Chương 388: Chapter 371 - Interlude 37

It took a while for the full ramifications of Sam's actions in Roserun to filter through the world. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of reaction videos and video essays were made about the destruction of the city. Gaming news outlets covered it so extensively that people started complaining about seeing Roserun in every headline. The public discussed it in hushed whispers across tables, argued about it on street corners, and shouted about it in their homes.

Friendships were strained by disagreements over the event, relationships ended because of where people stood on the issue, and a surprising number of new ones began when two individuals discovered a shared appreciation for explosions. It was the kind of grand event that forced everyone to sit up and pay attention. But as the nature of things, a lot of those people were soon paying attention to other things. To the latest pop-star scandal. A new movie release. Another political controversy.

The information, however, did not vanish. It lingered in people's minds, germinating like a seed and sinking roots ever deeper. By the time the news cycle had squeezed every last drop of engagement from the event and moved on, the forums were still filled with endless debates about how Sam had carried out the strike. People calculated the strength of the explosions, attempted to apply real-world physics to the event, and ran simulations to determine what would happen if something similar occurred in reality.

Others tried to figure out how to replicate it, searching for some combination of spells, skills, or magical interactions that could explain how Solar had accomplished a feat on such a scale. Theorycrafters immediately went to work, assembling countless spell combinations and skill builds – much to the delight of spellbook sellers – and guilds began testing them almost as soon as they were proposed.

Social networks became flooded with videos of people performing increasingly outrageous magical feats in Magic Unbound. Giant lances of fire, town-spanning lightning storms, and lasers of every imaginable variety were unleashed against motionless targets. Yet none of them came close to the destruction Solar had wrought. That sparked another wave of accusations that he was cheating, accompanied by forum posts supposedly exposing his methods.

Several smaller channels and news agencies attempted to capitalize on the drama and generated a brief secondary news cycle, but interest quickly died when no consequences ever materialized. However, deeper down, in the research centers of the major guilds scattered across the world, countless researchers continued their work, trying to figure out exactly what had happened at Roserun. It did not take them long to realize that focusing solely on magic and spells was a dead end.

Their attention quickly shifted toward artifacts. Researchers combed through auction houses, both public and private, and eventually expanded their search to black markets where some of the worst items imaginable changed hands. Stolen goods, smuggled artifacts, treasures acquired through scams, extortion, or outright violence. It might have been the future, but a gun to the head still worked. They searched for an artifact capable of producing an explosion powerful enough to erase Roserun from the map.

Technically, they found several candidates, but none that matched what had actually happened. When that avenue of research failed to produce answers, the experts turned their attention toward the crafting disciplines. It did not take long for them to acquire information about Solar, AFK, Chrysalis, and their various crafting groups.

No matter how competent Tim was, or how carefully Lucy and Adam ensured the guild and company remained compartmentalized while removing bad actors whenever they were discovered, it ultimately did not matter. The more people who shared a secret, the easier it became to uncover. The leak did not even need to be intentional. A careless comment here, an offhand remark there, followed by a few well-placed questions directed at an unsuspecting player.

And suddenly, the researchers had a list of crafting groups and their specializations. Granted, the only thing they managed to discover about Liz and her network of underground creators was that it existed at all. Even so, that was enough. It did not take long for investigators to conclude that whatever had destroyed Roserun had originated somewhere within those groups.

As a side effect, Liz's streaming channel experienced explosive growth in both followers and viewership as people combed through her videos and archived broadcasts, hoping to uncover the secrets behind her creations. Unfortunately for them, that was something Sam had anticipated. The editing team, supervised by Tim specifically to prevent leaks, always made sure to remove critical information from uploaded videos and VODs.

On several occasions, they even inserted false information just in case someone was paying too much attention. That, however, did not stop the investigation. Naturally, the people and entities behind those researchers, when receiving the reports, had decided that instead of spending who knows how much money on research, they could just as easily go for the source. The crafter. At first, they tried money. A lot of money.

When that failed, they dug deeper into Liz's personal life and quickly discovered her mother – a spiteful shrew who was more than willing to sell every scrap of information she possessed for the right price. Armed with that information, they approached Liz again. Some attempted blackmail. Others offered lucrative partnerships and business deals. A few tried sympathy, and some even attempted seduction. The secrets behind her creations were simply that valuable.

Many had already realized that if the underlying technology could be expanded upon – especially the drones – and if real-world technological development served as any indication, the resulting advantages would propel a guild to the very top of Magic Unbound. And with the game rapidly becoming the center of the world's attention, reaching the top of Magic Unbound increasingly looked like reaching the top of the world itself in their view.

Thankfully, Tim stood as an unyielding wall between Liz and the endless parade of people seeking her knowledge. Even then, protecting her was far easier in the real world than in-game. The security company hired by Sam and Lucy did its job very well. However, in-game outside of guild-controlled territory, she rarely had a moment to herself. The instant she appeared in public, people descended upon her. Some wanted to convince her, while others wanted to bribe her.

