Might of Players

---Viktor's POV---

"Why is the cost of the Realistic Player Sanity function so much higher than other features? Wasn't that something I set randomly?"

I could never wrap my head around this part. Could the fervor of believers really be quantified as SAN value?

I fiddled with the console, browsing through options. There were a few intriguing features.

"Hm... The realistic game panel is essentially a buyout of the game's interface functionality. 100 divine power points may seem expensive," I mused.

"But as long as there are more than 100 players in the game, buying out this feature is way more cost-effective than making individual panels for each player. If only I had one hundred players..."

"Inventory space. A must-have for games, and it comes with five slots of storage. Portable space is essential for players!"

I glanced at the price of the inventory feature and instantly cooled down.

"1000 divine power points? No way, that's way too expensive. Highway robbery!"

Early-stage game features were critical, and this was my first time choosing one. I had to be careful. 1000 divine power points could typically unlock two features.

Spending it all on inventory was just not worth it.

Finally, there was the customization feature, which had much broader applications and came with variable costs depending on how it was used.

I wanted to use the customization feature to add a mana value display to the game panel. This idea stemmed from an incident involving the players who were forcibly logged out because they'd depleted their mana reserves.

Players, after all, weren't native inhabitants of Aeltia. They need numbers, bars, something concrete. Expecting them to instinctively monitor their mana like real mages was asking too much.

A digitized mana display could solve this problem perfectly. No more players collapsing from mana exhaustion simply because they couldn't gauge their own limits.

After some tinkering, I successfully configured the realistic mana value display.

"500 divine power... Of course."

My last glimmer of hope was crushed. In the end, I couldn't afford anything!

After much deliberation, I finally remembered why I'd come to the console in the first place.

"Wasn't I originally trying to deal with the players' death penalties?"

I rubbed my smooth skull.

"Then Luminaris came along, and I forgot all about it! I need to use my brain more... Ah, right. I don't have a brain. I am a skeleton."

The incident with the worms during the day had reminded me of a crucial point. Although I could always craft new bodies for players who died, creating human bodies consumed magical materials.

Many of the materials required by the ritual were extraordinarily rare. And given my current "wanted" status, obtaining them wasn't easy!

Each use brought me closer to running out, and I had no idea when I'd find replacements. Until I secured alternative materials, I had to implement a death penalty.

First, I checked if I could customize player respawn points.

Good news: the console did indeed have this feature.

Bad news: the cost was a string of zeros, far beyond what my three-digit divine power could handle.

As for penalties tied to resurrection…

I picked up a feather pen and began jotting notes on a floating parchment.

"First, a respawn cooldown. Activating the ritual to craft a new body takes one day. That should qualify as a penalty for players."

"Next is experience loss… Oh right, I haven't set up save points for players yet."

I clutched my head in frustration.

Just earlier, when my divine power value had updated, I'd felt confident about breaking even quickly.

But now, as I began spending it, I truly understood the phrase "money burns a hole in your pocket." Though in my case, it was divine power burning through my nonexistent pockets.

"Let's leave the save points for later. For now, after resurrection, any experience gained beyond the last save point won't be retained. Yes, that'll be penalty number two!"

"And then… right, we don't even have game currency yet. How do I fine dead players without money? Losing money upon death will be the third penalty!"

I dropped the feather pen and carefully reviewed the player resurrection system I had written down to ensure nothing was missed.

Penalties for pre-death (lost unsaved experience), during death (respawn cooldown), and post-death (currency deduction) were all covered.

Later, I would set the amount of money deducted high enough to discourage players from dying recklessly.

My empty sockets glowed with satisfaction.

"With the addition of game currency, we can finally start charging for starter gear and quest items."

Our initial supplies weren't abundant; we couldn't let players squander them freely. Only when players paid for things would they value them.

I spent another long stretch tinkering. Eventually, I used 100 divine power to mark the undead resurrection ritual.

Now, when players died, the new body crafted by the ritual would use the data from their last save point.

Next, I turned my attention to creating game currency. Unfortunately, creating currency required 500 divine power points—and it would only produce 10,000 coins.

If I needed more, I'd have to pay again.

