
"I see…!" ManMan's tone had shifted. This was now a new game within the game, a set of metrics she could study and optimise if needed.
"Speaking of which, I think you should use that exchange token now, maybe for a weapon," Momonga continued, steering the conversation back to practicalities. "Even though you're not a heteromorph, it's wise to have a minimum level of gear. Just in case you run into a… well, let's just call them 'enthusiastic bandit roleplayers' in the open world."
ManMan's reply held a note of genuine curiosity. "Do people really role-play as bandits in this game?"
"Well, it's definitely possible," Momonga said. He pointed a bony finger at his own skull. "See, our entire clan is basically role-playing as villains. Well, even if we didn't want to, the game's karma system flags us as such. So yes, it's very possible for other Humanoid or Demi-Human players to decide that 'bandit' is a perfectly valid career path. In the open world, PVP is always enabled. It's better to be prepared and not need it, than to need it and not be prepared (?_?)."
Nodding, ManMan carefully considered her friend's advice. She was well aware PVP was a core feature; she had seen the montages online while browsing for guides— glorious and sometimes vainglorious compilations of kills and, more cynically, exhaustive tutorials on how to gank players at their grind spots, loot their hard-earned dungeon spoils, and the rather popular Guild vs Guild battles, or GVGs that sometimes occurred right outside safe zones. The thought of being on the receiving end of that was slightly unappealing.
"Alright, I'll make the exchange," she decided. "Like you said. Just in case."
Following a quick dialogue with one of Gaius's engineers, the token vanished, replaced in her inventory by a Smaragdine Torquetum. It was a beautiful Astrometer of burnished metallics and deep emerald green, its design echoing the sleek, technological motifs of the P.W.E.S Viridian. When unsheathed, the planisphere at its centre hummed to life with a warm, golden glow as its celestial gears turned slowly within.
"This is quite beautiful…!" she commented, rotating the weapon to admire the play of light on its intricate details. For a moment, the fight-addict became quiet and the collector who spent fortunes on digital dresses was utterly pleased.
Momonga nodded approvingly.
"Haha, I'm glad you like it! It's a solid piece. And hey, if you ever find a weapon later with Divine-Class stats but an appearance that looks like it was dragged through a swamp, remember you can always use the [Creator's Tool] and spend some data crystals to change its appearance. Fashion is the true endgame, after all."
Momonga then paused. "Actually, maybe you should consider upgrading the rest of your gear as well? If I remember correctly, this fortnight's gacha cycle features a set of caster gear…"
Swiping a few quick gestures at the cash shop, ManMan was led to a page titled: THE ALLFATHER'S GRAND LOTTERY (YOU CAN WIN TOO!)
Featured prominently on the first tab was something called "The Arsenal of Unrequited Debt", where a dramatically lit, rotating display of an ornate polearm was being shown with a set of matching armour set. Sparks and all manner of overdone animations were glittering around, desperately trying to convey value. Odin's smug face, holding another WORLD-GLASS glass of beverage and still half naked, was smiling faintly from the corner, winking animatedly at her in a rather grotesque loop.
The promotional text read with the usual blend of hype and YGGDRASIL self-awareness:
5-Star (Divine) Rate-Up:
Gungnir's Echo (Divine-Class spear). "Pierce the heavens and your enemies' savings simultaneously!"
4-Star (Legendary) Rate-Up:
Armour of the Foaming Stein (9-piece set. Legendary-Class).
Accessories of Eternal Revelry (6-piece set. Legendary-Class).
And below, in marginally smaller text, was the so-called pity system:
Divine Mercy Protocol: Your suffering amuses the Allfather. After 200 tithings without a Legendary boon, your next offering is guaranteed to be blessed. Note that Divine boons have no such guarantee.
ManMan took a closer peek at the flavour text for the 5-Star rate-up. It read:
On Divine Favour:
"The favour of the gods is not a transaction; it is a capricious gift. You may tithe a thousand times and receive only their laughter. Such is the nature of true divinity."