More than a few wanted to beat the information out of her. Things only became worse when she streamed. At that point, stream snipers were among her least pressing concerns. Watching all of this unfold, many people – especially those funding the efforts – found themselves baffled. Nothing worked. No matter how much money they offered, how favorable the deals became, or how much pressure they applied, all they ever received were polite refusals. Eventually, a theory began circulating.

Nobody knew who started it, but that hardly mattered once it gained momentum. It made too much sense. After all, that was what they would do. The theory? Solar had something horrible on her. To many, it was the only explanation that made sense. Why else would she reject opportunities that could make her richer than she had ever dreamed of becoming? Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Solar paid well, certainly, but not that well.

The rumor spread rapidly through the same circles already obsessed with Roserun. Before long, many of the teams tasked with acquiring Liz's cooperation shifted their focus toward Solar instead. If he truly possessed some form of leverage over her, then obtaining it would be far easier than convincing Liz to betray him willingly. While those games played out behind the scenes, the researchers never stopped working.

Even though they failed to find a direct answer regarding Roserun, the process itself kept producing side discoveries – as was the nature of research like this. Failed approaches led to unexpected insights, abandoned theories turned out useful in other areas, and experiments aimed at one goal often produced results relevant to something entirely different.

All around the world, guilds began gearing up for war as they realized they suddenly had access to new weapons, new technologies, and entirely new forms of magic. Their rivals quickly did the same. No one wanted to be the first to fall behind. Markets shifted, and entire industries reorganized themselves as the results began to filter through the world. One of the most immediate consequences was the price of gold. On the public markets, it began to rise slowly, making a lot of people very happy.

The black markets were even worse. As guilds started investing in the things they had found, they needed a massive influx of money to stay ahead of their rivals and enemies. That meant either going through in-game banks – which was a torturous process and not available in every in-game country – or turning to the black market. As demand surged, the price of gold doubled, then tripled in a very short amount of time. But they still bought it. Because not doing so meant falling behind. And falling behind meant death.

Solar proved that very clearly. The first consequences appeared on a different continent from the one where Sam had originally started the game. In a country near the center of that continent, currently consumed by a civil war fueled in no small part by players escalating the conflict, one of the guilds decided to apply its recent research toward a very specific end. They were falling behind their opponents in terms of raw combat strength, as their enemy had significantly more high-level power players.

However, their advantage lay in a different area: their crafters were far more skilled. By combining fragmented data recovered from what had become known as the Roserun Explosion with their own expertise, they managed to develop an ultimate weapon intended to tip the balance of the war. As with every such development, a small minority within the guild leadership opposed its deployment, but their objections were quickly dismissed by the leadership. The potential gains were deemed far too significant to ignore.

Thus, the operation began. They named it Operation Tulip. The plan involved multiple teams of players dispersing across enemy-held territory. The conflict was not yet so absolute that guilds attacked one another on sight, meaning that outside of formal guild-versus-guild engagements, players could still freely enter opposing regions and make use of their facilities. They might attract hostile looks or face inflated prices, but there were no immediate consequences for simply being present.

Using this to their advantage, the teams moved into target cities, rented rooms, and began preparations. Across dozens of locations selected by the researchers, teams began carving runic patterns into walls, floors, and hidden structural points. Acquiring the services of a true Runemaster would have been ideal, but it was practically impossible to do so without risking exposure.

Instead, they relied on the steadily growing population of crafters who had managed to progress in learning how to properly utilize the runes. These improvised inscriptions were used to amplify and stabilize the effects of the weapon. The weapon itself was an alchemical creation. Within the guild's territory existed a fracture containing a creature that consumed magic.

Low-level spells were simply absorbed without effect, forcing players to overwhelm the monster with increasingly powerful magic just to make any impact at all. Over time, they discovered a critical property: if the creature absorbed more magic than it could contain, it would detonate, releasing all stored energy at once, multiplied by the creature's own inherent strength. Naturally, this led to extensive experimentation aimed at maximizing the resulting explosion or finding ways to weaponise the mechanic directly.

Before Roserun, the project had been largely shelved, as the creature proved extremely difficult to control or reliably exploit. After the Explosion, however, interest returned almost immediately. With new analytical perspectives and additional data points, researchers realized that the creature's core could be refined into an alchemical component capable of granting temporary power at a significant cost to those consuming the potion. Things unfolded from there.

Naturally, the participants were never told there was a price to be paid. Still, while a few details leaked – as they inevitably do – and the enemy guild immediately began hunting down the infiltration teams, it was already too late. The runes had been powered. The potions had been consumed. And mana had already begun to swell as the rough ritual unfolded like a blooming tulip across the territories held by the enemy guild. Mana thickened in the air as players chanted the memorized incantations.

A few teams were discovered, and skirmishes broke out, but redundancy had been built into the ritual's design. Mages, both NPCs and players, could feel the pressure building around them. Some fled, unwilling to risk their defenses against whatever was happening, while others began casting counterspells in an attempt to delay, disrupt, or at the very least protect themselves from whatever was coming. The concentration of mana continued to rise until even ordinary civilians could feel it pressing against their skin.