The exorbitant price made my nonexistent heart ache. The system could've just robbed me outright, yet it had chosen to give me tokens with no intrinsic value instead.

"The value of game currency isn't like other features. It shouldn't cost this much!"

Unlike other functions, game currency didn't need to monitor player health. It was more akin to a 100-point feature—just labeling objects with a special identifier and organizing them.

The only tricky part was creating the coins themselves.

"There's got to be a way to bring the cost down," I muttered.

If I could solve the creation problem and only use divine power for the final identification process, the price might drop dramatically.

With this thought in mind, I returned to the console and worked until dawn.

At last, I found a cheaper way to produce game currency: alchemy for crafting the coins and divine power for anti-counterfeit certification.

I wasted no time putting the plan into action.

I entered the church, headed to a corner, and began clanging away, building alchemical equipment.

Sparks flew everywhere, waking Luminaris, who had been dozing on the idol overhead.

"Hmm? What in the divine realms...?" His tiny eyes blinked at the faint light outside.

"What are you doing?! Can't a ball get some sleep?!"

"Alchemy," I replied. "What else?"

"You know alchemy?! Wait, even if you do, can't you do it during the day?"

Clang!

I tossed aside an iron funnel and fixed him with the hollow gaze of my skeletal head.

"If you're so capable, why don't you do it? I'm a heavily injured being who hasn't even slept, yet I'm working tirelessly for our future. Have I complained?"

With that, I pulled up the system panel, emphasizing one particular stat: my remaining survival time.

[Survival Time: 8 days, 13 hours, 14 minutes]

Luminaris immediately became sheepish.

"Well..." he stammered.

"And look at Edgar over there. He's covered in wounds too, but he didn't even wake up." I pointed toward the paladin, who was resting in another corner.

He had managed to construct a personal room out of the barely usable bricks and stones from the town. Even though my area was exceptionally noisy, his side remained completely undisturbed.

I turned back and interrogated Luminaris, "As the only one among the three of us without a single scratch, don't you feel ashamed? Why don't you reflect on yourself for a moment? Maybe you're having trouble sleeping because your work during the day is too easy."

Luminaris froze in place. "Is... is that true?"

"Of course!" I replied decisively. "I don't need your help right now. Go back to sleep!"

He lowered his head in shame. "I'm sorry for disturbing your work." He obediently returned to the palm of the statue's hand.

I turned back to continue my earlier task.

At 700 years old, I had dabbled in every type of magic. Alchemy was no exception. But even a clever inventor couldn't craft without materials.

Back on the Frostwind Plains, those two reckless novice monks had destroyed my storage bag. Now, my magical materials were pitifully scarce, especially the ones usable for alchemy.

"Let's see..." I muttered, sorting through the meager remains. "Three chunks of enchanted iron, some crystallized mana residue, and enough runic dust to maybe fill a thimble. Wonderful."

After picking and sorting through my resources, the only thing I could create was an alchemical item capable of transforming dirt into some sort of copper-like alloy discs.

I named it Rune Forge.

The Rune Forge had three material input slots. After passing through the reaction chamber and the conversion matrix, the materials were processed into three output slots.

The alloy discs produced from the outputs varied in size and design, representing values of 1, 10, and 100.

The exterior was complete, but there was one final step: activating the conversion matrix in the forge's center.

I gathered golden-red energy in my palm, illuminating my hand bones in a blood-red glow.

"Seal!"

The entire forge shuddered violently, its color shifting from pure black to brass.

"Cough, cough!"

My body collapsed with a crisp "snap," scattering into a pile of white bones. "You know you're having a bad day when your skull rolls under the furniture," I grumbled, reassembling myself.

Three seconds later, I was propped up against the wall, adjusting my head back into place.

"Ah, I knew I was pushing it too far."

I opened my system panel and glanced at my reduced lifespan.

[Survival Time: 6 days, 19 hours, 56 minutes]

Already limited, my survival time had been reduced by nearly a quarter. I barely reacted, skimming over the numbers as if they were ordinary figures.

I closed the panel and began calculating my mana consumption.

"Casting Fireball to save those three only cost ten minutes of life, but making this alchemical item took two whole days..." I mused. "Hmm. I'll have to start being more conservative with my magic..."