———
Developer's Note: Please note that base chance of a Divine item appearing is set at an appropriately generous and divine rate of 0.05%. By partaking in the Grand Lottery, you swear a blood oath to never criticise its existence. All proceeds go directly to funding the Allfather's necessary mead stores. Thank you for your generous donation.
ManMan had the distinct feeling that this was a feature that was… intentionally flawed. She looked up at Momonga quizzically, the elegant lines of her elven avatar tilting in a gesture of bewilderment.
"Momonga-san… I know I may seem like a rather carefree shopper," ManMan began, this time her tone was laced with a rare note of ethical hesitation. "But this sounds less like a lottery and more like... legally-sanctioned cheating. Are players truly comfortable with a system where the highest reward has no guarantee and endgame equipment can be bought so easily?"
"Ah, that's not what I meant, ManMan-san." Momonga hurriedly defended himself, sending a flustered ( ≧Д≦) emoji her way. "You see, I just thought that you may want to consider it. You're still on mainly High-Class gear. It's serviceable for the story, but it's tissue paper in any real endgame content.
"My thought was that getting one or two reliable Legendary pieces from the gacha could perhaps serve as a buffer. It would pad your stats just enough to hold your own until you can earn better gear properly— from Extreme Trials, Savage raids, or by farming mobs for marketboard crafted-gear. At least that way, if you get jumped in the open world, you can actually run away to a safe zone."
To illustrate, he brought up the duty finder, highlighting the 'Savage Raids' section, and then showed a piece of intricate Legendary gear from his own inventory.
"See? The gacha Legendaries are usually a tier below the raid-earned ones. They have slightly worse substats or lack powerful set bonuses. The same goes for most Divine items from gacha; the truly best-in-slot gear almost always comes from beating the hardest content or from master crafters. The gacha is just a… shortcut to adequacy, not a path to supremacy. It's meant to catch you up, not make you the best."
He pointed back to the cash shop. "See this second tab? This is the one I was actually talking about. It's available until the end of the week."
Looking over to the other tab, she noticed there was another banner. This one was called "The Conclave of the Life-Binder".
Its flavour text read with pompous solemnity:
The Life-Giving Arts:
"The delicate art of life-giving is also one of profound judgment. To sustain a life is to deem it worthy. The Life-Binder's Conclave offers tools to enforce this sacred calculus."
On the banner, the 4-Star "Vestments of the Balance" was a set of healer robes in earthy tones. It was well-designed, but it failed to trigger any deep-seated acquisitive impulse in ManMan's inner aesthete. No "BUY NOW!" commands were firing in her brain.
The 5-Star Divine item, the "Sceptre of the Final Arbiter", was even less appealing— a two-handed staff of 'living wood' that looked like it belonged in a particularly dull druid's damp and humid basement.
Looking further, she noticed the banner even featured faux reviews.
Trusted Reviews?:
"Finally completed the Vestments of the Balance. I'm so glad I bought this. The set bonus really saved our last pull after the Monk face-tanked the tankbuster. The scales of balance indeed." - FistMaster87
———
Developer's Note: THE ALLFATHER'S GRAND LOTTERY Inc. has carefully analysed its customer base and produced this most accurate review to reflect their satisfactions. In other words, these are not real reviews.
Now ManMan wanted it even less. She stared at Momonga. The Undead Overlord began to fidget under her slightly-longer-than-usual stare.
"Uh, I realise the product descriptions are... perhaps not landing as intended," he backpedaled, his bony fingers clacking together nervously. "But the core principle still has merit! I'm not trying to make fun of you for your spending habits! I swear!"
In a desperate bid to prove his sincerity, he hastily showed her one of his rings. It was a simple silver band with a square face featuring three tiny, etched shooting stars— a conspicuously modest piece of digital jewellery.
"See? I got this [Shooting Star] from the gacha store too. It's actually quite a good item!" The Overlord then leaned in, his voice dropping to a hush meant only for her. "Ah, but please, don't tell Peroroncino-san. Strictly speaking, we're founding members of the No-Cash-Item-Alliance…"
ManMan gave a soft, understanding giggle as she nodded. The image of this powerful Undead Caster and his secret, shameful gacha ring was both absurd and endearing. It was clear his advice came from a place of genuine concern.
