Chapter 90: The Plight of the Players

"... Knight Captain, why haven't the players been paid their wages again this month?"

"I've already told you, because of this Chivalrous Expedition, the players are under heavy suspicion, and your wages are already under monitoring. If you want to take your money, wait until the Chaos corruption is cleared."

"But there's a problem with our wages; couldn't you just exchange them for a different batch of money? Why must you withhold them directly?"

"Because every piece of money has its own mark; it is impossible to exchange it."

Looking at the tall, steel-clad Knight before them, the player, wearing a look of grievance, wanted to open their mouth to argue further, but was quickly interrupted by the Knight's impatience.

"You players have always been double-dealing, with no concept of loyalty. For you dishonest rats, withholding a year's worth of wages is perfectly normal. Because you have no loyalty at all, freely leaking information on your so-called internal communication gatherings."

"Do you think we don't know? Do you think we aren't clear about what you players have done, relying on your so-called Undying Nature?"

"Give up that thought; you players are all the same."

"Don't say you are different; we can't be bothered to distinguish one by one whether you are loyal or disloyal. You would even sell your own Soul to the dark gods; that we haven't killed you outright is already due to the mercy of the Lady of the Lake. You had best be careful."

"But, I..."

"Hmm?"

Seeing the player still wanting to argue, the Knight gave a cold snort and drew their longsword slightly from its scabbard. That icy gleam made the player swallow their saliva, and they obediently closed the door, leaving the monastery with their head hanging in dejection.

The chaotic evil behavior of the players would ultimately force their race to pay the price. Following those chaotic acts, as well as the treacherous "clever" operations of leaking information to competitors, they finally incited widespread anger and dissatisfaction from Bretonnia and the various factions of Order.

Many regions began to expel individual players, or even expel the entire player population en masse. Some even planned to imprison them within dungeons, hanging them there in a half-dead state forever. The people here are not NPCs; if any information leaks or problems arise, everyone only needs to compare intelligence to easily find the common denominator.

The players fear only that the world will not be in chaos, and their characteristic of not being able to die turned them into a group of trolls. Where there is a commotion, there is a player's shadow.

Under such a hostile environment, the attitude the players could have is naturally self-evident.

Other places are still fine; after all, it is a civilized society, and it is just expulsion. But in a place like the Old World that eats people without spitting out the bones, it is a normal operation to give you a little sweetness to make you work happily for a while, and then give you nothing and tell you to get out. And you wouldn't dare kill anyone.

If you were to kill someone, the other side would dare to use a mage to directly extract the players' Souls and torture them to death forever. This immediately made the players' situation precarious.

The previous joy and chaotic actions would eventually lead to their own evil consequences.

Facing this situation, many players also found themselves with strength but nowhere to use it.

You can control your own hands and feet, but can you control the hands and feet of other players? Many players come in with an innate sense of superiority; what's wrong with rummaging through boxes and cabinets to take some things after helping with work? Fortunately, identifying players is relatively difficult; generally speaking, it is impossible to just find someone and chop off their head to prove they are a player. After entering the lurking stage, a small number of players did succeed in settling down in cities, and even became influential figures.

In this situation, these people became a sanctuary for players, and only in these places could there be information that truly circulated.

Pushing open the door of the underground tavern, the young player looked at the familiar bartender wiping a glass and sighed wearily, placing three large coins on the counter. "You, at least, are always here wiping glasses, with nothing to think about... Give me a beer, make it a good one."

"Oh? I wouldn't mind if you wanted to become a bartender. But are you willing yourself?"

The bartender didn't seem angry, just casually took the money, then placed a beer mug under the keg and turned the tap.

If it were two months ago, the players at the Golonni Tavern would definitely have been jeering or causing a scene. But after the Knight King returned and the Knights of the Realm returned to their homeland, these players who had occupied the ecological niche rapidly declined.

Demons? The Knights go to fight them without asking for money.

Cleaning the granary? Since it is the territory of the Knight lords, shouldn't the peasants get to work? Merchant guild quests? The Knight King has returned, so Bretonnia must have a harmonious government and people; how could there be any merchant guild quests? The whole of Bretonnia is a scene of pastoral idyll, with those above and below united as one. At first, the players thought it was a joke, but they soon discovered that Bretonnia really didn't need them.

The positions the players occupied were only those left vacant after the Knight King took all the Knights to participate in the Green Tide. This blank period was also a time when the peasants were able to move and attempt to advance.

And quite obviously, the players, who were not locals, did not know this information. They were just enjoying the special nature of their so-called player status.

After the real Bretonnian Knights returned, the long-annoyed citizens directly drove these vermin into the sewers. The Skaven underground, however, were quite fond of the players, thinking they might be a more remote branch of the Skaven. It was, at least, a peaceful coexistence.

Now, the player who once shouted at the entrance of the merchant guild could only hold a mug of noisy, foamy beer, take a sip, and sigh helplessly.

"In this day and age, where can one even make money... Even finding a god to worship costs money; what kind of hellish world is this?"

"A world with real gods is a world with channels for advancement, so of course it will be controlled to a certain extent."

Blowing off some grime, the bartender said quite easily:

"That is the only path to leap upward; everyone considers it more important than their own life. How could it not be watched by those old guys? Unless you are blessed by a god, otherwise you have to spend money to go in and worship, and you still have to rely on luck."

"Damn it, why don't we players have gods to protect us?"

"The players' gods..."

Looking at the muttering regular, the bartender paused before giving an answer.

"I heard that a very strange church has appeared in Hope City; it is said to be very effective, capable of gaining abilities by killing demons."

"Hope City? Wasn't that hellhole surrounded by a Chaos Warband a month ago?"

The barely raised interest vanished instantly, and the player looked at the bartender with some dissatisfaction.

(End of chapter)