Looking at the short, stout Rune Forge, I opened its control panel. The currency function had successfully been lowered to a cost of 100 divine power.

My eyes lit up. "Not bad! Two days weren't wasted! I've essentially converted that time into 400 divine power!"

I immediately purchased the currency function and began experimenting.

---

Ten minutes later, I held a freshly minted game coin in my hand. The coin's front side displayed the value "100," while the back featured an embellished chibi-style skull.

The coin's edges were serrated and decorated with intricate patterns.

"This looks like something only an evil faction would use." I flipped the coin between my fingers. "But... who cares? As the designer, I like it, and that's what matters!"

After all, The Watcher had already been labeled as part of the evil faction because of my undead identity.

At the same time, my game panel popped up.

[New game currency added: 100 Game Currency!]

"Wait! The currency's name is literally 'Game Currency'?!"

I quickly opened the GM control panel and renamed it. "Undead Coins? No, too on the nose. Let's call it... Magicoins! Since it's a product of magical alchemy."

I pocketed the 100-value Magicoin and carried the half-human-sized Rune Forge through most of the church. I knocked on the temporary wooden door of Edgar's room.

After a moment, the door opened.

He appeared fully dressed.

"Viktor, it's not work hours yet," he said.

Outside, the sky was still a foggy blue. Dawn in the Divine Realm was at least two hours away.

"Ah, but opportunity knocks at all hours, my friend!" I replied with utter shamelessness. "Even so, you're awake now, aren't you? And, dear Edgar, you should start getting used to the time difference. When more players join, they won't care what time it is. They'll be knocking on your door 24/7!"

"... I'm starting to think we should reconsider our plan to revive the organization."

"I refuse!" I said without hesitation. "Now, won't you invite me in?"

Edgar stepped aside.

Since it was a hastily built resting area, the room was small. Apart from the bed, only half of the floor space was walkable. With one human and one undead inside, the room instantly felt cramped.

I shoved the heavy Rune Forge into Edgar's hands and explained its functionality. "From now on, you're the Treasurer of The Watcher! Think of it as a promotion! Keep this thing here. I trust you'll take good care of it!"

Edgar glanced at the alchemical tool he'd been forcibly handed. Although most of the materials were ordinary, its design was proof of its exceptional craftsmanship. Even if it wasn't functional, it was worth preserving for its technical merit alone.

"I believe you remember that four days ago, you appointed me as the Minister of General Affairs," Edgar said. "I'm already handling all the administrative work."

"Exactly! You're already so good at it. This is just a small addition."

"Small addition? This is an entire financial system!"

In other words, his current duties included assigning player missions and settling mission rewards. Now he was also expected to manage finances.

"Ahaha, is that so?" I laughed awkwardly. "But you're the most capable of the three of us. Your current power is the highest, so it's safest for you to keep it!"

This was 100 divine power we were talking about! With the three of us—a weakling and two cripples—Edgar was the only one reliable enough to handle this responsibility.

I, whose magical power had been reduced to a mid-level mage's, and Luminaris, who had no combat capability at all, simply weren't viable options.

"Soon, missions will include Magicoin rewards. Keeping the forge here will make task settlement easier, don't you think?" I quickly crafted an excuse, patting his shoulder. "Ed, this is a sign of trust from the organization! When we get more members, I'll assign you an assistant right away!"

"You said that about the last three positions," Edgar reminded me.

"And I meant it every time! This time it's different."

"How exactly is it different?"

"Because this time I'm extra sincere about it?"

Edgar paused, then reluctantly agreed. "Fine. But you must make finding help a priority."

"Of course! The next time I find some unlucky soul wandering near Honeyvale Town, I'll bring them in to assist you!" I, being an undead, didn't even blink as I made my empty promises.

"Now, apart from this..."

Edgar's gaze sharpened as he suddenly grew wary. "What else are you planning?!"

I had managed to push a once-noble paladin—educated in chivalry and integrity—to the point of paranoia. A paladin who now eyed me with the weariness of an overworked employee.

For a brief moment, I reflected. Had I gone too far this time?