"Your secret is safe with me, Momonga-san!" she chirped, "I know you're just worried about my safety, and I appreciate it. But I don't really like how any of it looks. Hmmm, putting the fashion aside, is there some other, more tangible benefit to having a set of Legendary gear?"
"Phew!" Momonga heaved a sigh of relief, causing his imposing avatar in its huge caster's robes to bobble up and down in a sight ManMan found rather comical.
"Well, a full set of Legendary gear is basically your ticket to step into Savage Raids immediately," he explained. "The gear requirements for Savage are a lot steeper than for Extreme. Normally, you'd have to farm Extremes or grind mobs for ages to get a full set of Relic-class gear. Only then could you challenge Savage content to earn tokens for your Legendaries. The other path is to lifeskill for a hundred years until you can craft your own."
ManMan gave a short nod of acknowledgment while Momonga continued his Complete Sprout's Guide to Savage Raiding.
"Now, having a base set of Legendary gear is a great starting point, but it's not the end. As items rise in class, they get more data crystal slots. This means you can fine-tune a piece of equipment's performance— its stats, its substats, and its appearance— by slotting in data crystals. By default, all dropped and store-bought items come with an unique default set of data, and you can optimise them further using your own crystals. This is also the biggest reason why everyone farms mobs; it's not just for the gold, it's also to gather the materials and crystals needed for customisations."
"I see…! So I can't just waltz into Savage right away, then."
ManMan felt a little let down, but also understood the rationale. Having new entrants instantly outclass older players who had put in the work would leave a sour taste— and it was also poor sportsmanship. To her, it mirrored the Olympic environment, where new divers had to prove themselves on lower platforms before being allowed to compete on the towering ten-meter boards.
"What about Extremes, though?" she asked. "We seemed to have done pretty well there."
Momonga paused, choosing his words carefully.
"Ah, that one was a bit of a special case, ManMan-san. While you performed remarkably well for a fresh-out-of-MSQ sprout, you have to remember that everyone in our clan were already in full Legendary gear at a minimum. I'm quite sure some of us like Touch Me and Ulbert were already sporting several Divine items too. Everyone in Nine's Own Goal is also… exceptionally skilled at their classes and roles. Using us as a benchmark for the general population is like using a gold medalist's training session to judge a local swimming meet (?_?")."
He gave her a bony, reassuring gesture.
"To put it in perspective, most level 100 players don't own a single Divine item. The average player is running around in a mix of Relic and Legacy-class equipment. Most dedicated endgame and PvP players might have a full set of Legendaries, but even then, Divine items are rare. So, getting a starter set of Legendaries from the shop… it just saves you a few dozen hours of mind-numbing grind at the start, and then a few hundreds more in the middle of the endgame. It's a very good head start, but not a free win."
Switching back to the gacha page, ManMan gave the "Vestments of the Balance" another appraising look. Momonga's arguments were logically sound. The idea of drawing virtual circles for hundreds of hours on end against the same respawning mobs to slowly accumulate currency really was the digital equivalent of perpetual unpaid manual data entry. Her brain recoiled at that sheer, soul-withering boredom.
Yet, her aversion still remained, something about getting powerful gear right off the bad so easily felt intrinsically repulsive.
Personal achievements should be exactly that: achieved, personally.
She respected the grind, the process, the sanctity of fair competition honed over countless hours. Even in a game, bypassing that foundation so easily felt… unethical. It felt like doping.
Sure, as Momonga said, the gear would not let her stomp mechanics she had yet to learn, neither would it grant her a skilled player's muscle memory or their strategic insight. However, it does fundamentally alter the starting conditions. To her, a victory's value was inextricably linked to the integrity of the struggle that preceded it. This felt like buying a medal and skipping the dive entirely.
"Hmmm…" she answered slowly, turning her gaze from the garish banner to Momonga's stylised skull. "I understand your reasoning completely, Momonga-san. I will carefully consider it."