For a long moment, the entire country held its breath under the realization that something enormous was unfolding. Then the chanting reached its crescendo. And the ritual began. Mana was unleashed through the bodies of the players who had consumed the potion, burning through them and inflicting catastrophic debuffs upon resurrection, before erupting outward in expanding concentric waves. Smaller pulses fractured off in unpredictable directions, consuming everything they touched.

Buildings were reduced to nothingness. Trees disintegrated into dust. People vanished mid-motion, erased before they could even react. Within the boundaries of the ritual, mana and magic propagated uncontrollably, occasionally spilling beyond its intended limits and continuing its relentless consumption of everything in its path. But just before the destruction escalated beyond control, the containment structure failed.

The runes vanished as the supporting walls and ground were consumed, and the carefully constructed ritual began to collapse, releasing its remaining energy into the wider world. Great swaths of land were erased in scattered directions until, finally, the spell burned itself out. There were no grand explosions or dramatic aftershocks. Just horrified silence remained. On that day, nearly a quarter of the country was gone, silently consumed and reduced to dust by a single coordinated spell.

It was a devastating blow, yet still not enough to fully break their enemies. The guild responsible was eliminated within seconds, as the remnants of the government and allied guilds moved swiftly to erase every trace of them in response. And yet, the recipe survived. Which, in turn, led to the only remaining fracture containing the necessary monsters becoming yet another battlefield of blood and desperation. That was not the only place where it happened.

Across the world of Magic Unbound, countless guilds and factions began using whatever knowledge they had acquired to unleash devastating attacks against their enemies – or, more rarely, against themselves when experiments went catastrophically wrong. Plagues were released that wiped out entire communities. Massive explosions were deployed against organized armies. Rituals were attempted in direct imitation of what had occurred in Roserun. The entire world became fixated on the concept of the overwhelming strike.

At the same time, however, the system governing the game did not remain passive. As destructive projects multiplied, so too did the emergence of players who, by chance or design, discovered items, artifacts, spells, and skills capable of countering them. These individuals were then dispatched across the world, sent on journeys to intercept and prevent catastrophic events before they could be completed. Some succeeded. Others failed. But over time, a pattern began to emerge. A balance. Destruction met creation.

Those who built weapons of annihilation were met by those who sought to stop them. Heroes against villains.

"How are we doing?" one tired voice asked as several equally exhausted people sat around a conference table. On the wall, a large screen displayed even more faces in small windows, each one calling in from a different location. Another person rubbed his face, stubble forming in an uneven, neglected patch across his jaw.

"We managed to stop the epidemic, but the genie is out of the bottle."

"We had to manually intervene several times just to prevent runaway effects that could have destroyed the world," another voice added.

"We mostly used the gods for containment, but it's getting harder and harder to track everything. Most of the systems are already overworked."

"What about introducing some kind of world-level backlash?" someone asked.

"We could say the planet, or the spirit of mana, or whatever, got angry at the destruction and started punishing people for it."

"We floated it to management," came the reply with a weary sigh.

"They did market research, and the results were predictable. The freedom to use magic however they want is the biggest draw of the game. If we start limiting that, we risk a death spiral."

"Damn…" A tense silence followed as everyone stared at their notes, or at each other, waiting for someone else to produce a solution that would magically fix everything. Then the woman spoke again after letting out a weary sigh.

"We did empower several secret societies, and we inserted histories of past conflicts against this kind of destruction to encourage some natural resistance, but we all know how gamers are…" A round of grumbling followed, though no one disagreed. Gamers were gamers no matter what. Gamers were gamers. Given enough time, they optimized everything, stripped out every inefficiency, and eventually figured out how to build nukes out of whatever system they were given.

That had been true for the earliest games, and it was still true now.

"We also increased the probability of someone naturally disrupting these research projects through the system itself, but without more direct intervention, we're just playing catch-up…" Another person shrugged.

"I still think we should leave them to it. Given enough time, they'll realize they're destroying their own game and regulate themselves." He gave a tired grin.

"Until then, let them play with their shiny new toys. It's giving us a ton of data. The development and writing teams are loving it."

"Yeah, because they're not the ones dealing with the complaints…" Another silence settled before one of the remote heads on the wall spoke up, his accent noticeable.

"Hate to bring him up, but… any response from the main office?" Everyone understood exactly who he meant.

"My government contacts are pressuring us for consequences," another man who was calling in from somewhere else said.

"They don't like where the market is going." The man's voice made it clear what he thought about those contacts. The man at the head of the table shook his head.

"It wasn't our decision to hedge that heavily on in-game gold. They should be celebrating the price increase."

"They're worried about a bubble."

"Yes, well…" He paused briefly.

"We all know there's going to be a bubble. If they can't handle that with enough warning, that's on them."

"They're still going to blame us…" Someone pointed out.

"They already are. They're saying we should have stopped him. What are they going to do, blame us harder? We already had to hire an entire team just to handle the death threats…"

"We're really protecting him?"

"We have to," came the immediate answer.

"If he dies, it signals to every player that real-world retaliation is fair game. And I don't think any of us want that precedent. It would signal the end of Magic Unbound."

"I hate it when you're logical…"

"Yes, well… at least we have dental…"